Laurel Rafferty
I wake.
My swollen eyes watch in horror as her ball rolls around the laminate floor, it stops suddenly, unnaturally still as if it hadn’t been rolling at all.
I notice how worn it looks, reminding me of how sharp her little teeth were.
I was dreaming of her; we were playing ball in the garden.
She had loved that ball.
My heartbeat starts to slow but I’m covered in a cold sweat.
I take deep breaths and try to rationalise. I must have kicked the ball when I woke up, but how is that possible? My feet were on the sofa, her ball - I’m sure, was in her toybox.
Trembling, I walk over to it, pick it up and place back in her toybox.
More tears fall as I spy her empty pet bed covered in her fur, remembering her beautiful little face. I place the ball in the bed and a smile crosses my face as I think of how her little paw would guard it, even as she slept.
Grief does terrible things to the mind. That must explain it, I’m exhausted, I’ve cried for days with little sleep.
I trudge to bed.
I wake sweating. My hair is plastered to my scalp. Eyes sore and gritty with exhaustion as I scan the darkness around me. My arms and the back of my neck are covered in goosebumps, I know something unnatural has woken me from my wretched slumber.
A familiar sound; looking down I see the shadow of her ball rolling around the floor, it hits the skirting board then rolls back towards the bed again where it stops dead. Poised.
My heart aches.
I realise what she wants.
With a trembling hand, I pick up the ball and place it gently on the bed beside me.
I hold my breath and wait.
At last, a soft thump as she lands beside me.
Her ball between us once again, her front paw guarding it.
We lay together now.
Finally, she can sleep.
Her Beloved Ball
Copyright © 2024, Laurel Rafferty.
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