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Oscar





Blessings come in all shapes and sizes. A sodden dollar bill on the concrete could mean the world to a beggar. A shelter and loving parens are more than an orphaned child could hope for. Little was I to know, the ball of fur huddled on my doorstep would come to mean this much to me. The day he arrived was a stormy one, charcoal clouds hung in the sky like a rug over the lifeless, pale sky. The muffled drumming of thunder was heckled intermittently by striking jolts of silver lightning. Flood warnings were all I'd heard on the radio for a few days now, and I'd been hard at work trying to prevent my leaky basement from flooding again.


It was almost 3 when I heard something scrabbling with some unordinary desperation at the door. I knew that whatever it was, was not human. I cracked open the door to see where the clamour was coming from. A small St. Bernard with a brindled coat greeted me with the soft beat of its curved tail against the decking. It’s gaze caught mine and I knew at once that this was the beginning of something important. A fleeting instinct drove me to envelop the trembling creature in my arms - perhaps this was the purpose I had been waiting for.






I set the canine down on the creaky, oakwood panels and fetched a towel from the airing cupboard. Muttering to myself, I sat down next to the dog and searched his neck for a collar. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. No collar to be found. In a place so far from the bustling city, I could only begin to wonder where it came from.

‘I suppose you'll need a name then.’ I uttered, thinking with great concentration as I wrapped the towel around the dog.

As it observed me with an unwavering stare, I looked into the deep brown eyes that seemed to hold something of a tragic past.


‘Cujo.’ I announced flatly and decidedly, though the quivering thing before me had a gentle sweetness about it’s face that left the name ‘Cujo’ wildly unfitting. Grinning, satisfied with my decision, I patted Cujo carefully on the head.

—

Cujo


The pitter of rain danced on the window panes, the heavy gales sending a wily draft under the door.

‘Oscar you can’t be serious.’ a muffled voice under the static.

‘I know, Joyce, I know-‘

‘- you know what they said. You’ve got to look after yourself now, you're not in the right headspace for a dog. How could you possibly have thought this was a good idea? Consider your health for just five seconds.’

'So now you care? Now? How timely of you, Joyce. How bloody timely.' He spat into the phone with the most diabolical and untamed anger

'I- I've always cared, Oscar. You know that.' Pained, the woman stumbled over her words.


I watched him with careful curiosity as he slammed his phone down on the countertop.

‘If only you could understand, old boy.’ He spoke with a slight waver in tone, and my heavy heart sank to my stomach.

Tears of bitter sorrow rolled down the man’s cheeks as he held his head in his hands. I let out a faint whine and he lifted me into his lap as he wept.

—

Oscar


‘What if Joyce is right?’, I mumbled to myself bleakly as Cujo sat himself beside me, ‘what would happen to you if-‘
The pain forced my eyes shut for just a moment. I couldn't bring myself to say it.


It had been a couple of months since I was sat before Dr. Crawley - a tall, slender man of 35 with a solemn quietness about his mannerisms. Dark, unkept hair and the swollen under-eyes of a late night drinker. His face, pale as death with the gaunt, hollowed expression of a skeleton. I remember vividly how his thin lips pursed as his gaze shuffled awkwardly around the clinical room, landing anywhere but into my eyes directly.

The humming static of a small radio rung in my ears like an unbearable alarm ---

‘Dr. Crawley’ I exclaimed, with surprising lack of emotion as I fumbled my unsteady fingers through my coarse hair.

‘Yes- Mr. Francis, sorry-‘ his eyes swept the room one last time before he met me with an unflinching stare - the coldness of his blue eyes piercing me beyond any explanation.



The news was expected, but nonetheless it came to shock me. The room was still with an ominous desolation, though in the presence of another man, I had never felt so alone.


I remember how the tears burst forth impulsively like water from a dam, spilling down my face. I felt the muscles in my chin tremble like a that of a small child as I looked toward the window, as though there were something there that might take the pain away. I cried unceasingly for hours, days, weeks.

Was this what I was destined for?

—

Cujo

So long had Oscar been my best friend. Almost five years had gone by, and not a shadow of regret had ever led me to wish i had simply walked by his house that cold afternoon.

However, today an air of loneliness loomed above me like a grey cloud. A thick haze of confusion. Where was he? Where was Oscar? My mind clouded with denial, the night before was merely a blur.


The night before


Oscar lay on his back on the hardwood floor, his face compressed in an inhuman grimace, his skin a deathly shade of white. Nothing but a tortured scream passed his lips. It held a notion of rawness, the ever untimely realness of something consumed by a pain that knew no end or limit.

Then there was the ghastly quietness, just breathlessness, panting.

Frozen in my despair, I watched his frail body as he continued to convulse with a tormented affliction. The silence was unbearable, more so than the crying. I didn't understand, how could I?


All I knew was that I had to find help. My movements faltered in my regret to leave him alone, but there was nothing more I could do.


My paws struck the soil with all the grace of a wet sack of concrete, the bounding, springing steps of twenty miles earlier had long since disappeared. My throat raspy, I could feel the foam rising under my tongue. My head bobbed unsteadily from side to side with each heavy footfall against the hard earth. My exasperated howl was silenced by the bellowing wails of an ambulance in the distance.


Oscar. My Oscar.


At once the adrenaline consumed me. I bolted after the blue lights like an Olympic champion at the start gun, swiftly bounding after it’s fast-paced motion.

I howled into the night, and once more for good measure as I reminisced on the man who saved me. My vision momentarily impaired by my own blurry tears, I knew this had been a long time coming. I halted in my tracks, unable to carry myself any further. My exhaustion pulled me down to the earth as I felt my stature disintegrate beneath me. A sudden sharp pain pierced my skull, and I was out.





—


Oscar

The clear-cut stench of bleach overwhelmed me. My eyes squeezed shut in the bright light that slipped through the blind slats. I felt frail, yet weighty.


I blinked quickly and repeatedly like rapid-fire, struggling to accustom my eyes to the intense glare of sun against white walls.


‘Where am I?’


The blinding light subsided briskly as a woman pulled the blinds down.


I repeated myself as level-headedly as I could manage. The woman answered with a seemingly counterfeit smile.


The room was pristine yet held something of a gloomy undertone. Typical hospital bed, IV and monitors beeping, sterile, calm, an unhurried efficiency. Everything was linen-white, bar the clinical pale blue uniforms of the nurses.

The thought of Cujo raced into my mind almost at once.
'Hello?' I said loudly, attempting to catch someone's attention.
'Hello.'
I recognised that voice. That tone.
Joyce.

I began to turn my head with hesitant caution, it had been so long since I last saw her. I could still picture the smooth oval of her sweet face; how the wind furled its fingers through her hair; how the sun danced on her small features; how she looked at me with those deep brown doe eyes.
And all of a sudden, there she was. Standing before me - and in her arms, a panting ball of brindled fur. Cujo.





--



this is for -Rae- deactivated's story contest bc i was bored also this is sad and long sorry
wrote it in like an hour