Melancholy & Sufferance

“Francis continued: “My Father, we must find a way once and for all to get you back into the human form. And I, well I, needs find myself also. I am not Man, I am not Fay, I am not Saint.”

He continued: “In this country, in this time, I am called folksy, or rustic - but the charm of it is wearing thin. I feel it too, the need to leave - but our purpose has not been fulfilled, it has … staggered.”

“Son” the dog sombrely said in thought, “I could die again any day - this dog body is aged, and what of it? I will be born back into a litter of mutts and what, if in the name of God you cannot find me this time? Or, worse still, I am destined to become a cow? or a fish? or a cloud?” He sounded beyond despair.

“Let me bathe you. The air out here is drying. It is this heat and the itch that talks through you.”

The old dog put his heavy head onto his paws and closed his eyes - he mentally shut Francis out as well, diving deeply into his dog-consciousness of melancholy and sufferance.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances