the man's dog had passed over the early morning hours. it laid stiff as a surfboard in the small suburban backyard. a line of eager ants marched forward and around the lifeless fur ball. these ants, ever present in the final days.
how the man hated these ants. and hated the world for teasing him with life and death. the man stared at the dead body with a sunken, desperate anxiety. he looked up into the sky. he ran his hand through his hair, with a heavy, bothered motion. the hand weighed at least a ton.
defeated, the man went inside and sat on the dark green couch, the dog's favorite nap space. not a single thought passed through the man's head for another three hours. as he sat motionless, the sun slowly spread its energy across the living room, lighting the darkest room in the world, uninvited.