“EYES BRIGHT DEAD” by ANDREW NOVAK

The small brown dog drags itself across the dirt floor, sniffing upward at the wet basement air.

“Here, Scobie,” Lee says, bending down to pour water from a plastic pitcher into a ceramic cereal bowl. “Here you go.”

The dog inches forward on his belly. He sniffs at the water, laps it up with his tongue.

Lee pats the top of the dog’s head.

“Good. Good boy.”

The room grows slightly darker. Lee turns to the small window on the uppermost part of the opposite wall. Two small faces peer in. Boys. Neighbors. Continue reading