Once that failed to slow it down and the pain of being mauled was almost intolerable, she would get desperate and finally lunge for its eyes, driving her fingers inwards deeper and deeper until she could reach no further.

She wouldn't know what she was doing, she would just know what had to be done. It would be a few moments, ones that would feel like an eternity of moments for her, but finally the dog would slow, drool a little bit, and relax, slumping to the ground while still chomped onto an appendage.

Then it would hit her; What had she done? This fluffy little doggy was probably just confused (despite the obvious signs of beatings like scars and missing patches of fur), and she had killed it even though it was just scared. She would pull he slimy fingers from its head and slap them against her face, concealing her shame and tears.

I few years later, after she'd spent some time with Green Peace, PETA, and a few other organizations in an attempt to make up for what she would done despite the lack of fallacy in her actions, the horrible nightmares would take their toll and her boyfriend would come home one day to find her hanging from a ceiling fan.

All because she failed to understand the difference between violence and self-defense.

Then they'd make an after school special out of it, but no one would give a shit anyway.

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