Jimmy

I had a pet dog. Jimmy, he was called. I killed him.
Yes. My hands are covered with his blood.
The pleasure.

I tied him to the balcony of my house.
He looked magnificent. Pure-bred. A class apart.
I took a knife. A sharp one.

Gouged his eyes out. Blood spurted from the orifice.
Beautiful brown eyes they were.
He yelped. In agony.

I broke his legs. One by one. Crushed them with a stone.
The legs on which he stood tall.
He barked. In pain. He struggled. In vain.

I cut open his stomach. I severed his head off.
A faithful dog he had been.
Jimmy could yell no more.