Emma
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Billy laid in the forest with Emma, and Emma sighed a bunch and dug her paws into the earth occasionally and nuzzled herself a little bit closer when Billy’s scratches paused. When the scratches stopped she pushed her nose at him, and Billy would scratch a little more and stop, and Emma would push a little more. And on it went.
But Billy was sorry. He didn’t know why. The root of everything, the peaceful forest, the loving dog, the blue sky setting into a perfect evening and night, the root of everything for Billy was having done something wrong. No, not having done something wrong, but simply being wrong, being something that is bad and horrible and something that should hide from the light.
“I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” He said to Emma. He said to the blue sky above the forest canopy. He said to the forest itself.