By BA Cullen
Luck is fast.
Today I lived my dream, but it took me years. To begin with, I hoped for nothing. I was told what to do, only preferring some orders over others. I tried not to burden myself with my own opinions. I tried not to think ahead.
Luckily— and do not underestimate this word—I was freed as my owner died. He was worried about his ticket through the pearly gates, and released me with immediate effect.
I dreamt of my own home; I ran from his. I ran onto the street. I saw it too late.
Demise is faster.
This one has a quirkiness just right for micro fiction. One wonders if the protagonist is a dog, but then thinks ‘probably not’ – but by then the similarity of the powerlessness and subjection to the whims of chance has made its mark.
Interesting story: First, the narrator suggests a positive way out, then decides to opt for The Long Sleep. The ending makes quite an impact.