Good Puppy

“Shhh, shhh, shhh, it will be okay my love,” Atticus whispered as he cleared away the muck and slime from the creature in his lap, “shh, no, no, don’t bite.”

The creature’s two heads alternated between piercing whines for attention and the pained cries of new life. The demon hound was a mere puppy, freshly spewed from a dark dimension. It was happy, scared, confused, and hungry.

The mere hours of breath that coated its black lungs did nothing to diminish the deadly force it commanded. The villain laughed and quickly substituted an ironwood branch for his hand as one of the heads shifted from sniffing curiously to biting. Instinct and experience saved the villain, the branch was quickly torn to shreds and left in a puddle of molten orange slobber.

“There, isn’t that more comfortable?” The last of the muck was removed and the hound was wrapped tightly in towels. Atticus placed the creature in a specially enchanted basket and carried it in the direction of the nearest volcano.

The heat and noxious chemical clouds would nurse the puppy until the its mother could arrive and take over.

Years later, gazing into the eyes of the demon, all six, I gasp, I brighten, I smile, I beam.

“Who’s a good boy?” I shout as it tears through the distance separating us, a tongue as green and as slimy as elemental poison, flapping in the cruelty of the monster’s breath.

“Didja miss me?!” I demand as it bounds from a distance — each leg as long as I am tall, it does not take long for the demon to pounce and no matter how strong I brace, I am no match.

Tightening lungs grasp the remnants of clean air in the noxious breath cloud, I gasp, “Go on now, you’re killin’ me!” I laugh, I am powerless to the monster’s affection.

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