Bear with me.

Bear with me.

When I look into the mirror to see the murky brownness swimming in my eyes,

 I remember you, my faithful friend. 

I remember the day you died. 

....

Before your death, we lived in a whitewashed house, infringing on the land governed by nature.

 I recall the humid afternoon I chanced upon you when you stumbled into my garden buzzing with flies, covered in grime, and allured me with the shine in your eyes. I embraced you, I named you. From then on I was yours, and Bear, you became mine.

Bear.

Bear, I remember. I remember how full of life you were. Why, in my mind's eye I can still see you running head lopsided with your little pink tongue out, chasing your tail in the garden we used to share, weaving between the stalks of sugar cane and red pineapples. I still close my eyes to feel the sheen of your soft, soft fur and hear your joyful calls to me from distant fern trees swaying by the edge of the forest. You were living the life. 

.....

   Eleven years ago, we moved into this dusty urban block we now call home. I became busy, really busy. My world ballooned in size and my distractions grew into cysts filled with self-righteousness while you were, well, forced to be confined in a new world of four walls. 

Life must have changed drastically. The greed for attention snowballing within me flattened my ability to properly care for myself, much less for you. Bear, you could have stayed where you belonged, a grassy expanse under your padded feet, but I took you too far into my world. 
I left you burning on hot gravel and lying on cold concrete.   

  Look at you now, coming with that tail wagging when you hear me drag out the leash with its metal head skittering on the imitation-stone pavements. You cling so to your tokens of bondage and cruelty, and you don't even know that I have denied you of life. 

Every day, you lie motionless with your paws tucked in with eyes glazed over, the light in them snuffed out. Bear, with your identity stolen and crushed, you're barely a shadow of yourself.

 Where does this complacency for restraints come from? Your owners dictate your life and feed you, and you pleasure them with the purposelessness of your antics. Does your blood not sing to the distant host of trees, the air fresh with petrichor under the clear night sky filled with starlight? Don’t your velvet paws long for the soft mossy surfaces and the sun-dappled leaves of the forest floor? 

Look at you, with claws curled inwards without use. It grates my heart when I hear them scrabbling against coarse cobblestone. 

You hop, those sensitive pads scalded by the searing heat of sun-baked asphalt and cement, and you crawl back to your owner. You heed the one who took from you and depend on his shelter. 

Here you stay, your life force reduced to a bag of skin and bones in an urban hellhole, unjustly deprived of your nature and your self to forced compliance. Look! You gnaw away at the chipped bowl of shrivelled biscuits not even to your liking. Bear, please tell me what you feel. Or do I dictate your feelings too? 

Bear. Bear! Bear with me.

 Listen to me, Bear!

Wake up from your grave! The master you serve serves you no justice,  nor does he know how to care for you. Your age catches up with you, but your master has yet to treat you as he should. Even in the past years of artificial life, he has still short-changed you. Take a peek at the poodle next door. Look, and know that she gets to roam in her mistress’s quarters, that she sups on delicacies right off her master’s table, and that she sleeps in her human's bed. 

 I am so sorry, old friend. I am so sorry for what I have done to you. Your whiskers have lost their lustre, and your wits have grown dull in solitude. Your muscles atrophied in confinement. Your vision has clouded, your eyes are milky white. You trip over pavement stones and crash into lampposts. You shiver alone in the night.

 As horrible as it is, I must confess that I know full well that, while under my care, you are suffering in every way I can imagine, and that is why my heart bleeds with guilt. At this point, it is a mercy that you do not question life as I do. It is a blessing that you live on what is, and not on what could have been. 

Or do you? Does the injustice of it all lurk at the periphery of your vision, whilst the creeping doubt of neglect seep into your consciousness? Does the fur under that stiff leather collar heat up with the spirited fire of indignation?

 I’m afraid not.

 It has been a long time since I last heard your soulful cry to the moon. 

.....

Dog, I don’t see you now. 

I don’t want to know that my walks with you are becoming shorter, and shorter still without your realizing it. I don’t want to close my eyes to feel the coarseness of that patchy fur and hear pitiful whines from the cramped courtyard, slightly echoing off the pasty walls and the steel bars of the gate. Forgive me, but I don’t want to remember the day you remembered no more.

Every day, you remind me of living death, and it hurts. It hurts so much. 

I don't want to remember the day I looked into the mirror,

 and killed you.

Rest in Peace,

Dog.

VERSiON 2

Bear with me. 

 

 I remember you, my faithful friend.  

I remember the day you died.  

…. 

 

Before your death, we lived on the land governed by nature. 

 I remember the humid afternoon when I chanced upon you, when a scruffy whir of brown barged into my garden buzzing with flies, covered in grime, and allured me with the shine in its eyes.

I embraced you, I named you. From then on I was yours, and Bear, you became mine.

 

What a sweet name, Bear.

 

Bear, I remember. I remember how full of life you were. Why, in my mind's eye I still see you running, head lopsided with your little pink tongue out, chasing your tail in the big garden we used to share, weaving between the stalks of sugar cane and red pineapples.

I still close my eyes to feel the sheen of your soft, soft fur and hear your yips and yaps from distant fern trees swaying by the edge of the forest.

You were living the Life.

 

..... 

 

   Eleven years ago, we moved into this dusty urban block. I had misgivings, but they say life is supposed to be better here, so why not? I became busy, really busy. My world ballooned in size and my distractions grew into cysts filled with self-righteousness while you were, well, forced to be confined in a new world of four walls.  

 

Life must have changed drastically. The greed for attention snowballing within me flattened my ability to properly care for myself, much less for you.  

 
Bear, you could have stayed where you belonged, a grassy expanse under your padded feet, but I took you too far into my world.  
I left you burning on hot gravel and lying on cold concrete.    

  Look at you now, coming with that tail wagging when you hear me drag out the leash with its metal head skittering on the imitation-stone pavements. You cling so to your tokens of bondage and cruelty, and you don't even know that I have denied you of life.  

Every day, you lie motionless with your paws tucked in with eyes glazed over, the light in them snuffed out. Bear, with your identity stolen and crushed, you're barely a shadow of yourself. 

 

 Where does this complacency for restraints come from? Your owners dictate your life and feed you, and you pleasure them with the purposelessness of your antics. Does your blood not sing to the distant host of trees, the air fresh with petrichor under the clear night sky filled with starlight? Don’t your velvet paws long for the soft mossy surfaces and the sun-dappled leaves of the forest floor?  

Look at you, with claws curled inwards without use. It grates my heart when I hear them scrabbling against coarse cobblestone.  

You hop, those sensitive pads scalded by the searing heat of sun-baked asphalt and cement, and you crawl back to your owner. You heed the one who took from you and depend on his shelter.  

Here you stay, your life force reduced to a bag of skin and bones in an urban hellhole, unjustly deprived of your nature and your self. Look! You gnaw away at the chipped bowl of shrivelled biscuits not even to your liking. Bear, please tell me what you feel. Or do I dictate your feelings too?  

Bear! Listen! 

 Listen to me, Bear! 

 

The master you serve serves you no justice,  nor does he know how to care for you. Your age catches up with you, but your master has yet to treat you as he should. Even in the past years of artificial life, he has still short-changed you. Peek at the poodle next door. Look, and know that she gets to roam in her mistress’s quarters, that she sups on delicacies right off her master’s table, and that she sleeps in her human's bed.  

 I am so sorry, old friend. I am so sorry for what I have done to you. Your muscles atrophied in confinement. Your whiskers have lost their lustre. Your wits have grown dull in solitude. Your vision has clouded, your eyes are milky white. You trip over pavement stones and crash into lampposts. You shiver alone at night. 

 As horrible as it is, I know full well that while under my care, you are suffering in every way I can imagine, and that is why my heart bleeds with guilt. At this point, it is a mercy that you do not question life as I do. It is a blessing that you live on what is, and not on what could have been.  

Or do you? Does the injustice of it all lurk at the periphery of your vision, whilst the creeping doubt of neglect seep into your consciousness? Does the fur under that stiff leather collar heat up with the spirited fire of indignation? 

 

 I’m afraid not. 

 It has been a long time since I last heard your soulful cry to the moon.  

..... 

 

Dog, I don’t see you now.  

I don’t want to know that my walks with you are becoming shorter, and shorter still, without your realizing it. I don’t want to close my eyes to feel the coarseness of that patchy fur and hear pitiful whines from the cramped courtyard, slightly echoing off the pasty walls and the steel bars of the gate.  

Forgive me, but I don’t want to remember the day you remembered no more. 

 

Because every day, you remind me of living death, and it hurts. It hurts so much.  

I don't want to remember the day I looked into the mirror, 

and killed you.