Black Dog - Excerpt I

“Abel, grab your mother some medicine. You know, the pink pills?” His mother calls from the kitchen. Abel nods obediently, treading over the wooden planks and following the white paint into the sparkling bathroom. He could smell the bleach evaporating from the room’s pores and it was mixed with the acidity that came from the freshly painted walls. The room was filled with the sense of nervousness and uncertainty, as if it disliked the taste of the newness that surrounded its insides.

Abel opened the medicine cabinet. He scanned over the yellow bottles with white caps and read through the gibberish and randomly placed letters to find one specific pattern. In bold, roman letters, LITHIUM could be read. Abel opened it, making sure the pink pills were indeed pink. Pink they were, so he closed the bottle and clutched it tightly in his hand. He walked over the wooden planks and followed the white paint back to his mother. He could practically feel her tremors from where he was, and hurried to her side.

He approached the kitchen with a silent anxiety welling in his stomach. Poking his head through the door, Abel saw his mother curled on the floor; her entire body shaking. The boy could feel the perspiration falling from his brow as a new sense of fear replaced his anxiety. However, knowing his duty far too well, he shed his cowardly skin and placed a courageous facade.