little dashie ch.3
I cried softly to myself, my little blue darling was once more in one piece, but it wasn't enough. She'd lost most of one wing, and her eyes had been sewn shut, as had her muzzle. I had tried to make sure she was presentable, but it wasn't enough. I retired to the bed for the night, cradling her hopefully, but tears streamed down my face.
At night was when the nightmares came.
I wanted so much to let brave Dashie be well again, but... I couldn't. Her skeleton had been broken, so I had had it powdered and poured back in like sand. I had made her a replacement wing, but without her perfect blue feathers it had been misshapen and less than lovely... and she hated me for it. I hated me for it. There was only one thing I could do.
The voices would come in the dark, when the world was still. The voices would whisper in my ears, "Why did you do this... why did you make her world pain..."
"NO! GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!" I cried, hugging the small blue mishapen lump closer to my body.
"You broke her, you took her body and broke her..."
"I'M SORRY!" I wailed, but it did no good. Dashie had been spoiled, tarnished. I could not be forgiven.
"You must atone," the voices said, "you must give of yourself to set her free..."
I awoke with a start, in the dark hours of the morning, my soul burning with despair. I would make it up to Dashie, I had to. "It won't be long, Dashie, then... then we can be together, right?"
The little blue pegasus lump didn't say much, but it seemed she didn't have to. With tears I moved into the kitchen. As a conscientious room-mate, I decided to make sure that my passing was as easy as possible. The floor was that ancient sort of linoleum that curled up at the corners, old and blotched with mould. I set her down in front of me, and fetched a butter knife from the drawer.
I removed my t-shirt, I wouldn't be needing it any more. I set Dash up before me, watching with sightless cloth eyes where her glass ones had been ripped from her body by the dog. She would fly again, she would!
"If only," I cried to myself, "I could have sent you home somehow, through some sort of portal to wherever you came from. If only I could have gone with you. The world would have been so wonderful if I'd just been able to see you grow up and go home in one piece, but instead..." I broke down. "Forgive me, my wonderful little Dashie, and I beg you do the honour of witnessing my final act."
I bowed my head, picked up the butter knife, and jammed it into my stomach. I screamed in pain, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I forcefully ripped the dull culinary instrument from left to right.
As the crimson flow painted the floor, I realised I had failed to commit seppukku properly, and would now need to cut my own throat with the butter knife. As I set to the grisly task, life-blood seeping onto the cold, hard floor, I bemoaned the fact I'd not chosen the bread knife. This day could hardly get any worse.
The police report was short. Odd, but short. The subject was male, approximately 21, and had been found dead of apparent suicide by butter knife. Superintendent Harry Kiri was in trouble, however. The knife they had, the body, they had, but there was one piece of evidence missing. A strange blue creature, apparently a stuffed animal of some kind, had been found on the floor covered in the blood of the victim and perpetrator. It had been put in a box and shipped off for forensics, but it had never arrived.
"Now where," Harry said to himself as he slurped his coffee, "could it have gone to?"