I wake up every morning only to see burn holes in my bed. As I slide out of bed, I wobble towards the staircase to make some breakfast. I’ll admit it, I am a waste of my freedom. I have no job, no fun memories, no family, no purpose, and most of all, no friends. Someone needs to come into my life to lift me up from my nicotine-ridden lifestyle.
I walk into the kitchen and pop a piece of white bread into my toaster. As the toast is cooking, I pick up the St. Louis Dispatch newspaper and start to skim over the advertisements. One advertisement caught my eye: a medium-sized lemon beagle for sale (can talk!). Can talk? I go on and read the description. It said the beagle was a national hero for his assistance in the 9/11 terrorist attacks and
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His voice was surprisingly deep and bold. Although he explained his experience in great detail, he often stuttered and paused in almost every sentence. Right as he finished his stories, we arrived at my house. I welcomed Charles to the house and showed him the interior. I showed him the living room, which composed of a twenty-one inch television set and one blue suede loveseat. He jump on the loveseat and laid down. He stared me down. “Do you mind if I eat some, you know, human food?” He asked as he curled into a ball. “Um, not at all, Charles. I should probably treat you like a human if you can talk.” I said I went into the kitchen and grabbed some ham for Charles. As I opened the refrigerator, I heard a knock on my door. I walked to the door and opened it, but no one was present. I looked at the welcome carpet and noticed an old newspaper and a note. The note said “THE DOG IS A FRAUD. GIVE IT AWAY BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.” The newspaper was a Riverfront Times and it had an article titled “Lemon Beagle Wanted for Multiple Attacks on Monroe City Residents” I closed the door and stared at Charles. “Say Charles, I gotta go down to the post office to deliver my bills.” I told Charles while he ignored