Sprite: A Short Story

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I woke up to her neighbor's garage door squeak and creak as it opened. Time to get up, I thought.
Somedays I felt like my days were on replay. My ten year old yellow labrador retriever, Sprite, licked my face, as if saying “Good morning momma, I love you”. I then yawned before surrendering out of my bed. Sprite was my child. Every night that I return home from work,
Sprite immediately greets me with warm kisses and a helicopter tail. We went to the dog park every Saturday morning followed by the food market, and whatever else was on the agenda for that day (normally just cleaning or relaxing at home). Sprite never left my side, and even some days, when I got up the courage to ask, I would ask my boss if I could bring Sprite into work with me. My
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He did absolutely nothing wrong, but protect his family from a gang fight. They just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This trip left scars on me that changed the way I perceived the world.
The whole work day I couldn’t focus. All I wanted was to just go home and snuggle with Sprite.
When I was younger, my mom made me go see a therapist. Her name was Pam, and she was fairly helpful, although she told me things to do that I didn’t. For instance, one of her tips was every weekend try to drive a little farther out of my comfort zone. I tried once when I was 17. I told myself that I could go farther than gram and gramps house. I was doing fine, until the memories struck my head like a knife. Suddenly all of my clear thoughts were gone. My shoulders held two lumps of stress in them, while my hands made the steering wheel slippery because they were so clammy.
I remember this time, and I wonder what the best approach for me would be. I realized that my life pretty much revolved around work and Sprite, but wasn’t there something more out there for me? As if I’m still 17, I call my mom for advice.
“Hello, Sarah,” my mom picks up on the third
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