It’s First Line Friday over at the MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Blog. The first line of our story or poem will be “Summer died that night.”

Summer died that night.

Logically, I knew it had to happen. But when it did, it felt like a sucker punch. For a split second, I didn’t see it coming.

I’d braced myself for it —or tried to. Each day that passed was one less day we’d have together. I didn’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but each day was a little sadder than the day before.

There was a new crescent moon the night it happened.  I couldn’t see shit, but was looking  out my bedroom window anyway. Who knows why. Pretty soon, a set of dual headlights made their way up our long dirt driveway. Then I heard the screen door slam and saw Mom & Dad walk up to the truck with the dual headlights.

They spoke for a few minutes by the truck, but I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. I recognized the voice of our veterinarian though, and wondered why he was here.

As they all turned and began walking back toward the stables, it hit me: Summer.

Then, that tiny sliver of a moon slipped behind the clouds.