• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 11
Image by


It is a Sunday.
The memories of his youth falls slowly onto his back in the form of a pair of rough hands, with soft touch. He sighs, feeling the breath run out of his nostrils, the way a child runs out of the school gates into the summer holidays, and he watches as the biting air traces the remnants of his breath, almost as if to colour it in.

'Blue. ' The deep voice calls out.

Blue looks towards the pair of hands caressing his rump, then to the equally stunning pair of eyes, all grey and brave, which leads to the man's clenched jaw.

He neighs softly, almost as if to let the man know that he's okay.

The man's jaw, covered in dark stubble, relaxes.
He looks at Blue, and smiles so warmly that Blue suddenly remembers the feeling of the sun, even though it is 7:56 am on a crisp, cold December morning.

He then looks at the old, wrinkled, constantly concaving man standing above him with a syringe.

'Must I? ' His master's voice suddenly feels very soft, and scared, Blue thought.
'It's for the best ,' The concaving man whispered, putting a hand on his master's shoulder.

Time passed, with no one to stop it.
Blue didn't like that.
His master had not given the wrinkly man an order to use that weird long sharp looking thing on Blue. Had he?



But the more Blue thought about it, the more he could feel winter returning to his bones, he could feel it swarm over his flanks, his eyes became so tired that he could barely look at his master anymore.

Blue had his eyes closed when the syringe full of the liquid that somehow was a killer was injected into his bloodstream.

Blue could hear his master crying. Blue could hear the wind whistle as if to call him home.
Blue could hear the sound of the local church bells tolling in the middle of the city square.
Blue could hear the birds, grieving. Most of all, though, Blue could hear so clearly, the constant ticking of his master's watch.

It was a soothing sound.

Blue died at 8:56 am.

The young man buried his face in his beloved's mane and cried.

He didn't care what the old veterinarian thought.

For one morning, while saying goodbye to his friend, he'd leave his manliness at the door with his coat and pick it up on the way out.

The old vet could hear the sound of the young man's watch too.

He sighed quietly.

Then some time passed, then he chuckled, 'It has only been an hour and so much has changed. Time is precious, never waste it ', he said before grabbing his coat and walking out of the ancient, creaky barn door.

Time, the young man, thought, is not something to wear.

He stood up, wiped his tears, pulled a sheet over Blue, put on his soft coat, and walked out.