Axel
Gemma hadn’t gone home in a
month. It was a day before the end of the
semester. Nearly all the students were frantic about deadlines, oral
defences, exams, and the like. Gemma decided to put off taking the
long trip home until the semester was over and done with. Besides,
she’d be able to get more study and work done with her classmates and
dorm-mates at hand to help her.
“Tomorrow,” she told
herself. “I’ll be home by tomorrow night.”
But how she missed home! She
was sick of looking at the same dormitory food, sick of professors and group
leaders breathing down her neck. She missed the TV at home, her
books and video games, the laughter around the dinner table. Most of all,
she missed her dog, Axel.
For twelve years, she had always been the
one in charge of taking care of Axel. She did everything gladly –
feeding, washing, picking up his poop, chasing him down whenever he ran out
onto the street to chase some cat or other. He was Gemma’s best
friend. They were nearly inseparable. And then she got
into the big university. Her parents sent her off proudly.
Her mom told her not to worry; Axel will
be well taken care of. But of course she did worry. Axel
was an old dog, after all. So Gemma made sure to come back home every
weekend, refusing invitations to go out with her friends, passing up on weekend
getaways. But she didn’t mind missing any of those things.
The day seemed to pass quickly
enough. Soon Gemma was stepping off the bus, slinging her large
duffel bag over her shoulder. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the
bus stop to their house. Suddenly she was nervous. This
was the first time she came home so late, and she had to pass by a rather shady
street on her way to their house. It was safe enough in the daytime,
but at night... She picked up her pace.
She managed to walk down the dodgy street
without incident, without looking any one of the loiterers in the
eye. She was almost through the worst; in the distance she could
almost see the gate of their house, when someone grabbed the strap of her bag
from behind. She nearly fell over. Someone laughed.
“Just grab the bag!” said one
voice. “Let’s split!”
Without looking, Gemma kicked hard at the
person behind her. Her blind aim connected and there was a piercing
yelp as her foot hit something tender. She screamed at the top of
her voice, snatched back her bag and escaped.
She ran toward home, gasping; the sound of
her attackers’ pursuit loud in her ears. And then she saw it – Axel
running out of their gate toward her, fur bristling, fangs bared; Gemma heard
him growling furiously. The dog ran past her, straight into her
pursuers. She dropped her bag and ran faster as she heard voices
scream, feral growling, fabric tearing, feet running away. The
sounds faded as she ran faster, closer to home.
She came abreast of the gate, panting,
pounding the iron with her fists, kicking with her feet. Why was it
locked? Didn’t Axel just run out? She took a deep breath
and yelled for her parents. Soon they came through the front door
running.
“O my god, Gemma! What happened
to you?” her mom rushed to open the gate.
“Mama! Pa! Axel...
those men...” she gasped, out of breath, through her tears. “Get
Axel back, Papa! They’ll hurt him!”
“Axel? What are you talking
about? What men?” demanded Papa. “Did someone attack
you?!”
He grabbed the nearest thing to a weapon
at hand, a garden hoe, and rushed out of the gate into the dark streets.
Gemma could only collapse to the ground,
sobbing. Her mom kept asking her what happened. Soon
enough, her dad came back, bringing her duffel bag with him.
“What happened, Gemma?” he
demanded. “I found a lot of blood around where you dropped this.”
She told them everything. But
their faces didn’t show they believed her.
“Papa, didn’t you see Axel? We gotta get
him back!” Gemma cried. “He saved me.”
Her dad remained silent. He
exchanged a meaningful look with his wife.
“Gemma,” Mama said
carefully. “It couldn’t have been Axel. It must have been
some other dog. It’s dark, you didn’t see clearly.”
“No, Mama, it was Axel. I saw
him run out of our gate. We have to find him!”
“No, Gemma,” her mom
hesitated. “I’m very sorry, dear, but Axel died this
morning. We wrapped him in his favourite blanket. We were
just waiting for you to come home so we could bury him together. I’m
so sorry.”
Gemma couldn’t say
anything. She could only let her disbelieving tears fall silently down her
cheeks.
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