Imagine! Belle By Ethan

Hi, my name is Belle. If I could talk, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I had a fairly decent life - for awhile. For three years, I was owned by an elderly woman named Matid. On the third of January, I woke up to a coughing, strangled-cat kind of sound. Leaping up, I surveyed the room around me with keen eyes. The bedsheets were flapping wildly, with Matid trapped inside. Suddenly, everything went still. “Snnfff. Snnfffff” I snuffled around the room. Where was the warm scent of life? In my youth and innocence, it took me a day and a half to realize the gray-haired, pudgy thing in the bed was actually a decaying corpse! Grief-stricken, I tore down the screen of an open window and sprang out.

For weeks I roamed the barren, foodless wilderness. In the middle of my 5th cold, miserable week, I was found. An SPCA worker named Nick took me to the Canmore shelter where all the dogs were happy and well-nourished.  Just when I was beginning to settle in, I was taken, again, from comfort. This time , though, I was OK with it. After a few weeks, I had figured out  how the place ran. Dogs came in, stayed for undefined periods of time and then left, usually never to return. The man who came and “adopted” me had jet-black hair, with golden-brown skin. two piercing blue eyes peered out from a handsome face. I immediately liked this character. When he turned to Nick and said “I’ll take her,” I was overjoyed. This guy, whose name was Percy T. Ennis, let me sit with him in the front for the ride home while telling me about why he wanted a dog. I knew I would be happy with him. That was all years ago.

      Now we’re on the run from an evil gang led by mystery master Sherlock Holmes. Or so he calls himself. Anyone who digs deep enough into his records can find his true name, Lucky Cannon. Anyways, that doesn’t matter anymore. Sherlock is absolutely lethal. When he found out that Percy was a millionaire, he murdered Percy’s nephew, Marcus Slavjon and assumed the role of a care-free youth. Two months later, at a Thanksgiving party, Holmes attempted to dispose of Percy in a similar fashion, the havoc of which I will not describe. Sherlock, in the end was caught and thrown in a prison, from which he escaped almost immediately. Once again, the criminal tried to end the life of my master, this time, at his own house.

Fortunately, Percy had thought of a good many defences. Unfortunately, Holmes had thought of how to beat all the ones that he knew of. In the middle of the night, on the twenty first of December, the alarms went off, alerting us of the intruding company of... of a banana peel? That confused me, but what happened next confused me even more. I barked the shutdown system, and Percy's room snapped into defence mode, but Holmes was already in Percy’s room, pointing a Wilson’s Combat pistol at his sleepy victim. This was very, very bad. Percy was stuck in his room facing a gun barrel, and I was shut outside, unable to help! There was nothing he could do, unless, unless - “Bam” The sound shook the house. He had pulled it. But no! The deafening crack that I had first thought a shot was actually Percy going to his last hope. Lucky Cannons luck had failed him at last. A gaping hole in Percy’s room had appeared, swallowing him up. So it was that we escaped the enemy, but only for awhile, for as my favourite book warns, “To the enemy, an age is but a blink of the eye.”