So, I was destroying my old computer tower (long story) and obviously went through the old files, and just happened to come across this extract. It's from an old short story I wrote a good while back which must have been deleted at some point. Why exactly there was just an extract on it's own I'll never know, but it amused me to look back and read it. I even considered rewriting it for the lol's but decided that I probably won't, lol. Anyway, I figured I may as well post it for fun. It's about a relatively young man and his decision to commit suicide, and the strange (but somewhat timely) arrival of a mysterious dog. At the time I titled it simply The Dog... - - - - There was a church near the park. Could it belong there? I didn't think so, but for some reason I didn't really want to leave the dog behind, though I doubted he'd let me anyway. I stood up and set off at a brisk walk towards the church, eager to relieve myself of this burden. As we walked, however, I heard a sharp cry, full of woe and sorrow. I turned to find the source. Now, being old and defenseless is hardly a crime, but being old and defenseless in London should be. An elderly lady was howling at the sky, clutching her hands theatrically to her bosom, while a hooded figure sprinted away even as I watched, holding what appeared to be the woman's handbag. Hearing a faint whine, I glanced down to see the dog staring up at me almost accusingly with his coal-black eyes. Staring back, I muttered, 'What? It's nothing to with me.' The dog continued his visual assault. 'Stop looking at me like that!' The dog swiveled his head back to the scene. Following suit, I was in time to see the thief slip and fall, striking his head on the floor. Out cold, he lay sprawled over the pavement. While a small crowd gathered round, I saw the old lady shove her way through, bawling something about 'hoodlums' and 'shenanigans', and retrieve her bag. I turned away then, satisfied (and relieved) that there was nothing I could do to help, and continued my journey. The dog kept pace. When we finally reached the church, I felt a sudden pang of uneasiness. I wasn’t particularly religious - or at all, really - but in all the excitement (if you could call it that) I had forgotten my decision to kill myself. I swallowed, and walked up the stone steps. I wondered for a moment if dogs were allowed inside churches. The dog evidently decided they were, and he nosed the door open and walked through. Following him, I stepped over the threshold and onto holy ground. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom of the church I was assailed by the sharp cry of the priest, with a sound that can only be described as 'Gah!' The portly fellow hurried towards me, waving his arms. 'This is a house of God! You cannot bring such filthy beasts in here! Get out!' 'Actually, I've come to see if he was yours.' The priest's brows shot up. 'Certainly not,' he protested. 'This is a place of divine cleansing, not a kennel for strays!' A strange snuffling sound interrupted us. As one, the priest and I turned to eye the dog, who was busy taking in the smell of a nearby pew, apparently assessing it as a viable target. We watched with held breath. Finally, the dog appeared to reach a conclusion and decided to pass. As if nothing had happened, the priest turned and continued, 'You might try the pound?' I asked, somewhat desperately, ‘you're sure you don’t need a mascot, or something?’ the priest firmly shook his head as he propelled me to the door. Stepping outside I heard the door click shut behind me. A moment later, it opened again, and the dog was pushed through. I sighed.