Thunder filled the sky, and my dog Bree ran under bed, my concentration never faltering.

As I typed “The End,” a flash of lightning lit the sky, and the electricity went out.

I took him water skiing and skydiving. I fed him rib tips and chili for dinner. He’s ridden shotgun

in my Ferrari more than my wife. She has a conniption because I gave Tobasco a 24-karat gold

funeral with a sterling silver tombstone and cremated her mother. The heifer didn’t like me anyway.

Tobasco didn’t complain about dinner, clothes, and require $1000 cell phones. He didn’t fail in

What about the witness who saw you going into the house?

I was just dropping off the divorce papers. They should be in the filing cabinet.

I see. And the threatening emails from your account?

Someone’s trying to frame me.

That was before. Now, whether the state of the world just seemed worse by comparison, or the long peace meant that we were not ready to look after ourselves again after relying on the Kryptonian’s good graces, who can say? All that’s certain is tragedy is never far away and there’s no one here to save us.

The gentleman picking out fruit at the corner stand. The woman walking her dog towards him. The delivery man checking over the boxes in back of his truck. Never mind it was ten in the evening.

Not one person glanced in his direction.

He stopped at the newsstand, looked over the headlines, asked about the impending strike at the local paper. The vendor grunted noncommittally.

He fished into his pocket, as if looking for change, and drew in one smooth motion.

“What?” Mel was confused. It was 3 AM. Just moments before, he’d been pleasantly dreaming.

“You don’t know what ‘choose’ means?”

“Huh?”

“CHOOSE, MEL!”

The irritated voice seemed to come from every direction, as though from out of a whirlwind.

“AND MAKE IT SOMETHING INANIMATE.”

This was it.

“TIME’S UP.”

Mel’s life – if it could be called that – was over.

The angel had others to visit that Thursday and more important places to go.

“Couldn’t I be a dog, or a goldfish?”

“REINCARNATION’S MAINLY INTO LIFELESS OBJECTS, MEL.”

People don’t realize.

“Like…into an old basketball?”

I drove to the veterinarian at warp speed and hoped not to get pulled over. My heart pounded, but I kept my cool and talked to him. “It’ll be okay, Dougie.”

I slammed open the door and yelled: “Help him!”

“Don’t worry we’ll do everything we can to save Dougie’s leg.”

A dog lunges at me from the alley nearly biting my ankle. It growls and leaves. I head toward my apartment since I wouldn’t get any thinking done after that.

I’m about to put the key in the door when a tap on my left shoulder startles me and I jump.

It’s my son Jameson.

“Dad, I want help, I need help.” His beseeching voice says.

There was a message that my interview had been canceled so I got back under the covers and my dog Charlie snuggled next to me.

Large snowflakes pressed against the window and the wind howled. Charlie let out a growl and went back to sleep. I closed my eyes and wished the snow would stop.

Jack and Angela felt lucky to have survived, as if one false step might have left them vulnerable to the same fate. Like a dog that bites the hand that feeds it, had they tried to intervene, they too might have been stripped to the bone.

“I guess I’ll start cleaning up,” said Jack. “I’ll wash if you dry.”