The little dog was curious.

What was that smell? It had no experience with it. Was it food? Maybe- but it didn’t smell like the food in the dish, the dry stale chunks that it learned was all it must eat when in the warm place. Not from the trashcan, always full of fascinating morsels, but from the cold metal dish on the floor. Only eat from the cold metal dish.
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The coffee sat.

Steam rose from its surface, he could still smell it where he lay on the floor.
He was numb, except for a terrible tightness in his chest. Also he was paralyzed.
At least, this is what he had heard being paralyzed was like. Nothing on his body was listening to his commands to move. It felt like being wrapped up in a tight moth’s cocoon, somewhat comforting but a bit tough to breathe.
Tough to breathe, that brought him back to the present. What happened? One minute he was making coffee. Rinsing out a cup, pouring it…
The next there was this flash of white light inside his head and he was staring up at the ceiling from the vantage point of floor tile. Read more