There were a hundred dogs surrounding me.
It was a warm November morning, but the forecast had called for snow. It seemed like that kind of day, where the weatherman told you your day would go one way, but it turned out completely different.
The dog I was looking for wasn't here. I had been told that he would be, but he wasn't. If only he had been here, then I could have just got him and left. Now all these dogs seemed to be crying out to me "Take me home. Take me home." I couldn't look any of them in the eye, knowing that they would all still be here when I left.
"Hey, young lady," I called out to the receptionist.
"What can I help you with?" She responded cheerily.
"I was told you had my dog here. He ran away yesterday and I've been really worried about him."
"What does he look like?" She seemed to be distracted by a million different things while she said that.
"He's a small, white Maltese with a little scar above his right eye."
She looks at me like I had just told her there was a ghost behind her.
"I remember that dog. You said he just ran away yesterday? That can't be right. He's been here for the last three months. He just got adopted yesterday, by a young lady."
I saw the sincerity in her eyes. She was completely wrong. My dog had just ran away yesterday. He hadn't been at this place for three months. There was no way. She didn't look crazy, but she had to be.
"Ok, thank you. I must have been told the wrong place. Thanks for your help."
I left without another word.
The whole world seemed skewed.
How could this have happened?
I woke up in the right world yesterday, but today it's this world. It was a strange dream I had had.
A snowflake floated down from the sky, and a bitter wind blew past me. Where did I put my jacket? I didn't bring it with me, because it had been so warm when I left the house this morning.
A young lady walked past me, with a horrible look in her eye, and a beautiful dog on her leash.
She looked directly into my eyes, with seemingly a sense of great personal triumph as she said;
"Look at my dog. Do you like him? Do you wanna pet him?"
It was my dog. The dog that had run away from me last night, but that had been at the pound for the last three months. This world was crushing me with its non-continuity.
"No, thank you. I have to get home."
The streets flew under me and sped me home at a break-neck speed, as if they understood my need to escape from this crazy dream that wasn't a dream anymore.
When I opened my door, there were strangers in white lab-coats in my house.
"Who are you people? I exclaimed, exasperated.
"We've been here the last three months, helping you get adjusted to your new medication levels. Everything has been going fine, with one small exception. That dog you loved so much has been determined to no longer be an asset to your recovery, and as such, we've had to find it a new home."
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The cult had taken over my life, and were gas-lighting my every attempt to escape from their nightmare.
I walked calmly to the man who had just told me about my dog.
"Thank you," I whispered into his ear, as I gently planted a kiss on his arm.
He didn't seem to think anything about this so I walked off to the bathroom.
"Hey, I'm gonna take a long bath." I told nobody in particular, not expecting an answer.
Nobody seemed to think twice about it.
I went into the bathroom, and noticed my razors had been replaced with safety razors. They were onto me, before I was onto myself. How did they get here so fast? Or was my dog really at the pound for the last three months.
I strip and get into the warm water.
It's not as soothing as it was yesterday. Memories of my dog race through my mind, from the last week of my life, not more than three months ago. Why were they doing this to me? What are they gaining from this?!
I soak for almost an hour.
As I dry myself off and place new clothes on myself, I see a small picture on the vanity. It's me and my dog. They even put a date on it. It was dated three days ago.
They left me the evidence that they were lying, and didn't hesitate to lie to my face. They knew I was trapped, that there was nothing I could do about it.
Every day goes by like this for a year. Every day I go to the pound and ask about my dog. At first they look at me with pity, then it slowly turns to anger, and then the anger fades to indifference.
They see me as a crazy woman who can't hold on to her own dog.
Twenty years go by, and the cult takes over my life. They make me star in successful movies, and rip all the joy out of my life.
The money is completely unimportant.
My freedom died the day my dog was taken from me.
It was a warm November morning, but the forecast had called for snow. It seemed like that kind of day, where the weatherman told you your day would go one way, but it turned out completely different.
The dog I was looking for wasn't here. I had been told that he would be, but he wasn't. If only he had been here, then I could have just got him and left. Now all these dogs seemed to be crying out to me "Take me home. Take me home." I couldn't look any of them in the eye, knowing that they would all still be here when I left.
"Hey, young lady," I called out to the receptionist.
"What can I help you with?" She responded cheerily.
"I was told you had my dog here. He ran away yesterday and I've been really worried about him."
"What does he look like?" She seemed to be distracted by a million different things while she said that.
"He's a small, white Maltese with a little scar above his right eye."
She looks at me like I had just told her there was a ghost behind her.
"I remember that dog. You said he just ran away yesterday? That can't be right. He's been here for the last three months. He just got adopted yesterday, by a young lady."
I saw the sincerity in her eyes. She was completely wrong. My dog had just ran away yesterday. He hadn't been at this place for three months. There was no way. She didn't look crazy, but she had to be.
"Ok, thank you. I must have been told the wrong place. Thanks for your help."
I left without another word.
The whole world seemed skewed.
How could this have happened?
I woke up in the right world yesterday, but today it's this world. It was a strange dream I had had.
A snowflake floated down from the sky, and a bitter wind blew past me. Where did I put my jacket? I didn't bring it with me, because it had been so warm when I left the house this morning.
A young lady walked past me, with a horrible look in her eye, and a beautiful dog on her leash.
She looked directly into my eyes, with seemingly a sense of great personal triumph as she said;
"Look at my dog. Do you like him? Do you wanna pet him?"
It was my dog. The dog that had run away from me last night, but that had been at the pound for the last three months. This world was crushing me with its non-continuity.
"No, thank you. I have to get home."
The streets flew under me and sped me home at a break-neck speed, as if they understood my need to escape from this crazy dream that wasn't a dream anymore.
When I opened my door, there were strangers in white lab-coats in my house.
"Who are you people? I exclaimed, exasperated.
"We've been here the last three months, helping you get adjusted to your new medication levels. Everything has been going fine, with one small exception. That dog you loved so much has been determined to no longer be an asset to your recovery, and as such, we've had to find it a new home."
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The cult had taken over my life, and were gas-lighting my every attempt to escape from their nightmare.
I walked calmly to the man who had just told me about my dog.
"Thank you," I whispered into his ear, as I gently planted a kiss on his arm.
He didn't seem to think anything about this so I walked off to the bathroom.
"Hey, I'm gonna take a long bath." I told nobody in particular, not expecting an answer.
Nobody seemed to think twice about it.
I went into the bathroom, and noticed my razors had been replaced with safety razors. They were onto me, before I was onto myself. How did they get here so fast? Or was my dog really at the pound for the last three months.
I strip and get into the warm water.
It's not as soothing as it was yesterday. Memories of my dog race through my mind, from the last week of my life, not more than three months ago. Why were they doing this to me? What are they gaining from this?!
I soak for almost an hour.
As I dry myself off and place new clothes on myself, I see a small picture on the vanity. It's me and my dog. They even put a date on it. It was dated three days ago.
They left me the evidence that they were lying, and didn't hesitate to lie to my face. They knew I was trapped, that there was nothing I could do about it.
Every day goes by like this for a year. Every day I go to the pound and ask about my dog. At first they look at me with pity, then it slowly turns to anger, and then the anger fades to indifference.
They see me as a crazy woman who can't hold on to her own dog.
Twenty years go by, and the cult takes over my life. They make me star in successful movies, and rip all the joy out of my life.
The money is completely unimportant.
My freedom died the day my dog was taken from me.