I threw the tennis ball ahead of us, and Monkey charged like a bullet after it. Barking and galloping, he grabbed the ball and came flying back, crashing into my shins, leaving a wet, slobbery mess at my feet. Pinky extended, I grimaced as I chucked it again. Round and round we went playing this game together. Everyday we come down to the park. It’s become a ritual now ever since Monkey’s brother and long time play mate, Scout, died a few months ago. The park was something we all did together.
Now it’s just the two of us. Which is fine. And as we walk down the path we’ve walked so many times before, Monkey always hugs my left side, leaving room for Scout.
This is a response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy. Total word count 125, story alone.