By Angie D
The emaciated rabbit stared up at her, dead eyes burrowing deep into her selfish soul.
“Please, Daddy,” she’d begged after spotting the little brown fluffball in the pet shop window last summer. He’d given in on the promise that she’d be fully responsible for Bugsy. She wasn’t.
After turning 15, she spent all of her time perfecting her pout and hanging with the older town boys who gave her more than her fair share of attention.
Callously dumping the dead rabbit before her father returned, she brushed over the growing bump beneath her sundress and wondered if this would be different.
Nicely written with a hard hitting irony. Well done 🙂
Stinging!
Didn’t expect that ending. Well done.
Something tells me the answer is no…should we call Child Services now?
oooh….
Painful story. Painful life.
Whoa. Nice turn on this story!