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The Brute and the Mut
The Brute and The Mut
Tai was never good at being logical. Everything came from pure instinct, because that was all that he had. While the other boys did their math, he would be punching sacks of potatoes and learned how to cut meat in the most proportionate slices. Tai was trouble maker of Hiroshima’s Military school for talented boys, and he was only there because of his uncle. After his graduation and 6 years in fighting in the war he lived a life of solitude and loneliness. And he had grown into being one of the most unreadable men alive. Tai wouldn't speak unless spoken to, he worked in a busy deli that had regulars from a time of the past, the only slight human interaction her would have that involved talking, was taking people’s orders. After his shifts he would go to the gym, go the same punching bag in the in the dark left corner of the gym, and then jab at the bag until his fists bled. As boring and depressing Tai’s life sounded, little did he know he had a follower.
A little stray mutt, no taller than a stepping stool, attentively, and curiously watching his every move. The dog was searching for something that he could only find in people that had nothing to lose. So he watched Tai day after day every time he came to work. Today the mutt was feeling extra ambitious and decided to follow him all the way home. So as soon as Tai walked to his car and drove away, he hadn't noticed that the mutt had already been waiting there for him in the back of his pickup Truck under a paint tarp. As soon as he got home he prepared a dinner for one, the same meal, boiled chicken breast with exactly five pieces of carrots and four pieces of broccoli. He sat down and ate at the desolate dinner table and contemplated the last time he had ever cared about anyone or anything in his life. The thought has been bugging him all day, so when he stepped up to his at home punching bag, he could barely lift his hand from the immense pain of the bruises and raptured knuckles from the workout earlier at the gym. He soon rushed to his room and started furiously throwing his things around in a frenzy of sadness and anger until he heard a thud on the ground. There laid a picture of a skinny little dark haired boy with glasses , with his mother’s arm wrapped around him.
They were both smiling, a gesture of the face in which Tai hadn’t genuinely done in a while. And then he remembered this picture, of him and his mother was the last actual memory of when he was truly happy. Tears flooded his face as he looked at the picture and he slowly began to weep. Thinking about how if only his mother didn’t die from cancer then his life wouldn’t have been the lonely desolate hell he lived today. In the midst of his silence, he suddenly looked up with a startled sense of embarrassment, to the sound of something scratching at his door. In one rushed and panicked move, he grabbed one of his old hunting guns and slowly crept towards the front door. Tai had a doorbell, but it’s covered in cobwebs because of no one ever ringing it . Who could it be? He thought or more What could it be? No human scratches at a door unless their on the brink of death and nearly immobile! Tai’s PTSD was getting the best of him but it all got interrupted when he opened the door. Standing there in front of Tai was a little dog, no taller than a stepping stool shaking from being drenched in the rain. For the first time Tai didn’t feel a sense of cold paranoia in front of a living thing, but instead he felt...warmth. Similar to the warmth he once felt long ago, before he became an orphan and got sent to his abusive, war-obsessed uncle. Tai took the dog in his arms and dried him off. When he looked into his big brown eyes three words slipped out of his mouth in a shaky voice: Your home now.