Prompt: An animal is following you

Word Count - 500 exactly



I wake up. I get in the shower.  I eat my cornflakes and wait for my appointment with the claims agent.

He's watching me again.

Why does he keep watching me? He won't eat. His bowl is running over and he doesn't drink, he just follows me from room to room and watches me.  Two and a half hours until Mrs. Ritter, was that her name? Ritter? Anyway, only two and a half hours until she is due to arrive. No problem. Answer some questions, deliver my impeccable practiced remorse and it's over. I'm set.

He's still watching me.

I swear he's next, the little bastard. Why can't he be content to be an animal and go on with life in the wild. Things die. Eat your Alpo, fucking Border Terrier. I'm in front of the mirror now. My eyes have to be just right when I talk about her suicide. The way I look away, the way I pause… it has to be spot on. I've spent my life winning over stupid bosses, a claims agent will be cake.

He won't stop watching me.

What!? Mommy isn't here. Go be a dog and chase your tail until you pass out. Eat your own feces for all I care, now's your chance. I turn on the tube. That girl got acquitted. Everyone thinks she did it, but they couldn't prove it, and now she gets to be free... and she's a celebrity. I love the judicial system. You just have to be a little smarter. A little bolder than the next guy and you get what you want.

He's starting to talk to me.

I know it's crazy, but I can hear him. Not like a human talking. Nothing like that. It's like you would expect coming from a dog. He tells me I should be sorry. He tells me I made a mistake. He tells me that she was better than me and I had no right... I had no... I have to stop. I take an Ibuprofen and a shot of bourbon. I have a headache. The stress is getting to me. I can't crack now. I'm this far... almost home.

He keeps talking to me.

I had no right. I had no right. I had no right. The only thing that is right is if I make it right. The only thing that's right is if I do to myself what I did to her. I'm in the kitchen. I don't remember coming here. That fucking border terrier won't stop following me. I'm holding her favorite paring knife. When I dig the edge into my wrist I feel no pain. Like watching a movie, the blood begins to run and spill to our Spanish tile flooring.

He's watching me.

It's done. He wins. I feel my final breaths slip away and my elaborate plans evaporate like the wind. I had no right. It doesn't matter. How long would he have followed me if I didn't succumb now?