“What the hell are we going to do? Huh? What?” Kurt Simonson vented in a near whisper.
Alice Simonson-Carroll, his wife of twelve years, was visibly nervous and unusually silent.
Kurt tightened his fist and shook it. “We can’t live like this anymore. We are not slaves.”
Alice took his hand and held it on her lap. She was raised that this was the universal sign for empathy.
Kurt tried to smile, but wept instead. “Some things are worth dying for, and I know, in my heart, I should have died days ago with some dignity.” He stood dramatically snatching his hand from Alice.
He raised the very same hand above his head as if he were holding a goblet. With stern gaze looking everywhere at once:
“There once was a time when my ignorance of fear made me fearless.
As I breathed, I learned what fear really meant. To be beerless!
It was an empty refrigerator, nearly shitting myself, Sylvester Stallone.
It was everything larger than me, especially the unknown.
It is time to face my enemy and a-n-n-i-h-i-l-a-t-e…”
Playtime was over. When Kurt started to spell words out, it meant the dreaded Sluggo was back. He was the top dog of the house, a decorated army Doberman Pinscher, who understood English, but could not spell for shit. Sluggo snarled showing his sharp teeth, “You better not be insulting me.”
Kurt gulped hard, cursing himself for lacking the courage to defend his freedom. You could tell by the expression on Alice’s face that she was greatly ashamed of her acquaintance with this pathetic weakling.