Last Night by the Fire
Wind whistled against the cabin walls, a sharp contrast to the soft crackle and pop of the fire. The man checked his watch and sighed. It was late — very late — but he didn’t feel tired. Whether it was the blizzard outside or the racing thoughts in his own mind, he couldn’t tell. He reached down to pet the dog lying near his chair. The man rubbed the coarse yet soft fur between his fingers. The dog whined softly, as if sensing the man’s restlessness.
The snow continued to fall against the side of the cabin. The trees swayed in the wind, creaking faintly. The dog stood up slowly and shook before moving closer to the fire. The man watched curiously as the dog circled once, twice, and lay down on the rug. The man stood up from the chair; the leather groaned as he moved. He grabbed a throw blanket and kneeled by the dog, draping the blanket over him.
Floorboards creaked against socked feet as the man walked to the kitchen. He stood next to the kettle and heard another soft whimper from his four-legged companion on the floor. The man frowned, concern etched on his face. He grabbed a small bowl, filled it with water, and returned to the dog’s side. The dog drank once, maybe twice, before tucking his head under his arm.
The man sat on the floor and rested his hand on the dog’s back. He brushed the coarse, thick fur in a soothing rhythm. He felt the dog tremble every so often. The man told himself the dog was just cold. He picked the dog up as carefully as he could and held him in his lap. He kissed the dog on the head, earning a soft huff in return.
The man sat with the dog all night long. The fire slowly died as the morning light cut through the light snowfall. The dog’s breaths became shorter and more strained. The man hugged him closer, rubbing his head and back.
“It’s ok, boy. It’s ok,” the man spoke quietly in the dog’s ear.
For a moment the dog stopped trembling; his breathing evened out. The fire gave one last pop before the small flame turned to smoke. The dog shifted slightly and took a deep breath in. The man held him, lips pressed to his head. He waited anxiously for the dog to breathe out, but he never did.
The man clutched the dog tighter than he ever had before as his sobs overwhelmed him. He cried, ugly and hard. Hot tears landed on the dog’s fur as he rocked back and forth.
After several long minutes of intense tears, he managed to speak. “Thank you,” the man sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Such a good boy.” He kissed the dog’s head again, now damp with tears. The man looked up to see a picture of his partner on the mantle. Her smile said everything he needed to know.
“Go… go back to her again, boy.”
Eventually the smoke of the fire thinned to faint wisps, and the first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows. The man hugged the dog one last time, lips pressed to his fur. He sighed softly and closed his eyes.
✍️ Author’s Note
I came up with this late at night. Halfway through I had to stop because I was crying — it’s hard to write when you can’t see. This piece was inspired by The Road by Cormac McCarthy, one of my favorite books. I wanted to capture something immediate and devastating, without ever naming the emotions outright. Stories, I believe, should show, not tell. Thanks for reading.