Like Always

By: Ashton

***Due to FanFiction.Net's sudden change of the rating system, I have moved this story to the R rating, where it actually belonged in the first place. It's kind of morbid.

Billy woke up that morning to the feeling of his feet being licked. He sat up and rolled his eyes. He ripped the covers off the bed and stared down at the little black dog.

Like always.

The dog started to gnaw on Billy's toes and managed to bite another one off. The dog looked at Billy with an innocent look in it's eyes and a toe in it's mouth, and vanished.

Like always.

Billy sighed and rolled his eyes. He stood up and stretched, limping to the bathroom to brush his teeth and bandage his toe. No lights were on and it was still dark outside.

Like always.

Clothes were scattered all over the drab room. In the bathroom, the mirror reflected a young man whose eyes were bloodshot and his face unshaven. His eyes were soulless and his mouth was turned into frown. He was a mindless drone with nothing.

Like always.

Billy brushed his teeth and got dresses in a plain shirt and plain jeans.

Like Always.

Billy walked into the messy kitchen. It was always messy. He'd clean the empty house until it was spotless the previous night and retire to bed. And in the morning it'd be trashed- a filthy mess with things tipped over and furniture ripped apart.

Like always.

And the little black dog would lick his feet in the morning until he woke up and manage to take off a toe or two. A never-ending cycle. Soon the dog would run out of toes and start on fingers.


Billy walked out of his house and crawled to the edge of his driveway for the newspaper.

Like always.

The tall bare sycamore trees loomed from the side yard menacingly. The dead leaves whispered around on the ground under command of the breeze. It was the kind of dreary day that made you want to dig a hole amongst the leaves and bury yourself alive and wait for the worms to eat you.

Like usual.

Billy watched the children ride their bikes down the street with soulless eyes, a blank expression on his tortured face.

Like always.

A thought entered Billy's almost autistic mind and a slight grin spread across his chapped lips.


Billy finished his last incision and pulled the limb free from it's socket. The child had died some time ago and Billy missed his screaming. The house was always so quiet.


The door to the house opened again and the little black dog watched from the sidewalk as Billy carried out a full trash bag, his clothes stained red and a casual look of indifference on his face. The sun was hidden by the clouds and the sycamore trees groaned in the winter wind.

No witnesses.

The dog vanished as Billy started to dig a hole in the middle of the front yard with a rusty shovel.

Like Always.

When the hole was dug deep enough Billy paused. Instead of dropping the bag of blood and bones into the hole, he dropped himself in and lay on the bottom.

Not always.

The dog reappeared and started scooping the pile of dirt into the hole on top of Billy without stopping until he was buried.

No protesting.

Billy tried to smile, but his mouth was full of dirt and his lips didn't move under the pressure. No air entered Billy's lungs.


Billy's last coherent thought was laughing insanely in his head as he felt his first worm crawl through his right nostril.

Like Always

Above, the dog barked once and vanished.


-Ashton 2002