The Golden ©

Her feet hung out of the blanket in her cold dark room

She’s not scared of the dark I’m going to assume

Not a care in the world for the lady sitting there

Oh wait no, that’s just her old dusty chair

She doesn’t seem to mind the heavy ongoing silence

Or the trees knocking at her window, pursuing violence

She just lays awake, without a care, in the dark

Won’t even move to her golden dogs bark

He faces the wall, that golden dog of hers, suspended in the shadows

She finally sits up to find her golden’s back hair is raised, and that’s when she knows

She’s certainly not alone in her cold dark room

That thing in the corner, that her golden had noticed, was not just a broom

For its back was arched too in an unsettling way

For she was terrified and opened her mouth but had nothing to say

She screamed instead as it started to run

Reaching for her gun, filled with one

Shot at the thing In fear of it killing her first

Then her eyes widened as what she saw was the worst

Her golden, bloodied, and his guts were burst