Until Death Do We Part

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
She knew he was dead, but that didn't stop her from hoping.

Submitted: February 14, 2013

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Submitted: February 14, 2013



Until Death Do Us Part

He was dead, it was that simple. The men had stabbed him, there was blood (a lot), and he was no longer alive. Anyone, anything could come to this conclusion. It was sad, but he was gone.

She supposed she should be happy. He wasn't the nicest person to live with, after all. He was short tempered, rude, and mildly abusive. Despite it all, he still loved her. That she was sure of.

He kept food in her bowl, every morning and every night. In all the years that she had inhabited the humble apartment, she had never missed a meal. Not one. She wondered what she was going to do for food now that he was gone, but she put it to the back of her mind. She remembered instead how surely keeping her fed proved his love.

She used to share the bed with him; he never had a problem with that. It comforted her, his warm body next to her at night. She guessed that it might have comforted him a bit to, just a little. That made her feel good that she was giving back, even if it wasn't much.

Other people seemed to think he wasn't a good person. Every once in a while, an official looking person came down to our apartment to talk to him, ask him questions. He always tried to look calm and collected, but he never quite pulled it off, at least, not to her. She could always smell the anxiety rolling off of him in waves. That meant he cared, at least. That he didn't want her to get taken away.

Even when he hit her, he was doing it out of love. She had misbehaved; she had deserved it, in one way or another. He was reacting in the only way he knew how: in anger. He was only trying to do what was best for her.

She made a soft tittering noise. After all, she was only a cat. She didn't understand people and she probably never would. She couldn't explain why those men had entered their house and stabbed him, and kicked him. She wasn't sure she wanted to know anyway.

She purred lightly and rubbed her cheek against his hand hoping, praying, for a response. She got none. She wasn't expecting one either.

If cats could cry, she would be doing so right now.

Instead, she silently curled up against his stone cold side and said goodbye to her owner, her master, her friend.

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