Insomniac Nightmares

My family is packing. They’re going through the house, grabbing little things and big things and soft things and hard things and putting them in trash bags and suitcases and backpacks.

I followed Ashley from room to room, chuffing and barking at her, needing reassurance, but she didn’t even look at me. Then I tried following Bobby, even nipped at his heels a little, but he didn’t pay me any mind either. Then I chased after Sprinkles the Cat, who was very soft but very sharp and usually at least noticed when I wanted attention, but even Sprinkles ignored me.

I don’t know what’s happening. I know it smells bad, like the time Sprinkles knocked over a candle and no one noticed for a little while, or when Mom left the oven on for too long. There’s stuff dancing in the air and when it lands it leaves black smudges. Mom and Dad are covered in it, because they keep going outside with bags and boxes. Bobby has less, and Ashley less than that, because they haven’t gone out hardly at all. Mom and Dad seem to want to keep them inside.

I try to help, to herd them away from the doors, but they ignore me. Sprinkles barely blinks when I growl at them. It’s like they can’t even see me.

Finally they finish. They’ve loaded everything into the big truck, except the people. Sprinkles is in his special box and in the backseat. I bark again, because they’re forgetting someone. If they’re leaving, they can’t leave me behind, can they?

Mom and Dad pile into the truck, Ashley and Bobby going after them with wet t-shirts over their faces. I follow them outside, and it’s all bright red and black at the same time. The air is even worse outside than it was inside, and even more of that smudgy stuff is swirling around. I see other families getting into their cars and driving away, too, and one of the men with the blue clothes and strange hat and bright lights on his car is waving at them, trying to herd them I think.

Dad starts the truck, and I whine, then howl. They don’t notice. My family leaves me, driving away without even acknowledging me.

I turn away from the driveway, not sure what to do, and finally see what’s coming, why they left. There’s a wall of fire creeping up on the house, and not enough of the men in the red coats and yellow hats to stop it. Everything is going to burn down.

Including me, I guess.

I go to the little cross in the corner of the yard, the one that says “Harry, he was a good boy,” and lay my snout down on my paws. I hope my family puts my cross back up when they come back. The fire is going to ruin it.

I go to sleep. Again.