Last Night at the Last Chance Diner
Copyright© 2014 by Number 7
Chapter 7
The Last Day
11:11:11 p.m.
Brian's dog was uniquely beautiful. His coat glistened in the morning sun as he ran through the woods, never straying too far from the young man who accompanied him. Their special relationship was obvious, as they seemed to communicate intimately by body language and eye contact. Their bond was a thing of loveliness.
In private words, the young man encouraged his K-9 companion, and the dog responded by doing everything in his power to obey. Others walking along the wooded trail marveled at the sheer joy the two took in one another's company. Folks stopped and stared, wishing it was they who were so loving and beloved.
At one point the man and dog stopped, flopping down side-by-side in the green grass to catch their breath. Even then, the man didn't take his eyes or hands off the collie. Straining to hear, you might have heard him whisper the dog's name, Benjamin, as a hymn and not just as a word.
"I love you. I love you. I love you, my little friend," the words softly sang. "Thank you, God, for my buddy."
The buzzing alarm awoke the man, and the memory of that beautiful morning faded, leaving him empty with loneliness. The apartment, still in the late evening, felt as vacant as his heart. The minutes ticked slowly on his bedside clock, reminding him of his hunger. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of vehicle traffic, hushed and oddly quiet. He realized it must have been snowing, which always quieted traffic noise.
He looked around the room, taking inventory of his earthly belongings. Because he had always lived alone, he had never needed much. Now in his middle age, he felt a vagrant wistfulness about the things he'd never owned, the places he'd never gone, the people he'd never known, and the things he'd never done.
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