SB LACROIX

The black dog came back today, soaking we from the rain. I recognized it immediately. It huddles on the door mat of my front porch trying to keep warm, the chain around its neck broken from the desire to be set free.

Cured up on my porch, seeking shelter from the pouring rain, the black dog would stay until the storm passed. Lulled by the sound of the rain, it settled into slumber. 

I took a deep breath and held in briefly before allowing it to escape my lungs. Looking at the black dog curled up and settled in, I wondered, how long would the storm last? I took another deep breath as I felt the twinge of anxiety within my chest. I locked the front door in a vain attempt to keep the black dog out.

I peered at the black dog through the glass of the locked door and wished it gone. How long would it stay this time? The black dog lifted its head and looked at me, offering no answer.

From my book: Shattered