This was my version of a poetic prose. Our teacher asked us to make one that shows what kind of pet we would be and how we can be heroes in our own ways.
In the seasons of summer, on the steps of a tiny house, through the vast greenery stretching to where the sun rises and sets, I wag my fluffy tail of black and gray and white and flap my ears of fuzzy fur.. Hear my blissful woof. Feel my snowy fur. See me run, chase the wind and touch the sky.
Ask the clouds, the wave, the bird, the clock, the star, if they have seen a more wonderful friend from afar. They will tell you a tale of the tiny, fat and pointy-nosed dog with fuzzy ears that flaps so cute whenever she tilts her head and sticks out her tongue, who fears the butterflies in the meadows, who cares for her dear owner, who mischeviously runs and wags her tail, who will be your friend, your ally, your teacher. Yes, that is me.
But beyond the zen-like forest, I hear my master scream! His voice so eerie…so sad… and yet still so caring. I ran through the thick interlacing bracnhes of trees. The mist grows thicker and the wind turns into a breeze. I tried to sniff. I tried to listen. My master was in distress and I could feel his heart crying. So I ran. Barking to the rescue, I saw him sitting by the river, his eyes red and puffy. Shattered, he sits with a broken heart. Bitter, he grips the rocks until his hand bled. Dreary, he cries alone. With a sad woof I waddle to his side with my butt shaking in a groovy manner. Beside him I lick his bleeding hands. I showed my teeth to give him a smile. With a shake of my tail and a push of my nose, he smiled back. In that moment, we realized the value of each other. We were friends, companions, family. We were infinite.