flowerpups
There it was again. A sound like a mouse trapped in the walls. I looked around the bed, behind the dresser. Tapped the walls and listened for signs of life. Nothing. No - there it was again. It must be outside. Through the house and around the roses and begonias, I traipse through the over long grass and peer beneath the lilacs. Covered in mud with a bleeding paw, is a tiny yellow dog. It's mangy fur and floppy ears caked with filth. Two black eyes stare back at me with fear a low whimper comes from his throat.
Oh sure, I'd just gladly give up my place in the post office line for an ungrateful, narcissistic, no good, yellow-bellied, husband stealing, witch. Sure. Why not! That's how I roll.
Green scales covered what could only use considered legs. Dark patches of fur dotted the upper torso of the beast, nay monster.
Fog rose from the river. In the morning light the hazy atmosphere gave the cemetery an eerie embrace.
When I first think of armor, I think of knights in shinning armor, but I think today, it's the barriers we put up around ourselves to protect us from our baggage. Our past hurts. Our damage. Then I had to wonder, did I define this correct. Snark.