[ WP ] `` She used to be my best friend . ''

He walked, holding the bundle as he approached the grave. The man looked down into the grave he had dug. It was a sad day for a funeral, and here he was, alone. Rain fell quicker now, turning the pile of dirt nearby into mud. He did not move from the spot, shoveling heap upon heap of the now muddy mixture into the hole. He remembered when he first met her. 
 
 She was a stray, a young mutt that he had encountered on the road. It was long ago, when he first started to travel that he met her. She wagged her tail as he stood there, and he smiled. He knelt down, and she walked shyly forward, her tail wagging. They had been friends since that very moment, and she walked away from him, just once. She walked into the ditch, and he saw it. He saw her old master, flies buzzing around him as he lay in the ditch. She whined, looking up at him with those brown eyes that he had grown to know so well. The disease had taken many. But it had not taken her. That was an oddity, but then again, so was their meeting. He kept walking, and he heard the familiar patter of her paws on the ground behind him. He smiled, for the first time in a long time. 
 
 They had many adventures together, wandering through the decrepit cities.. Meeting people. Hell, he even remembered when she had puppies, and he paused his long session of wandering just to stay there with her. He had played with her puppies, and watched them be parted out in that community. He thought he had finally found love, in that small community, with his little companion. 
 
 He felt his anger boil over inside, shaking as he patted the grave with his hands. He stood, knowing that he would take his revenge. Those idiots had gone too far, and it was n't just his dog anymore. They had taken his friends, his new family. He was just sitting there when they rolled up in their gasoline guzzling vehicles, and they started in on his little community, as they always did. He was walking now, lost in his thoughts as he did. 
 
 It had all happened when they stopped in front of his worn home, and he looked out the window, watching them carefully. Their old motorcycles guzzled more gas than he could imagine. His daughter sat in the garden in front of the home, nearly 14. She was tending to the garden, and they looked to his dog. She wagged her tail, barking at them, and they began to talk to her. He knew what they wanted. They wanted the dog. The argument grew heated outside, and he walked quickly to the drawer. Gunshots rang out, and he ran outside. He awoke, bruised and beaten, but otherwise unharmed. All of them lied, his daughter choking in a pool of her own blood. He clamped a hand onto the wound, the bullet had gone through her neck. She was trying to speak, but as she choked her last breath away on a clot of blood, the only sound that came out was a scream. 
 
 He lifted it out of the drawer, feeling it. He tested the stock, wondering if it was the right choice. He loaded it. When was his birthday again? 1983? He was old, nearly sixty now. But, he finally thought he found happiness in a world stricken with violence, disease, and greed. 
 
 He walked, his feet nearly bleeding in their thick wool socks. He had walked for miles, and finally reached the old factory. The weapon weighed steadily in his hand, and he stormed towards the door. He did not care if he was shot. Gunshots rang out. Ten minutes later, enough to end a life, he came out. He smiled, thinking of the graves he had dug at home. He would never live to see his daughter marry a young man. But as he held his side, the wound bleeding. 
 
 The disease had taken all that he had at one point. He was walking, his side wrapped up. He had not ate or drank for several days, and his scraggly beard covered his entire face. He passed a puddle, kneeling to drink from it, and he saw a reflection of himself. He reminded himself of one of the diseased dogs that he used to see, the ones that starved as the disease ate them from the inside. He understood their pain now. It was n't the disease itself that consumed him. He was completely immune to it, or so he had thought.He heard a growling noise, looking up to spot a dog, not unlike his old mutt. `` She used to be my best friend, you know.'' He said deliriously. The mutt barked, and raced towards him. Gunfire rang out. 
 
 He kept walking.
