Breathing Grave
Ashish Punyani | 4 Min reads | September 02, 2017

I was hoeing continuously on that cold night. Every breath was painful but I can't stop now. Winter was at its peak. My face was stone cold and my hands were numb. But I was able to continue somehow as little amount of heat was generated in my body because of the hoeing. 

He was lying there, forcefully bound in that sack. I gave him a sleeping pill without his consent. So it was easy to put him in. I took the sharpest knife from the kitchen. I was scared but I had to do this. 

I looked around me to see if anyone was watching. After digging two foot, I stopped. I noticed a slight movement in the sack and realized that I didn't sedate him properly. 

I quickly reached for the knife. I'll be caught if he wakes up and starts making noises.

I sat near the sack; I could see where his neck was. I knew how to put that knife in his neck and silence him forever.

I was about to pierce it but tears blurred my vision. My hands started shaking, I was helpless. I sat on my knees with tears coursing down my cheeks.

His name is Bujo. My dad brought him last year for my eleventh birthday. He was more than a pet. He was family to us. I had this connection with him. We used to play together. We ate together, slept on the same bed. He was everything to me. He was the one who saved me from the street dogs and every other trouble.

But one day while we were playing on the street, he was hit by a car. He lost his one leg. After that incident everyone used to look at him with pity. He couldn't jump like before. He was no longer vivacious. Kids used to laugh at him. He was in so much pain. He suddenly became the most pitiable creature.

I just wanted to end his pain. I couldn't see him like that. So I recalled everything and gathered some strength & courage. I put the knife through his neck and rotated it. I couldn't control my tears when I saw his blood spreading through the sack. I threw him in that grave I prepared for him and started shoveling soil back into it. My body was numb; I couldn't feel the cold air anymore. I took the knife and went back home. 

I couldn't sleep for days after that. Everyone was wondering where Bujo went but I didn't tell anyone. I just sat in my room and cried. I still don't know what I did was right or wrong but it was the toughest choice I ever made.

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