I have always found trains to be a great symbol of freedom and tragedy. I thought my life would go with the former, but I guess it will end with the latter. The beaming lights peer through the thin birch trees. I saw the light early,  A pure white, a mimic of the very concept of fear. They said it would be the kindest light, and the fear would melt away from my bones, but at this moment, I have found that not to be true. The horns pierce my thoughts, my pupils dilate as if trying to stop my mind (that is in such pain from this terrible noise), from escaping out of my eyes. 

Or maybe the blame is back at the lights, for hitting my cold, helpless face head-on. It’s crazy that the lights from that train, the very reminder of me nearing the end of life, are the only ones that have given me warmth in a long time, but I guess that would undermine the pearling blood that escapes my ankle. 

In my last moments, I think of Brutus, who came when I desperately needed him. His fur coat is not warm enough to traverse the winter storm. I saw him desperate and in need, and he reminded me a lot of myself. He shivered more under my jacket than  I thought any cold could do. He was scared, but he was too weak to fight against my hands. I cleaned him in warm water and tried to heal the various scars on his paws and back. This small creature gave my life a purpose; I loved that dog. I braided him a collar from shoe lace and carved him a tag from wood, with his name crudely engraved with big letters across the middle of it, “Brutus”. 

Dad hates Brutus. When my death is found out, he will surely throw him back into the streets; the only good thing I have ever done in my life, and it will be all for not. The lights get impossibly closer.

I had known something was wrong. It was one-thirty am and he had still not come home. I howled endlessly, but IT had not done anything but grow with annoyance. Until the flashing lights appeared out in the yard, IT’s face melted into the armchair. IT had become unbelievably old, eyes suddenly deep and hollow, cheeks drooped around IT’s mouth, the only part that remained with tension was the furrowed brow. The ground soils, and for the first time in my life, His hand reaches down to stroke the fur around my ears. That’s when I knew what had to be done. His arms resist my pulling force, but I knew he couldn’t hold me for long. I knew where my friend was. His hands swelled as he let me go, and I dashed to the path we walked together so many times. I could sence him, and as I lay down on the tracks of the railroad, my tail between my legs. I could tell my friend was embedded in every crack of the wood; they could not remove every bit of him. So I guess he would be able to accompany me forever; maybe the big man can lie down with us.