Man's Best Friend

• Ryan Flaherty, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2021

He sat there. The rusty chains gave the chair a gentle yet stern creak with every slight movement. His weather-beaten slippers barely made a sound as they slipped up and down the tarnished and aged boards. The orange Australian Sun flooded the porch, lighting up a single speck on the man's face. His thick, grey mane was stiff with years of sweat that only came from the back breaking labour of a farmer. He had been born on the property and like every day, contently thought to himself, ‘ And I’ll die on it too.’ For this was where his home was. His Family. His best friend.

It was a cool, firm evening. Driving down one of the various country roads that wind and constrict the mountains they were born from, he saw it. A box. An abandoned soul left to drift the winds. As his Ute gently slowed to a crawl, calling it a box would be giving it too much credit. A misshapen mess, numerous cereal boxes taped together in an attempt to delay the inevitable. He got out. As he approached he heard the unmistakable sound of whimpering, or was it crying? He looked inside. She looked up. She shrank into a corner and was about to wail when she stopped. She looked into the man’s blue, cold piercing stare. And saw warmth. Safety. Love. He picked her up with his gruff, leathery hands, with as much care and consideration as he could. The two souls looked at each other. One with a great deal more tragedy. The other with a great deal to come. Something weighed up in her head and she relaxed into his grip and finally was able to rest. He looked down at her. Impossibly small in his hands. Man’s best friend.

The fire crackled. Sparks flew and twirled in the air burning bright, before slowly fading away. She watched enthralled by the dancing stars moving as fast as they disappeared. She was not supposed to be this close. But the house was cold and she was intoxicated by the warmth and alluring heat the fire gave off. In a trance her nose began to creep towards the beckoning flames. She closed her eyes. A sharp yank on her midsection pulled her back and she let out a pained whimper. She opened her eyes and saw the man’ furious blue eyes stare at her. Emotions riddled his lined face. Anger. Shock. Relief. But he closed his eyes and a small smile broke through his defence showing one thing, love. He pulled into a tight embrace and whispered her words of comfort. And Man’s best friend whispered, “ I love you, Daddy.”

A grandfather clock’s chimes brought the damaged man back to the present. He slowly got up, giving the gravestone one last look, before entering his cold, empty home. Charlotte, 1992-1995, Man’s best friend.