Marching March [Closed]

[in_venting]

Sherry's legs hurt. A kind of dull, irritating, throbbing ache that made her want to do a lot of nothing. She watched Boon jump around spastically in her room from her seat at the base of her bed. Every once in a while, the alien dog would run up with a toy of some sort (his current favorite toy was a wad of knotted rags from some of the clothing Sherry'd grown out of), she would throw it, and the dog would try to eat her book.

At least Boon was nothing if not predictable. "No..! Boon! No! Books aren't snacks!" Sherry held the book over her head, the dog licked her face eagerly, "Get the toy! The toy! Not my---auuugh! That's my face! What've you been eating, your breath is horrib---ewww!"