My Dog, and My Human

Here’s an Entry for Creative Writing Challenge: Metamorphosis. I lost my interest halfway into the story (even though it is so short), so I am sorry if you don’t like the way it ends. (I tried to continue it, but it just won’t do) And my head isn’t completely right when I wrote it, so my grammar will be…devastating. That’s my warning.

I was walking toward my home, humming peacefully under my breath, when a dog walked toward me. I stopped in my track, eyes carefully staring at the animal, body ready to react the second anything suspicious happened. When it continued to approach me, I walked carefully to the other side of the road.

The dog followed me.

I walked back on to my original track, and the dog’s direction, again, changed toward me.

So I did the only thing I can think of: I turned around, then ran.

I know, stupid thing to do in front of a dog, especially when my parents always told me not to do it. But what else can I do in front of an animal that I don’t like? Now don’t think that I am a dog-hater or something like that, I don’t discriminate, I don’t like animal in general, at all. I mean, sure, I like to look at animals’ picture, especially the cute ones, but I don’t like it when they come near me.

And not only I disregard what my parents had told me; which is, don’t run from a dog, I also looked back. And instead of finding a dog running, I found myself staring at a body of a person, a human, lying down on the concrete.

Which is the reason I am in my home with said body now.

 

When a person woke up in an unfamiliar place, what would he do? Ask nicely where he is and thank said person is what I imagine they will do.

When the person I brought home woke up on my couch, covered with my blanket, with me sitting on the edge of it, what did he do? Did he smile and ask me nicely where he was?

If you haven’t guessed t already, he didn’t. Instead, he growled (yes, he really growled, like a wolf and all that) and pounced on me.

Good that the blanket tangled his feet.

 

As I finally learned from the growling boy, his name is Ryan, no family name, and he is eighteen years old. He doesn’t have home anymore, and no family either. In short, this Ryan is homeless, and in need of home. Being a normal human being, I say no to his puppy eyes, and kick him out of my house. That is what I would like to say. But no, instead I cave in, and give him the guest room. I lend him some money to buy somethings, and he promises to pay me back.

Life goes on.

 

It isn’t until a month later that something happens. Which consists of a transformation, a dog, and my complete surprise that a dog is living under my roof. I almost kick him out, but that blasted puppy eyes goes in my way, and I cave in, again.

At least I know how he can use that weapon very well. He must have had a lot of practice.

 

Now, at twenty two years old, I have a dog at home; a dog that works on nearby convenience store and looks like human most of the time. Nothing big changes. Except for the fact that my dog scares of my potential suitors most of the time.

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