He dug into the hard ground with a spoon near a tall tree. He made sure this tree was recognizable to him from all the others in the forest behind his home. He had his reasons.
The biggest being was in case he wanted to come back and remember. Remember the feeling. What if he never did it again? He had to preserve the memory somehow.
He lifted the small puppy up and laid it in the shallow hole he had dug with the spoon. His mother would kill him if she knew he had taken her good serving spoon. She thought she had lost it weeks ago, however. No blame was ever cast on him.
He looked down at the sad little puppy. A sound suddenly spooked him from behind. He looked around, paranoia setting in. Hurriedly he scooped the dirt over the puppy. He placed a few sticks and leaves over the small mound, shoving the spoon deep into the now soften dirt as sort of a marker.
Standing, he wiped the dirt and blood off his hands the best he could with the towel he had used to hide the puppy he had killed.
As he walked home, he tossed it into a nearby stream.
Walking into his home, his mum met him at the door. He smiled sweetly.
‘All things truly wicked start from an innocence…’