Ok so the book doesn't belong to me . . . But this story does! So if you could review and stuff that would be awsome! enjoy!

The Truth of the Death of Wellington

After a good night out from the bars drunker than a monkey riding a donkey, I walked home forgetting my car. Then I see Wellington, that stupid, stupid fucking dog. Acting there all happy like it didn't have a care in world. Oh yes, of course not, not when it had Mrs. Shears.

She really did love that dog didn't she? I had her so close, but then she left me all alone, for what? Nothing but a stupid mutt that drools, wags its tail, barks, and on occasion does a trick. Oh yeah, you can't forget the fact that you have to pick up all it's poop that's left all along the lawn. I don't know how she can stand him, it's sick.

You know, I think I'm going to teach that dog a lesson, mess with it a bit. Sound like a good, no fantastic idea. So I checked to see if any light were on in the house and none were. So that being the case, I walked into the yard and called Wellington over. He stopped doing whatever stupid dogs normally do and trotted right over. Good dog I thought, it's going right according to plan.

I started by scratching him underneath his chin. I did this until his tail was really wagging, then I smacked his chin upwards with the palm of my hand. He let out a loud whine. A smirk plastered itself upon my face. Wellington looked at me confused and hurt. Curiosity overcame the fear of being hit again. As soon as he was close enough I kicked him in his ribs.

I was able to do this a total of three more times before he didn't come near me again. Really how stupid is this dog? I asked myself. It took him three times to figure out that I actually wanted to hurt him. So I took a step towards him, and he took one back. I started to run after him, by now all sense of my humanity had gone away. I had nothing but anger left for that stupid god damned dog who took the love that had grown between me and Mrs. Shears.

He now had begun to bark. I didn't want to be caught by Mrs. Shears, so I grabbed the closet thing that would shut that damn mutt up. After I had grabbed my weapon I lifted my arms, aimed, then let out everything I had. By the time my anger had suppressed itself. Wellington had stopped wriggling and squealing in pain and now lay flat. Perfectly dead, no life, no breathing, just stuck into the ground by a garden fork. Realizing what I had done, I stood up and fled.

After getting out of the yard and crossed the street, the light to Christopher's room flicked on. His face went to the window and looked out, right toward Mrs. Shears' yard, "Damn" I muttered. So went to the side of the house, out of sight, then watched him cross the street, then take a closer look at the now dead dog. But by the time that Mrs. Shears had come out and called the cops, I was fetching my car. Just hoping and praying to god with all my might that Christopher would just leave this alone. Not get wrapped up in the case of who killed the dog during the night.