Dancer

• Marnie Bugeja, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2013

As I sat in my old, overstuffed, armchair, stroking my cat butterscotch, andlistening to the rain beat down outside, I began to think about the special day that would arrive tomorrow. Christmas. I wasn't worried if my teen sister Bridget would like the perfume I bought her, or if I would get the hair straightener I saw in the shops yesterday when I was shopping with Dad. I wasn't thinking about any of this. I was only worried about one thing. Dancer. Dancer is my horse and I love her more than anything in the world. She is the sweetest, genltest, most amazing horse in the entire world. The problem is she's old. Very old. So old that she is struggling to stay alive each day. Every morning a wake up early and check on her. She just gets weaker and weaker. I can't let her die though. I made a promise that she would make it to Christmas. I've already lost mum, I can't lose Dancer too. I'm still sitting here when I hear the agonised cry of an animal coming from outside and I know it can only be Dancer. I race down to the barn where I find her on her side, breathing hard. "DAD!" I screech, and soon him and Bridget are down here with me, examining Dancer. Bridget goes into the next room to phone Dr Mary. Dancer starts thrashing about and has a terrified look in her eye. After what feels like forever, Mary arrives. "I'm sorry, this might be the end. I would consider giving her an injection to put her to sleep," she say. As much as I hate it, I know it has to be done. I can't bear to see Dancer in pain in her last hour. I nod and everyone else steps out of the stall. I look down at Dancer. We've been through so much together. She was the only thing that got me through those tough times when mum died. I remember my first day with her. She was a scrawny little thing Mum had bought me for my 5th birthday. I walk out and give a nod to Mary. We both go back inside. "Ready when you are," she says. I lean down to give Dancer one last hug and catch a glimpse of sun over the trees. It's morning. "Merry Christmas Dancer," I whisper into her ear as Mary injects the poison into her veins, stopping her heart, and ending her life. I walk outside and Dad comes up beside me. "Merry Christmas," he says, no expression in his voice. He slips a small blue box to me. I open it and find a golden locket with a heart shaped picture of Dancer and me, the first day I was with her. We were both happily looking at the camera and we looked remarkably alike. I have black hair and very pale skin. Dancer has white fur and a black mane and tail. We were a mischievous pair and from the start were perfect for each other. I realise the tears making tracks down my face and I look up at the rosy pink sky, and know, that she will always be in my heart, no matter what.