Ollie's Death: A Short Story

941 Words2 Pages

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for my dog to be convulsing on the couch. I’d awoken to a cry that perturbed the otherwise tranquil house. Despite being groggy from waking up, I went to investigate the source of the noise. I was definitely not prepared for what I saw. Ollie was shaking spastically, his legs kicking out and his eyes rolled up into his head. Appalled, I watched as my dog continued to writhe in pain. It froze me to my spot, and I was unsure of how to react until Ollie fell off the couch and laid sickeningly still on the ground. My mom, who’d been woken up in the turmoil, walked in and saw him collapsed on the ground. Ollie was promptly rushed to the animal hospital. Episodes like that continued to occur for …show more content…

I began to ponder what would happen around the time of my death. Questions such as, “Am I actually significant, or just another wave in an endless sea of people? Are any of my actions going to have even a slight impact on the world? What is my purpose on this planet, and am I fulfilling it?” Began consuming my thoughts, and the fact that I couldn't answer any of them was disturbing. The reality that my demise could happen at any possible time and was inevitable terrified me and began to follow me in every waking moment. The fact that I had never taken the time to think about these things previously shocked me, and the suddenness of Ollie's death had made me aware of how fragile life really …show more content…

She’d become concerned with the amount of time I spent by myself in my room.
“Don't you think it's time you went out and did something, Jo? I feel like I haven't seen you in days,” my mom confessed to me one night I’d had enough energy to eat dinner.
“I'm fine, just thinking through some things. Give me a couple days and I'll be back to normal,” I responded, uneasy to be broaching the subject.
“We all have our own ways of grieving, but I'm concerned that yours isn't healthy. Do you know anyone in their right mind that sleeps for thirteen hours a day and spends their free time crying or staring at a wall like you’ve been? Neither do I,” my mom responded. I looked down at my uneaten food and mulled over whether or not to tell my mom the truth about my condition.
“It's not just about Ollie, though,” I said quietly after a long pause.“To be honest, I think there’s something wrong with me. Ever since Ollie died I haven't been able to get over how much it caught me off-guard. I keep thinking, like, why are we here? What's the point of doing anything if we’re just going to die and be forgotten? I can't function normally, everything seems

More about Ollie's Death: A Short Story

Open Document