Toffer D. Brutechild
A Creator of Things

Writings by Toffer D. Brutechild

Blog posts (Intermittent Transmission), essays (Rice Paper Pamphlets), poetry (Vers Libre), productivity thoughts (Write Things Down), pieces published elsewhere (Thanks for Having Me), and short stories (Little Story Gallery) from Toffer D. Brutechild.

Shaped Like Rolling

Ball was red and shaped like rolling. I played with Ball by trying to keep her under my paw. She was fun, but hard to bite. Thomas knew I was enamored with her and it made him happy. He laughed and smiled.

Thomas was a good boy.

That's why it surprised me when he took her from me. He took her from me and threw her. I remember being upset and confused. I ran after her. She was rolling, but I was able to stop her. I remember thinking that if I didn't stop Ball, that she would roll forever and I'd never see her again.

I tried gripping her in my mouth again, but failed and would fail many times before I could. I pushed at her with my nose. I was playing with Ball when Thomas called for me. I rebelled. I didn't go to him until he called a second or third time. I didn't want to leave Ball. I guessed that to be a good boy I would have to, but when I stepped away from Ball, Thomas pointed and shouted her name.

I nudged her with my head trying to roll her to Thomas, and I did eventually. He called me a good boy. He called me that and scratched behind my ears how I like and rubbed my tummy like I love. He held up Ball and I gave her a lick. Thomas laughed and gave me a little tap on my nose with Ball. He threw her again, and this would go on. Him throwing Ball, me fetching Ball, and then Thomas giving me all the love I wanted.

Thomas and I would get tired, but Ball never did.

Ball is older, like me, but she's still shaped like rolling. I can't roll anymore. It hurts me to try and it hurts Thomas to see me try. We play with Ball on days that I don't hurt, but Thomas hasn't thrown Ball far in a long time.

I'm with her now and I hold her under my paw, close to my nose, so I can smell my youth on her: the smell of grass, Thomas, and Ball, herself.

It is the last thing I smell.