My pet pygmy dragon, Spot, died yesterday, and I’m still heartbroken. My mother suggested that I buy myself a new monster, but nothing can replace Spot. He was one of a kind.
“You can’t stare in the memory dish forever, honey,” my mother said softly. I still jumped at her voice. “And you need some sleep.” I stifled a yawn, blinked back a few tears and continued to watch my pet pygmy dragon romp from one side of the dish to the other. I could almost hear Spot snort in glorious pandemonium. His little roar and fiery breath snuffed out too soon. It was just yesterday that we were…
“Friley, do you hear me, sweetie? Spot’s image won’t vanish – you’ll always have your dish – but the pain will vanish…with time. But first you have let him go.” I shook my head. “I know!” My mom’s voice brightened. “How ’bout your father and I buy you a pygmy troll next week? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I shook my head again. “A pygmy manticore? A garden gnome? What about a Chihuahua?”
No! No, no, no! You don’t understand. You’ll never understand. And with that I threw the memory dish against my bedroom wall where it shattered into an irreparable mess.