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The Russian Corpse 9

The Russian Corpse 9 published on No Comments on The Russian Corpse 9

A pair of old racing hounds lies in wait, comparable to a catatonic stasis, within a
dilapidated barn on the outskirts of an impoverished Russian village. The dogs are
awaiting a meager portion of daily gruel. In the old days, when the dogs had run races of
glory in the streets of Moscow, the dishes were filled to the brim with luscious meats
overflowing with frothy gravy.
The dogs were useless now. The racing world had left them out to pasture to rot and die.
The buzzards would have to hold off on pecking at their carcass. The dogs were adopted
by an overzealous family. The family argued all day long about who was the better dog;
but both dogs knew that the truth was they were equally lame.
Squeezer: Tis a miserable existence, for sure. At least your family lineage has prepared
you for such destitution.
Squeezer licks the bottom of his paw; providing an air of pretentious around his
character. The paw drops right back down upon the dirt floor. Squeezer keeps his head
up high while chatting with Guess.
Guess: What’s that supposed to mean? You and I ran the same tracks, smelled the same
bitches and urinated on the shoes of the same servants.

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