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A Story Of A Short Story

Decent Essays

Who is my family? Where are they? Why did they leave me here? Why am I here? Does my fami- My thoughts were interrupted by my dog, Wysh. She was clambering through the contraption I had built for her to keep her a secret from the devil herself, a.k.a. Mrs. Lavigne. “Hi, Wysh,” I said to her. Her beautiful brown and white fur shimmered in the morning sunlight. She happily replied with a quiet bark.
A loud crash came from below. I looked out my cracked and grimy window, and saw a big, white van pull into the alley. An enormous, heavy-set man stepped out of the ominous van.
“Here, doggy-doggy-doggy,” the man said in a deep voice. He began prowling around the dingy alley next to my room. I slept in the attic, so I could hear and see everything that went on below. The man seemed to be searching for a dog, and I began to wonder…
“Wysh!” I whispered furiously. Apparently my dog had a run in with the pound, and now she seemed to be a fugitive.
Suddenly, Mrs. Lavigne burst out the back door of the orphanage and ran into the alley, brandishing a metal pot.
“Get off my property!” she screamed fiercely.
“Sorry ma’am,” the man replied. “I was following some mangy mutt and followed it here.”
“If there were a dog on this property, I would shoot it dead!” Mrs. Lavigne’s face was stormy, and was turning a dark shade of red. I’d seen that face before, when she got really, really mad. Apparently, she didn’t like it went people went near her orphan prison.
The man began to look panicked.

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