This is a very short story I wrote a couple of days ago.
I am Rex.
I am a dog.
I am more than two hundred years old. Not in dog years, but in calendar years.
I belonged, first, to a boy named Melrose. He hated his name, by the way.
I came on his eighth birthday. And his birthday wish was that I would live forever.
If only his wish had been that I would live as long as he did.
I have romped with so many boys and girls, seen them grow up, seen them grow old.
If only I could grow old, too.
But I never will.
For not only am I doomed to live forever, but I have not aged since the
day Melrose, well-meaning Melrose, made that wish.
If only I could lose my immortality.
I have howled at too many graves.