"***The Bravest Little Puggle: A Prospect Park Adventure***"🐾
--- **Chapter One: The Morning of Promises** The sun peeked through my bedroom window like a golden ball of yarn waiting to be batted across the floor. I stretched my short velvety legs and yawned so wide I could have swallowed the whole morning. Today was the day! Lenny Dad had promised—crossed his heart and hoped to eat broccoli if he was lying—that we would visit Prospect Park Lake. I wagged my tail so hard against my dog bed that it scooted halfway across the room. "Pete! Are you up, little adventurer?" Mariya Mom's voice floated upstairs like warm honey on toast. I barked once, twice, three times—my special code for "more excited than a squirrel at a nut convention!"—and scrambled down the hallway. Roman Older Brother was already at the top of the stairs, his hair sticking up like a dandelion gone to seed. "Ready for the lake, Pete?" Roman knelt down, and I licked his nose with my morning-breath tongue. He laughed, that deep belly laugh that made me feel like the funniest puppy in Brooklyn. Lenny Dad emerged from the kitchen wearing his ridiculous flamingo-print shorts. "The lake awaits! But first—" he presented a bowl with a flourish, "breakfast of champions!" The kibble smelled like yesterday's dreams, but I ate with gusto anyway. My stomach fluttered with butterflies wearing water wings. I'd heard about water my whole puppy life—how it could tickle your paws, how fish lived beneath its glassy surface like secrets waiting to be discovered. But I'd also heard how it could swallow you whole, how the cold could steal your breath, how the darkness below could hide anything. My ears flopped forward at the thought. Mariya Mom noticed everything. She sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, her long fingers tracing soft circles behind my ears. "Pete, do you know what water really is?" Her eyes held that magical quality, like she could see through walls into other worlds. I tilted my head, my internal monologue churning: *Water is scary. Water is unknown. Water is...* "Water is just sky that forgot how to fly," she whispered. "It wants to hold you up, not pull you down." Her words settled in my chest like warm pebbles. *Maybe*, I thought, *maybe water is more friend than foe.* The car ride felt like a spaceship launch. Roman held my paw as Brooklyn blurred past—brownstones like layered cakes, trees waving goodbye, the world getting greener and wilder. I pressed my nose against the window, watching the city transform into something that breathed differently. "Nervous, buddy?" Roman asked, his thumb rubbing the soft fur between my toes. I wanted to say *terrified, actually*, but I barked instead—brave and bright, a trumpet of false courage. Prospect Park opened before us like a storybook. The lake glittered in the distance, a blue eye winking beneath the sun. Families spread like scattered petals across the grass. And there, near the boathouse, I saw her. She was statuesque, mahogany and majesty, her jowls carrying the wisdom of ancient Rome. An Italian Mastiff, her posture declared *I am art, and the world is my gallery*. Our eyes met across the crowded field, and something electric hummed through my white velvet chest. "That's Luna," Roman followed my gaze, smirking. "Maybe she'll be your lake buddy." *Buddy*, I thought, my heart doing somersaults. *I'd settle for anything with her.* --- **Chapter Two: Meeting Luna and the First Touch of Fear** Luna approached like a ship in full sail, her owner a small woman who seemed to exist in her magnificent shadow. Up close, she smelled of clean linen and something wild—cedar trees after rain. "Well, well," her voice resonated like a cello's lowest string, "a puggle with makeup." She meant the playful streaks near my eyes, the ones Mariya Mom said made me look like a tiny rock star. I straightened my spine, though it made me no taller. "Pete the Puggle," I announced, trying to lower my voice to match her gravitas. It came out more squeaky toy than symphony. Luna's laugh was gentle thunder. "Come, Pete. The water calls." My paws froze to the grass. *The water. It was happening.* Lenny Dad had already spread our blanket near the shore, Mariya Mom unpacking sandwiches that smelled of adventure. Roman was pulling off his sneakers, rolling his pant legs with the concentration of a surgeon. "Pete!" he called. "Let's feel the water!" Every step toward that shimmering edge felt like walking toward a dragon's lair. The lake breathed—in, out, in, out—tiny waves lapping with what sounded like whispers. *Come closer, come closer.* The sunlight danced upon its surface like a thousand diamonds, dazzling and deceptive. Luna waded in without hesitation, her bulk making her own private waves. "The temperature is perfect," she declared. "Like being wrapped in silk that moves." I reached the water's edge. The first touch against my paw sent lightning through my veins—*cold, alive, terrifying*. I yanked back so fast I tumbled into a backward somersault. Humiliation burned my velvety ears. Roman was there, his hands scooping me up like I weighed nothing. "Whoa there, astronaut. We haven't even launched yet." "Pete," Luna's voice carried across the shallows, "the water holds no malice. It simply exists. Your fear gives it power." *Easy for her to say*, I thought, watching droplets cascade from her noble jowls like liquid pearls. *She's built like a fortress. I'm built like a stuffed animal that got partially vacuumed.* But her eyes—amber and ancient—held no mockery. Only invitation. "Let's just... sit," Roman suggested, settling us at the edge where waves could tickle but not threaten. "Feel it without fighting it." The water pulsed against my paws, neither warm nor cold now, but *present*. I watched a leaf drift past, riding the surface like a tiny boat. *If a leaf can trust the water*, I pondered, *maybe trust isn't so impossible.* Mariya Mom appeared with treats—glorious, stinky, irresistible treats—and suddenly the water seemed less important than the cheese between her fingers. I took one step forward, then another. The lake cradled my paws. I did not drown. I did not disappear. "See?" Luna had returned to shore, shaking water from her coat in a mahogany explosion. "The water asks only that you meet it with respect, not terror." I wanted to impress her so badly my chest ached. But when Roman waded deeper, actually *swimming*, my courage leaked out like air from a punctured ball. The drop-off—the place where the bottom disappeared—seemed to pulse with invisible threat. *Not today*, I told myself. *But maybe... maybe someday.* --- **Chapter Three: The Great Separation** Afternoon unfolded like a favorite blanket—warm, familiar, safe. We picnicked. Lenny Dad told jokes so terrible that squirrels stopped mid-burrow to stare. Mariya Mom pointed out cloud shapes: a rabbit, a ship, a castle with my face on it. Luna and I explored the shoreline, her massive presence making me feel both tiny and strangely protected. We discovered a family of ducks who spoke in rapid, gossiping quacks. A turtle sunned himself on a rock like a wise old king. The world felt painted in watercolor, soft and saturated with joy. "You're different from other puggles I've known," Luna observed, her shadow falling across mine like a velvet umbrella. "Different how?" My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Most small dogs bark at the world to make it smaller. You..." she paused, her amber eyes meeting mine, "you watch. You wonder. There's courage in that." *Courage*, I thought. *She sees courage in me. Maybe I should look for it too.* Roman's voice cut through my reverie—strained, unfamiliar. "Pete? Pete, where are you?" I turned. The blanket was distant, mere dots of color against the green. We'd wandered farther than I knew, following duck trails and Luna's elegant pace. "Over here!" I barked, but a sudden wind snatched my voice. Luna's body went rigid. "Pete," she whispered, "do you smell that?" I did. Rain, coming fast. The sky curdled from blue to bruise-purple in moments. Families scrambled, packing, fleeing. Thunder cracked like a giant's whip, and the first fat drops splattered my fur like cold accusations. "ROMAN!" I howled, but the wind ate my words. The rain became walls, gray and impenetrable. Luna pressed against me, her warmth a small island in the storm. "Stay close," she commanded. "We must find shelter." We ran—not toward the lake, but away, into trees that dripped and swayed. Every direction looked the same. Every tree mocked with its twin across the path. The storm transformed familiar shapes into looming threats, and the daylight, already feeble, began to die. *The dark*, I realized, my breath coming short. *The dark is coming.* I'd never spoken of my fear of darkness, how it pressed against my chest like a heavy paw, how it made every sound a monster's approach. Now darkness came not gradually, but suddenly, the storm's clouds swallowing the sun like a greedy beast. "Luna," I whimpered, my brave facade crumbling like wet paper, "I can't—I don't—" She stopped, turning her massive head to face me. Rain streamed down her noble features, but her eyes held steady as lighthouse beams. "Pete," she said, and her voice was my anchor, "the dark is not your enemy. It is merely the world holding its breath. But breath always returns." *But what if it doesn't?* my heart screamed. *What if it's lost forever?* Thunder shattered directly overhead, and I bolted. I don't know where I ran—only that the darkness pursued, that every tree reached for me, that the ground itself seemed to tilt toward some hungry mouth. I ran until my paws screamed, until my lungs burned, until I collapsed in a clearing where rain lashed down like needles. Alone. I was alone in the dark, separated from everyone who had ever loved me. The darkness pressed against my eyes, my ears, my very breath. *This is how it ends*, I thought, curling into my smallest self. *Alone and afraid and forgotten.* --- **Chapter Four: Voices in the Dark** Time became liquid in the darkness—stretching, pooling, refusing to solidify. I don't know how long I trembled there, wet and wretched, before the first sound reached me. "Pete! PETE!" Roman's voice, raw and ragged, cut through the rain's static. I lifted my head, afraid to believe. "Pete, answer me, buddy! Please!" I tried to bark, but fear had stolen my voice, replaced it with a hollow where courage should live. *What if it's not really him?* my terrified mind whispered. *What if the dark plays tricks?* But then another voice—Luna's, sonorous and sure: "This way! I scent him!" And a third, Lenny Dad's, usually so full of laughter, now cracked with desperate worry: "Pete, we're here, we're here!" The dark had seemed absolute, impenetrable. Yet here came voices like threads of gold, weaving through the black tapestry. I found my feet, trembling, and took one step toward the sound. "Pete?" Closer now. "Pete, make a sound if you can hear me!" This time, my bark emerged—small, broken, but *real*. The underbrush exploded with movement, and then—*then*—Roman's arms encircled me, lifting me against his thundering heart. "I found you," he sobbed into my wet fur. "I found you, I found you, I found you." Lenny Dad's hands joined his, Mariya Mom's familiar scent wrapping us all. Luna stood sentinel, her bulk blocking the worst of the rain, her eyes finding mine across the human tangle. *You see?* her gaze said. *The dark did not consume you. The separation did not last. You were never truly alone.* But as they carried me back toward lights, toward warmth, toward safety, I couldn't fully release the terror. It lived still in my shaking limbs, my refusal to be set down, my desperate clinging to Roman's soaked shirt. The boathouse sheltered other storm-fleeing families, a temporary ark of wet dogs and worried humans. Someone produced towels—rough, smelling of mildew, but *dry*. Mariya Mom worked my fur with gentle fingers, her own tears mixing with rain on her cheeks. "I was so frightened," she whispered, and I heard in her voice the echo of my own fear. "The world without you, Pete... I can't finish that sentence." "None of us can," Lenny Dad added, his attempt at lightness falling flat, his eyes too bright. "You're the protagonist, buddy. Can't have a story without you." Roman said nothing, only held me closer, his chin resting atop my head. I felt his heartbeat slow from gallop to canter, finally to something like peace. But when lightning flashed, illuminating the boathouse in brief, electric blue, I flinched hard enough to hurt my own neck. The dark outside pressed against the windows. The water we'd played in earlier now raged, transformed from friend to something wild and hungry. "You're safe," Roman whispered, again and again, like a spell against the night. "You're safe, you're safe, you're safe." I wanted to believe him. I wanted to be the brave puggle Luna saw, the one Mariya Mom's eyes declared me to be. But the fear had rooted deep, and I didn't yet know how to dig it out. --- **Chapter Five: The Return to Water** Morning broke like an apology—soft, golden, tentative. The storm had scrubbed the world clean, leaving everything smelling of green growth and fresh possibility. Our blanket had survived, soggy but present, and Lenny Dad spread it again with the determination of a man refusing to let weather defeat joy. I remained curled in Roman's lap, my eyes tracking every movement. The lake, calm now, seemed to mock yesterday's terror with its placid surface. But I remembered what hid beneath that glassy face. "Pete," Mariya Mom sat before me, her face at my level, "would you like to try again?" My ears flattened. *Try again? Try what? Drowning? Disappearing? Being swallowed by dark water and darker fear?* But Roman stood, lifting me with him. "Not the deep," he promised. "Just... the edge. Where your feet can touch. Where you can choose to stop." Luna appeared, her morning coat gleaming like polished wood. She didn't speak, only walked to the water's edge and stood there, her reflection completing her like a mirror held by invisible hands. "She's waiting for you," Roman noted. "They say Italian Mastiffs can trace their lineage to Roman war dogs. Fierce, loyal, brave." *And I'm a puggle*, I thought. *A designer mutt with anxiety and eye makeup.* But my paws moved. One step, then another. The grass gave way to sand, sand to wet sand, wet sand to—*water*. That same tickling touch, neither warm nor cold, simply *present*. I stopped where the bottom still cradled my feet. The drop-off yawned before me, invisible but known. My breath came short. "Remember," Luna's voice drifted to me, "the water asks only respect. You have given it that. Now give it trust." Roman waded in beside me, his familiar form a bulwark against panic. "I'll be here," he said. "Every step. And when you're ready to stop, we stop." We walked. The bottom shelved gradually, my paws finding purchase in sand and small stones. Deeper, the water cradled my belly—cool, supportive, *holding me up*. The fear didn't disappear. It sat in my chest like a second heartbeat, fast and fluttering. But alongside it grew something else: wonder. I could see my paws, pale beneath the surface, moving with purpose. Small fish darted past, their scales catching light like scattered coins. The world under the surface was not the void I'd imagined, but a place of softness and slow grace. "You're doing it," Roman's voice came from somewhere above, warm as summer stone. I swam. Clumsy, splashy, far from elegant—but *swimming*. The water held me. The water *held* me. The realization struck like a bell: I had feared the water would swallow me, but instead, it learned my shape and supported it. *I am not drowning*, I realized. *I am floating. I am free.* A shadow joined mine—Luna, swimming with effortless power, circling us like a mahogany moon. "See?" Her voice held gentle triumph. "You carried the courage within you. The water merely gave it space to stretch." We swam until my legs trembled, until Roman's fingers wrinkled like old maps. The shore welcomed us back, and I collapsed onto the blanket, sun-warmed and spent and *alive* in a way I hadn't known possible. Mariya Mom produced treats—miraculous, wonderful, *deserved* treats—and Lenny Dad's laugh finally held its true music again. But the day held one more test, one I didn't yet know was coming. --- **Chapter Six: The Second Darkness** Evening approached on cat feet, soft and sudden. We'd lingered at the lake, my new confidence making every moment precious, every minute stolen from time's greedy hands. Luna's owner had joined our expanded circle, sharing stories of her dog's puppyhood fears—the thunder, the strangers, the vacuum cleaner that "clearly harbored demonic intentions." I preened under Luna's occasional glances, my heart doing that acrobatic thing whenever our eyes met. *Does she see me differently now?* I wondered. *Brave enough for her?* But as the sun began its descent, painting the lake in molten gold and bloody rose, a new plan emerged. "There's a fireworks display tonight," Mariya Mom announced, consulting her phone. "Over by the Long Meadow. We could—" "Stay for it?" Roman finished, when she trailed off. "Mom, after yesterday..." Her face shifted, that familiar determination smoothing worry lines. "After yesterday," she echoed, "we deserve beauty. We deserve celebration. Don't we, Pete?" I wanted to agree. I wanted to be the brave puggle who swam, who survived the storm, who faced darkness and emerged. But the word *fireworks* sat in my stomach like a cold stone. They meant darkness. They meant loud, unpredictable, *frightening* darkness. *I can't*, I thought. *Not again. Not so soon.* But Luna stood, stretching her magnificent frame. "I will walk with you," she declared. "And should the darkness return, we will face it together." *Together*. The word wrapped around my fear like a gentle muzzle, softening its bite. We walked to the meadow as twilight deepened, the sky a gradient of blue to purple to something approaching black. Families gathered, spreading blankets like colorful islands in a sea of grass. The first star appeared, then another, until the sky wore diamonds like scattered treasure. Roman held me close, his fingers finding the spot behind my ears that turned me to liquid. "We can leave anytime," he whispered. "No shame, buddy. None." But shame wasn't the issue. The issue was wanting to be whole, to be brave, to not let fear write the ending of every story. The first firework exploded—red, blooming like a flower made of light and sound. I flinched hard, burrowing into Roman's chest. Another followed, blue this time, then gold, then a cascade of silver that lit the entire sky. *The dark is still here*, I realized, cracking one eye. *But it's not the same. It's... decorated. Celebrated. Shared.* Luna sat like a statue beside her owner, her ears occasionally flicking at the loudest booms, but her gaze steady on the sky. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Humanity's attempt to capture stars and bring them closer." Another firework, closer, louder. I felt my bladder threaten, my body wanting to flee. But I forced my eyes open, forced myself to *see*—not the darkness between the lights, but the lights themselves. Green like spring's first leaf. Purple like Mariya Mom's favorite scarf. Red like the love that bound our strange family together. "Pete," Roman's voice anchored me, "breathe with me. In... out..." We breathed. The fireworks continued their symphony of light and thunder. And somewhere between the fourth and fifth explosion, I realized I was watching not through fear's narrow tunnel, but with open, wondering eyes. The grand finale painted everything in simultaneous color, a moment of impossible brightness that made the dark retreat entirely. And when it ended, when the smoke drifted and the sky returned to its star-pocked black, I found I could still breathe. Still see. Still *be*. "Well," Lenny Dad's voice emerged thick with emotion, "that was... something." "Something wonderful," Mariya Mom corrected, but her eyes found me, checking. I stood on Roman's lap, my small body silhouetted against the dying smoke, and barked—once, clear, *proud*. Luna's tail thumped once against the grass. "There he is," she said softly. "The puggle I suspected all along." --- **Chapter Seven: The Deepest Water, The Bravest Heart** Our final morning dawned with mist, the lake wearing gray veils like a shy bride. Today we would leave, return to brownstones and routines, but something remained unfinished. I stood at the water's edge alone—well, as alone as a family dog every truly is. Roman snored faintly behind me; Mariya Mom and Lenny Dad shared coffee and whispered conversation. Luna approached, her footsteps silent on dew-wet grass. "The deep water still calls your name," she observed, following my gaze to where the bottom dropped away, where no puggle's paws could touch. I didn't answer. She was right. I'd swum in the shallows, celebrated my courage, but the deep remained—mysterious, absolute, *waiting*. "Yesterday," Luna continued, "you learned the water holds you. Today..." she paused, her amber eyes catching the misty light, "today perhaps you learn that you hold yourself. In deep water or shallow, in darkness or light, *you* are the constant." Roman stirred, waking, his eyes finding me immediately—that instant connection we'd shared since puppyhood. "Thinking about swimming?" he asked, voice rough with sleep. I was. I was thinking about how fear had defined my edges, how every boundary had been drawn by *I can't* and *what if* and *not me*. I was thinking about Luna's faith, about Roman's arms in the storm, about Mariya Mom's sky-that-forgot-to-fly and Lenny Dad's terrible jokes that nonetheless made the world kinder. I walked into the water. Past the shallows, past where my feet still found purchase. The bottom shelved away, and I—*I*—kept swimming. The deep water cradled me, and I did not sink. The mist turned my family to soft shapes on shore, and I did not panic. I swam in small circles, my strokes stronger than I knew, my breathing steady as a metronome. "Pete!" Roman's voice, proud and worried and *loving*. "That's far enough, buddy!" But I wanted one more moment. One more proof. I ducked my head—just for a second—and saw beneath the surface: green-gold light, the hull of a distant boat, the ghost-trails of fish. Not terrifying. Just... *other*. A world that existed alongside mine, neither more nor less. I surfaced to find Luna had joined me, her massive form creating a gentle current that buoyed me further. "Well done," she said, and in her formal tone I heard genuine warmth. "You have faced the water, the dark, the separation. What remains?" I thought hard, treading water, my small legs working tirelessly. What remained? The fear would return, I knew. In different forms, wearing different masks. But now I knew something crucial: fear was not the enemy. Avoidance was. The stories we tell ourselves about what we *cannot* do—these are the true monsters. "I think," I said, surprising myself with my own wisdom, "I think what remains is to keep swimming. Even when scared. Especially when scared." Luna's version of a smile involved a slight tongue loll and softened eyes. "Then swim, little puggle. Swim back to those who love you. And know that you swim into my regard as well." My heart—already full, already breaking at our parting—swelled with something too big for my small chest. *A crush*, I realized. *That's what this is. And it's okay. It's wonderful, actually.* We swam back together, her bulk protecting my smallness, until my feet found bottom and my legs could walk and my family could wrap me in towels and tears and triumph. --- **Chapter Eight: Reunion and the Stories We Keep** The car ride home felt different. Same seats, same blurry Brooklyn, same Roman holding my paw. But I was different. The world was different—seen through braver eyes, felt with a fuller heart. "I want to hear everything," Mariya Mom announced, turning in her seat to face us. "Every thought, every feeling. Pete's adventure wasn't just his—it belongs to all of us now." Lenny Dad cleared his throat in that way he did before serious speeches, his usual joking manner set aside like a favorite costume. "For me," he began, "the hardest part was the not-knowing. When Pete was lost, when the storm hid everything..." His voice cracked, that magnificent fissure through which love pours. "I realized how much of my own happiness depends on his. On all of you. That's terrifying and beautiful, both." Mariya Mom reached back, finding his hand on the wheel. "I kept thinking about the stories I'd told Pete. About water being sky that forgot to fly." She laughed, watery but genuine. "In the storm, I felt like *I* was the sky that forgot. But finding him, seeing him emerge from that darkness—it reminded me that stories have power. The ones we tell others, and the ones we tell ourselves." Roman's thumb traced circles on my paw. "I felt helpless," he admitted, voice low. "Running through that rain, not knowing... I thought, what if I'm not enough? What if I can't find him, can't protect him?" He looked down at me, his eyes the exact shade of the deep water I'd conquered. "But you found yourself, didn't you, buddy? I helped, but you did the brave part." I wanted to tell them everything. How the dark had felt like a mouth that might swallow me whole. How Luna's voice had been a lighthouse I couldn't see but could follow. How swimming in the deep water had transformed not just my fear, but my understanding of fear itself—not something to defeat, but something to dance with, to carry alongside courage like two halves of the same whole. But I'm a dog, and my barks can only hold so much human meaning. So I did what I could: I licked Roman's chin, then leaned forward to nose Mariya Mom's reaching hand, then stood on Lenny Dad's lap to press my forehead against his cheek. *I love you*, my body said. *I was scared, and I love you, and the love was bigger than the fear.* "There's something else," Roman said slowly, and I heard in his tone that he was addressing something we'd all been circling. "Pete and Luna..." My ears burned. *Did he know? Could he tell?* "Pete had his first crush," Mariya Mom said gently, and I buried my face in Roman's sleeve. "And I think that's beautiful. Love in all its forms teaches us courage too." "To be vulnerable," Lenny Dad added, "is to be brave. That's a lesson I learn over and over, never quite mastering." We pulled up to our brownstone, familiar and beloved, but I saw it differently now. Not just home, but the starting point of future adventures. The place where stories were stored like seeds, waiting for the right conditions to grow. That evening, as twilight painted the walls in lavender and gold, we gathered on the couch—our traditional constellation, human and puggle intertwined. Roman opened his phone, scrolling to photos from the trip: me at the water's edge, terrified and trembling; me in Luna's shadow, looking up with obvious adoration; me swimming, actually *swimming*, my small head above the water like a brave little buoy. "I'll print these," Mariya Mom decided. "We'll make a book. *Pete's Great Adventure*." "Volume one," Lenny Dad added, and I heard in his voice the promise of more—more trips, more challenges, more chances to be afraid and brave and *alive* anyway. Roman lifted me to face him, his expression serious as I'd ever seen. "Pete," he said, and my full attention focused like a laser, "you taught me something out there. That being scared doesn't mean being weak. That love—" he glanced at his parents, at the walls covered in our shared memories, "—love is what makes the fear worth facing. Every time." I thought of Luna, her mahogany grace, her ancient eyes. I thought of the deep water, how it had held me when I finally trusted it to. I thought of the darkness, how it had seemed absolute until voices found me, until love located me across impossible distance. And I thought of myself—small, makeup-streaked, utterly ordinary in every way except this: I had faced my fears. Not conquered, not destroyed, but *met*. Greeted like old enemies who turn out to be teachers in disguise. The evening closed around us, not dark but *deep*, like the water I'd learned to float upon. In the spaces between our breathing, in the warmth of bodies trusted and familiar, I found my final understanding: courage isn't the absence of fear. It's the presence of love strong enough to carry fear forward, transforming it from anchor to ballast, from weight to wings. As sleep claimed me—nestled in Roman's arms, Mariya Mom's fingers drifting lazily through my fur, Lenny Dad's terrible lullaby beginning somewhere in the room—I held one image: Luna and I, swimming side by side, the deep water holding us both, the sky above limitless and blue. ***The End***
Use these buttons to read the story aloud:
No comments:
Post a Comment