Bad Dogs

The way I'm writing it is the only way it happened.  I'm not going to soften the blow or camouflage it in pretty pink prose.  I think stark truths should be told starkly.

I would like to say it began innocently enough, but I don't believe that is true.  I think Henry was looking for a dog to kick before he even walked into the yard.  Scott just happened to be the right dog at the wrong time.

Scott tried to stand up to him, for once.  I have to admire him for that.  Henry started in teasing him about the grease stains on his shirt.  Scott said maybe if Henry tried working once in awhile he wouldn't be so frightened of a little dirt.  It didn't help that a titter went through the crowd.  Henry grew red in the face and shoved him to the ground.  Scott's shirt ripped; dark mud stains were added to the black grease.

Scott snapped.  I don't think even he recognized what he was doing.  He jumped up and slammed into Henry so fast, it caught him off balance.  Henry hit his head hard on the sidewalk next to the yard.  Scott jumped on him before he could react.  He knelt on Henry's chest, took Henry's head between his two rough hands, and began banging, banging, banging it against the concrete.  I saw a small rivlet of blood spread towards the gutter, and I screamed.

From Quote Snack's Writing Prompt May 4, 2010