




no one understands what Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is. Unless you have it yourself.





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I can't remember my old name. I wish I could. But I have a new name now, a new name my new master gave me, and I guess it suits me. My name is Tacitus, and, put simply, it means silent and reserved. Describes me perfectly, though I wouldn't call myself reserved so much as reminiscent. But I admit it has a nice sound to it, I think I like it.
I think... I think my favourite activity is... just relaxing, really. I love to spend time with my master, watching television with her, my head resting on her lap. And I love to go walking with her along the coast, listening to the sea splashing on the beach.
I guess I could tell you the quick way. Just get it over and done with, tell it and be finished with it; but the thing is, what I did wouldn't make sense if you didn't know the whole story - you'd think I was crazy, or stupid. Maybe I am, thinking about it. But I've had a hard life, and when I did finally find happiness, I was determined not to lose it. I swore I would never go back.
My first memories... I can't remember much. I'm glad I can't. I know that when I was younger, I was bought by some breeders. But they weren't the nice, loving kind of dragon breeders. They didn't care about me, all they cared about was the money they would get from my pups. They didn't even name me. I didn't get let outside, ever, not even to stretch my legs, and sometimes they forgot to feed me. It was horrible, and I lived with them for three long years before I had had enough. So, after much deliberation, I decided I had to run away. I broke out of my cage, and ran for the garden, but my owner blocked my path. And you know what I did? I charged him and bit his hand. He was in shock so much that he couldn't stop me leaping the fence and running away.
My life on the streets was harder than I could ever have imagined. I had no food, no water, no shelter. I was slowly dying out there on my own, in a world that was way to big for me. Luckily he found me, just as I was on the brink of starvation, a kind old man with greying hair and a gentle smile. He took me home and fed me, and he loved me and cared for me as nobody ever had before. Finally, I had found a home.
I lived with him for only a year, but I had been closer to him than I had been to anyone before him. We went for long walks on the beach every day, then in the evening I would curl up at his feet and drift off to sleep, and would wake up every morning at the end of his bed. I had real food, real shelter, and a real family, even if it was a family of only two. And I had a real master. Of course, he expected me to always do as he said, when he said, but I didn't mind because I loved him so much. But you know what they say - good things never last. Especially with me.
It was just a normal day, the sun shining bright, not a cloud in the clear blue sky. My master had went out, but I wasn't worried because I knew he would be back soon. He did leave me alone sometimes, but I didn't mind; when he returned he always brought with him some tasty treats for me. I sat on the decrepid bench in the front garden, anxiously awaiting his return. He was taking longer than usual, but still I waited, sure that he would soon be opening the creaky gate and be home again. The sun was sinking in the cloud-streaked sky, which was fading from blue to orange to red. It was getting late now. I was worried. Where had my master gone?
I didn't sleep that night. I didn't move. I stared at the gate, not daring to blink, somehow believing that if I did I might miss him. I didn't eat, nor did I drink. The sun rose high into the sky once again, then sunk gradually below the horizon. The moon floated up into the sky, and stars flickered into view. Just as quickly they faded, and still I didn't move. I don't know how long I waited. I ignored my stomachs desperate growls and my parched mouth. I didn't even notice my vision fading; didn't notice how the trees and flowers looked blurred like I was seeing them through a misty window. Days wandered by. My master didn't return. I didn't care that I now couldn't see at all, not even the paws in front of my face. I didn't care that my fur was matted with dirt, nor that flys darted around my dry mouth.
From the sound of the birds singing, it was early morning. Another day had dawned. But something was different. I heard growling, and realized that it was the grumble of a car's engine just a few metres away. My master had returned! But the voices were unfamiliar, and I could smell that my master wasn't among the crowd.
WIP


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