natchalant
She picked up the box. For years it had been hiddedn in her yard, unbeknownst to all but one. The paint chipped, time had weathered it. She clutched it against her chest. " Let's go."
With the barrel up to his temple, he paused.
"Why?" he asked, his voice void of any emotion.
But he already knew the answer, he knew it in the base of soul, in the cold corners of his heart.
There was no answer needed.
"That thing is deranged" "How ugly!" "Put it out of its misery already!" Anya hugged the cat. It may have been old, and missing several patches of fur but the animal was harmless.It protected itself from the nosey child but people saw that as a vicious attack, not one of self- defense. A tear escaped her eye as she thought of the cat being out to sleep, "I can't." She whispered into it's fur.