I remember a talk between my mother and her mother. I was little - 4-5 years old. A talk about another kid who did a terrible thing to puppies. I was paying close attention. The kid used to take puppies up a bridge and let them fall down on concrete. My imagination was producing images. The parents caught him while his was doing it - they were outraged. To his defense he said he liked the way they popped - the sound of it.
I guess I need to thank him. And my friendly and faithful neocortex - due to these two I can imagine how it is. I am on that bridge. I feel the breeze. I see the lovely puppy - he's warm and he looks back to me like a helpless son reaching by gaze for his father. I drop him. I can see the ears fluttering in the fall.
I can see the splash. And I can hear the pop.
And I can choose.
None of these is worth doing - the two of us will be better off alive.
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