Ad Nauseam - By C. W. LaSart Page 0,25

saw a ceramic lawn ornament shattered on the grass. He’d landed on the thing, pieces of white glass protruded from the side of his chest, and he marveled at how little alarm he really felt, considering he didn’t know how deep they went or if he had punctured a lung. Something moving on his right caught his attention and he gaped at what lay next to him on the lawn.

“You tough little shit!” William said with wonder and more than a small measure of respect as he watched the squirrel struggle to get upright. The thing was nearly hairless, its skin scorched and blistered. Apparently blinded by the fire, his beady black eyes were now a milky color. Alternating between squawks and mewls, it still appeared as though it were trying to come at him. Dragging limp back legs and a charred tail, it slowly and what had to have been painfully made its way across the grass, teeth bared. Devon backed up and growled.

“It’s okay, boy.” William said, grabbing the bloody rock that had left a dent in his skull. It was heavy and sharp in his hand as he lifted it over his head to smash the squirrel, but he froze in position. His head thumped and swam, his thoughts a jumble of confusion surrounded by a red mist of agony. He couldn’t do it. He knew it would even be a kindness at this point, to put the creature out of its obvious misery, but he found himself admiring its spirit. Crippled and dying it still came, dedicated to its cause.

William dropped the rock as bitter tears ran down his face. He thought about how he must appear from the outside. Thought about what he was on the inside.

I’m useless and old. And I’m losing my mind. I can’t even vanquish a squirrel. I’m just an old man with an old dog, weeping in my yard. William wished more than anything that he had died in the fall. He was an embarrassment to his family. A burden on his children and wife.

Guilt gave way to anger in a flash. It was Kristi who had caused all of this, Kristi who forced him to hurt the squirrel.

It’s her constant nagging that’s driven me crazy. The stress of putting up with her harping all those years had caused a nervous breakdown of some sort. I’m not demented, just plain fed-up! She has even turned my son against me. William thought about the way Max had spoken to him. His harsh, accusatory tone. He thought about his job. Never gone a single day due to illness, and they pushed him out the second something started to go wrong with his mind. But not Kristi, her mind was just fine.

Something tugged at the hem of his robe and he looked down, watching as the squirrel bit the terry cloth.

The stubborn little bastard made it. He felt an overwhelming sympathy for the beast roll through his chest, constricting his lungs so he couldn’t draw a breath. The anger flared anew, almost crippling in its intensity. In that moment he knew what he should do. His head was fuzzy again and he was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight as memories and emotions warred with darker images he didn’t want to see. He knew what he could do to make it all better for him and the squirrel.

Rising to a painful crouch, William cupped his hands around the squirrel, wincing only slightly when the rodent sunk its large, yellow teeth into the pad of flesh at the base of the thumb. He cradled it to his body and slowly climbed the porch steps, each step making his head and ribs sing out a duet of agony. At the back door he stopped and turned towards Devon.

“You coming, old dog?”

The hound looked at his owner, then at the half-dead creature still cradled in his hands. He whined and sat down.

“Suit yourself. I’m going in.”

Devon whined again in indecision, then bolted up the steps and slunk through the door before it closed.

***

“Oh Damnit, William.” Kristi walked across the lawn to where the ladder still leaned against the back of the house for the second day in a row. “I guess I will have to put it away myself. And what’s this?”

The shattered remains of her favorite lawn ornament lay in the grass and she felt her irritation ramp up another notch, until she noticed the pool of sticky blood. A crimson- smeared rock lay close