Ten Days to Say Goodbye

I was mindlessly scrolling when a cry for help caught my eye. [I only have five days left to live.] [How do I say goodbye to my mom so she won't be devastated?] [Should I pretend to run away and quietly die outside?] The comment section was an endless scroll of dog avatars. [This doggo says no way.

Your mom will absolutely drown in guilt.] [Yeah, I accidentally got lost last time, and my mom searched for half a month.] [She straightup quit her job.

What if your mom does the same?] [Ugh, if only we could talk to humans.] [Then we could just ask them how they want to say goodbye.] I froze, my thumbs hovering over the screen before I typed a reply. [If I were the mom, I'd want a little ball made from my fur baby's hair.] [That way, whenever I miss him, I can look at it, touch it, and have a piece of him left.] The Original Poster, OP, replied almost instantly with a quick thank you. [That's brilliant!

But my clock is ticking. I don't have time to gather naturally shed fur.] [I'll just have to yank it all from my tail.] A moment later, the mattress dipped.

Bandit leaped onto my bed, clamping a ball of golden fur in his jaws. The exact shade of his own coat. My eyes dropped to his tail. It was entirely bald.

My body went completely rigid. Chapter 1 [If you're hurting, just whine nonstop or refuse your kibble. The humans will notice and rush you to the vet.] OP replied: [I'm not sick.

I'm just too old.] [It's my time.] A user named Mabel, rocking a Golden Retriever avatar, chimed in. [I still think you should give your mom a headsup.] [Let her mentally prepare.

You've lived a long life.

She's obviously obsessed with you.] [If you just drop dead suddenly, it'll shatter her.] OP posted a brokenhearted emoji. [But I want to spare her the tears.

I'm terrified that when I cross the rainbow bridge, the grief will break her completely.] [I'm so scared she'll just… give up and die with me.] The comment section exploded. [Major red flag.

You're so full of crap. I've been alive for eight years and I've never seen a human literally die over a pet.] [For real. Main character syndrome much?

You're just talking trash because you're hiding behind a screen.] The outrage spiked, but OP patiently replied to every single accusation. [I swear I'm not lying.

My mom was severely sick a while back.] [When the pain got bad, she'd hold me tight and whisper that if I was gone, she wouldn't want to live either.] [That's why I work out every single day.

That's why I clean my bowl.] [Just to squeeze out a few more years for her.

But my body is just… done.] Another sobbing emoji appeared. [I just want her to live a happy life.] Chloe tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. "Bandit hit the absolute jackpot picking you as his mom, Elara.

Two grand for a day at a luxury indoor dog park, and you swiped your card without blinking.

Not many dogs get a birthday bash that bougie." I laughed. "He saw some pups playing at a resort on TV and got so excited.

I figured, whatever other dogs get, my old boy deserves too. Definitely stings the bank account, though. That was two months' rent." Chloe rolled her eyes. "Oh, save the drama.

If I gave you a doover, you'd slap down that deposit again in a heartbeat." She sighed softly, looking out the window. "Time really flies.

I can't believe Bandit is turning fourteen." I nodded, murmuring in agreement, but my eyes were glued to my phone screen.

OP's question kept looping in my head: Should I pretend to run away and quietly die outside? Would that make it easier for her?

For some reason, my mind flashed to Bandit and his graying muzzle. [I have a fur baby of my own,] I typed. [When that day finally comes, I want him to pass peacefully in my arms.] [Not die alone and scared in some ditch where I can't find him.] I paused, then added a second comment. [If you genuinely want to ease her pain, roll some of your fur into a little ball for her.] [That way, when she misses you, she has something physical to hold onto.] The moment I hit send, my notifications lit up.

Multiple users with dog avatars fired back with a single question mark. It hit me. Everyone else was roleplaying from a pet's perspective.

I was the only one speaking like an actual human. I scrambled to delete the comment.

Before I could, OP replied. [That's such a good idea!] [I'm going to make one for my mom right now.] [I don't have time to wait for it to shed, though.] [I'll just have to pull the fur from my tail.] I typed out a quick [Good luck!] and locked my screen.

Chapter 2 I pulled up the group chat for Bandit's regular playdates, firing off a quick text to invite them all to bring their pups to his birthday bash in five days.

The chat instantly blew up with cheering emojis. But my brain was still snagged on that tragic forum post. I kept refreshing the page, desperate for an update from OP.

Maybe it was just a troll. But with a senior dog sleeping at home, I couldn't stop projecting my own fears onto the screen.

Chloe burst out laughing from the driver's seat. "Bandit acts nothing like an old dog, Elara. Stop obsessing. He outruns the twoyearold pups at the park.

He's built like an absolute tank. You're totally overthinking this." I let out a breathless chuckle, the tension breaking. She was right.

Bandit had a huge appetite and was drinking perfectly fine. Just a few days ago, I laid out his talking buttons and asked how much longer he'd stay with me.

He smashed the "ten years" button. Dogs don't lie. A deep sense of warmth filled my heart. I tightened my grip on the new squeaky toy in my lap, suddenly desperate to teleport home.

Then, the memory slammed into me. Bandit nudging that fur ball into my palm like a prized trophy. Every muscle in my body locked up. Why was his tail entirely bald?

My phone buzzed in my palm with a new notification from OP. [Sorry, I don't think my mom likes the fur ball.] [Usually, when I bring her a toy, she kisses me and tells me I'm a good boy.] [But today, she just froze.

Her face looks so weird.] Rex, the user with the Rottweiler avatar, replied immediately. [Sounds to me like you chickened out.

Too scared of a little pain to actually pull the fur, huh?] OP fired back, panic bleeding through the text. A photo loaded beneath his comment. [Look at what's in my mom's hand!

Tell me that isn't my fur!] [I'm literally dying! Why would I care about a little pain!?] I tapped the photo to expand it. I almost couldn't breathe.

The image showed a golfballsized clump of dark fur resting in the center of a pale palm. But that wasn't what paralyzed me.

It was the tiny, bright red mole right in the middle of that palm. I flipped my own hand over, staring at my skin. A bald tail. An identical ball of fur.

Maybe all of that was just a sick, twisted coincidence. But how do you explain the exact same red mole?

My thumb hovered, trembling, before I clicked onto OP's main profile. [I bit an old man today. Mom was furious.] [But Cornelius was using his phone to film up her skirt.

I couldn't just let him do that.] [She blamed me, though.] Another post down. [Hiram passed away.

Even though he treated mom like garbage, she's still crushed.] [She cries in secret every night.

When I catch her, she just sobs louder and says I'm all she has left.] [She begged me to stay with her forever. But I'm getting so old…] My pulse pounded in my ears.

I scrambled to check the timestamp on that post. Patricia had died in a massive car pileup that exact same month. I swiped back up to the post about biting the old man.

Last October. The exact same month Bandit had bitten a creep at the bus stop. I had to pay the guy a $300 settlement. My hands shook so hard the phone nearly slipped from my grip.

Before I could even process the horror, a direct message popped up on my screen from OP. [Hi. My name is Bandit.

Are you a human?] A second message quickly followed, as if he was terrified he'd crossed a line. [This is a strictly dogonly forum.

It's usually just us pups talking.] [But the way you type… it sounds exactly like a human. So I just wanted to ask.] [I hope that's okay.

If you don't want to answer, you don't have to.] My eyes stung with unshed tears.

My fingers spasmed over the keyboard as I forced out a single text. [Why is your name Bandit?] Chapter 3 The reply materialized on my screen. [Because when Mom found me, my back leg was broken.

She said she wanted me to bounce around and be happy, even if I only had three legs.] A hot tear broke free, landing heavily against the glass screen.

My thumbs trembled as I hammered out a new command. [Go grab your favorite toy and bring it to your mom. Right now.] I hit send, and my head snapped up. I locked eyes with Bandit.

He paused, tilting his head in that familiar, questioning way. Then, he spun around, bolted straight toward the corner, and snatched up his chewedup yellow duck.

He bounded back to me, a dopey, lopsided grin plastered across his face. Running on three legs. All the breath was knocked out of me. The final thread gripping my sanity snapped.

I found him on the day Patricia drove me to the edge. The day I planned to jump. Rain lashed down in sheets. Zero visibility.

I had just stepped onto the suspension bridge when the screaming started. I saw a crazed man. He was gripping a paring knife.

He plunged it frantically, over and over, into a tiny puppy's hind leg. Bandit was barely the size of my palm back then. One vicious slash, and the tendons severed completely.

I never considered myself a dog person. But right then, watching this tiny, bloody creature shaking so hard he couldn't even whimper, I felt an overwhelming urge to save him.

I drained my bank account. Every last cent of the four hundred dollars I had to my name. I bought him off that monster and rushed him to the emergency vet.

I was battling severe depression back then. When the darkness swallowed me, my limbs would turn to lead. I'd lie paralyzed on the cold floor tiles.

The urge to check out was a constant, deafening static in my skull.

But every time I finally dragged myself to the kitchen, every time my fingers brushed the cold steel of a knife, a sharp, piercing wail would erupt from the living room. Bandit.

Reminding me I wasn't alone. Reminding me a living, breathing thing needed a bottle. He was impossibly small, the rubber nipple practically the size of his entire head.

I didn't expect him to make it. I just figured I'd keep him warm until my own clock ran out. But those relentless, demanding squeaks forced my hand. I dropped the knife.

I crawled back to the living room to feed him. Somehow, he survived. He learned to walk and became incredibly good at reading my moods.

Whenever the suffocating numbness crept back in, or whenever Patricia called just to scream at me and tear me down, he would hobble over on three shaky legs.

He'd press his tiny, warm forehead against mine. He'd contort his furry face into the most ridiculous, goofy expressions until the darkness fractured. He was a hyperactive menace.

I was a miserable high school senior, dragging myself home from my closing shift at ten at night, only to take him out for an hour of sprinting around the block.

He was incredibly social, forcing me to swap numbers with half the neighborhood. Rain or shine, I was locked into group dog walks.

Through grad school, through the brutal grind of the corporate world.

No matter how toxic or exhausting life got, the thought of that threelegged, wildly enthusiastic dog waiting behind my front door made everything bearable.

Hot, fast tears tracked down my face, stinging my skin. I knew he was getting old.

I braced myself for the inevitable decline, picturing him losing his mobility, refusing his kibble, and eventually taking his last, quiet breath in my arms. I never pictured this.

Not him dropping dead while still bouncing off the walls. The discrepancy hit me like a physical blow. My brows snapped together.

I grabbed my phone, my fingers flying over the keyboard. [Wait. Dogs that die of old age usually lose their mobility first. They stop eating.

If you're planning to run away, that means you're still highly active. Why would you just suddenly die of old age?

How exactly are you going to die?] Chapter 4 The screen stayed dark. No reply. I whipped my head around to check on Bandit. He sat there, staring at me.

A highpitched, distressed whine tore from his throat. He was panicking. I hadn't broken down in front of him in years.

I swiped frantically at my face, scrubbing the wetness away, and yanked him against my chest. "I'm okay, buddy. My boss was just a total jerk today. I just needed to vent.

Don't worry." He didn't blink. His dark eyes locked onto mine. He waited until the hitching in my chest subsided. Then, he leaned in.

A warm, rough tongue dragged across my tearstained cheek.

My phone vibrated in my palm. [Actually, my heart gave out.] A sad emoji popped up. [I was terrified of dying while she was stuck at the office.

She'd drown in the guilt.] [But mostly, I was terrified she'd actually do it.

That she'd follow me.] [Even if she had been home, even if she had rushed me straight to the ER, I wouldn't have made it.] [My body was just done.] A memory slammed into me.

A few nights prior, I had been stuck at work. I had checked the pet cam. Bandit was howling at the lens. A frantic, agonizing sound. Then he collapsed.

His limbs seized and thrashed against the hardwood. It was horrifying. I broke every speed limit racing home to rush him to the vet. But when I kicked the door open?

He was bouncing around. Wagging his tail. Like the seizure on the screen never happened. I was so high on the relief of not losing him, I didn't question it.

It felt like the wind was knocked out of me. A sharp, jagged pain ripped through my chest. I swallowed hard against the metallic taste of blood pooling in the back of my throat.

My fingers trembled as I typed. [What did you trade for this?

Why didn't you just ask to live longer?] A happy emoji flashed on the screen. [I traded all my happiness in my next life for it.

It only bought me ten days.] [It's short, but it's totally worth it.

I needed to come back and say a real goodbye.] [I needed to tell her that even when I'm gone, she has to keep going.] A puppy with droopy ears appeared. [Whenever she got sad, she'd whisper that if I died, she'd check out too.] [When I was a puppy, I loved hearing that.

It made me feel like the most important dog in the entire world.] [But as I got older, I hated it.] [Humans are supposed to live a long time.

I watched her grind through school.] [I watched her burn herself out at work. Her life is finally starting to get good.] [How could she throw it all away for an animal like me?

So I came back.] [I need to find a way to die that won't break her.] [A way that won't make her want to die too.] My grip on the phone turned whiteknuckled.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I burst out crying. I grew up hollow. Unwanted. Patricia never let me forget I was a mistake. Just a burden tying her down.

Before Bandit, my entire existence revolved around scraping together crumbs of her approval. But all I ever got was a disgusted scoff. "Why don't you just die?

I'm sick of looking at you." Then Bandit happened. He was the first living thing to ever look at me and decide I was enough.

He taught me what relentless, unconditional love actually felt like. Tears streamed down my face. I crashed onto the hardwood floor, a useless, hollowedout shell.

I was supposed to protect him. Instead, my dead dog was sacrificing his entire next life, just because I was too broken to survive without him.

Chapter 5 I almost typed a full confession. A new notification flashed across my screen. User: Osiris. [Do not breach the veil.

Since you figured it out, make Bandit cross the bridge.

Now.] [The toll for returning to the living isn't some light slap on the wrist.] [Every extra second he breathes costs his next life.

I've held this post for eons.] [Not a single soul has ever dared to take the tenday penalty.

Don't let his sacrifice go to waste.] [Make him cross.] Another message popped up instantly. [He must choose to die.

Willingly.] [Do not tell him you know.] Before my thumbs could even hit the keyboard, his username scrambled into a string of dead code. The screen glitched.

Osiris's avatar morphed, flashing into a glowing, ethereal ledger. Bandit's name burned across the top, alongside an expiration clock ticking down. Total, terrifying validation.

My throat closed up. I hurriedly wiped my face and checked the wall clock, my fingers hammering the screen. [Your mom swore she's going to keep living. You need to cross over.

Right now.] A Bandit emoji popped up. [How do you know?] I fabricated a lie instantly. [I ran a poll on a human forum.] [A user with your avatar and exact IP address voted to keep going.] [It has to be her.] I attached a random photo of Bandit.

He replied with jumping emojis. [Yes! That's me!] [Thank god she feels that way.

But I'm not in a rush.] [I want a few more days with her.] The real Bandit nuzzled his chin against my collarbone, a deep, contented sigh rattling his chest.

Frantic anxiety burned inside me. I fired off a dozen different excuses, begging him to leave.

He shot down every single one. [I'm staying with Mom.] My pulse hammered against my ribs. Every tick of the clock shredded my insides.

Bandit just curled up tighter in my lap, letting out a soft snore. Desperation completely consumed me. I shoved him.

Hard. "Just die already!" I screamed. "Work is a living hell, and I have to come home to a clingy, pathetic old dog!" I shoved his side as hard as I could.

Bandit skidded across the floorboards. His frail body slammed into the TV console with a sickening thud. He scrambled to his feet. His dark eyes blew wide in complete, utter shock.

My heart seized. A sharp pain pierced my chest. I never yelled at him. Never laid a hand on him. But a scolding wouldn't work. I had to shatter his heart.

He had to believe I hated him. It was the only way he'd leave willingly. I dragged him outside the apartment complex. I pulled my leg back.

I kicked his only remaining hind leg. "I've tolerated you for way too long!" I snarled, forcing poison into my tone. "I don't want you anymore! Go wherever the hell you want.

Just do not follow me." I spun on my heel, marching away without looking back. Chapter 6 Bandit was absolutely terrified.

He desperately wanted to close the distance, but my fury pinned him back. He hovered a few yards away. A pitiful, highpitched whine leaked constantly from his throat.

I gathered every ounce of strength I had left. "Just die already!" I shrieked. "Do you have any idea how exhausting it is dragging around a pathetic old dog? I found a new puppy.

A better one. So if you know what's good for you, get the hell out of my sight!" Bandit froze. The whining snapped shut. He stared at me, absolute betrayal pooling in his dark eyes.

It felt like my heart was being ripped open and rubbed with salt. He was fiercely, violently possessive. He always had been. He never let me touch another dog.

He never let me toss a treat to his playmates. If I showed even a fraction of affection to another animal… he shut down. He'd ice me out. He'd starve himself just to make a point.

The only compromise we ever reached was tossing kibble to strays. Even then, he guarded me like a hawk. The second my fingers twitched toward a stray's fur, he would lunge.

He'd snap his jaws lightly over my wrist, dragging my hand back. So I knew. The moment those words left my mouth, I shattered him. My eyes filled with tears.

I marched toward the apartment complex, my boots striking the pavement in a brutal rhythm. This time, the sound of his uneven, threelegged gait didn't follow.

I hid around the corner, my thumbs flying over the forum. I begged him to cross the bridge. I pleaded with him to stop stalling. Silence. I peeked out.

He stood planted on the sidewalk like a stone gargoyle, his eyes locked onto the empty space I'd left behind. The neon streetlights buzzed to life. He didn't budge.

A cold drizzle started to fall, soaking through my jacket, chilling the sweat on my spine. Finally, my screen lit up. [I understand.

Thank you.] I watched his ears pin flat against his skull. He turned away, his frail body disappearing into the opposite direction of our home. My phone vibrated again.

Chloe. [I got him. I'm tailing him. Breathe, Elara.] The ticking of the wall clock sounded like a firing squad. I curled into a tight ball on the living room rug.

The apartment was pitch black. The silence was deafening. My heart pounded against my ribs. Every second dragged.

I was terrified the screen would light up with Chloe telling me he was dead. But a sick, desperate part of me prayed for that exact text.

Every extra minute he breathed cost him his next life. The two opposing thoughts tore at my mind. My muscles coiled so tight my bones ached. I lost track of time.

A violent pounding rattled the front door. My stomach dropped into my shoes. I scrambled up from the floor, my knees colliding with the coffee table. I ripped the deadbolt open.

It wasn't Chloe. And it wasn't Bandit. It was Pierce. The client who had cornered me last month. The one I rejected.

He loomed in the hallway, his massive beer belly pressing against the doorframe. The stench of cheap whiskey and stale sweat suffocated the space.

He slurred a string of vile curses, calling me an ungrateful bitch. Before I could blink, his meaty fingers clamped around my bicep.

He yanked me forward, his wet mouth aiming for my face. I thrashed against him. Smack. His palm collided with my jaw.

My head snapped to the side, the metallic tang of blood flooding my mouth. I shoved his chest, tearing myself out of his grip. Then, steel flashed in the dim hallway light.

He whipped a knife from his jacket. He lunged. The blood in my veins turned to ice. My vocal cords paralyzed. My feet fused to the floorboards.

A black blur exploded from the stairwell. It slammed into Pierce's chest, crashing onto the concrete with a boneshattering thud. Bandit.

He was already drenched in his own blood from his failing body, but his jaws clamped down brutally on Pierce's wrist.

He locked his teeth into the flesh and shook his head violently. Pierce shrieked, a high, agonizing sound. The knife slipped.

Pierce's free hand snatched the handle midair, driving the blade down toward Bandit's skull. A scream finally ripped from my throat. I threw my body forward to block it.

But Bandit anticipated the move, shoving me back, launching himself directly into the blade's path. Crimson sprayed across the white walls