The barking wasn't very loud. It wasn't really a bark, just a dog's cheerful response to its owner.
I felt something furry pounce on me, pressing down so hard I could barely breathe, but it quickly jumped off. A wet, warm tongue licked my face. Fur kept brushing over my body.
My heart beat a little faster. I opened my eyes and saw a big white dog.
The dog bounced around above me, rubbing affectionately against my body.
I wanted to reach out and pet it, but I couldn't move.
The scene quickly vanished.
The big dog disappeared, and the surroundings changed, too.
I was running up the stairs with a backpack on my back, the stationery inside clattering.
I heard Dad's voice.
The door to my home stood open. It felt a little familiar, a little strange.
I stepped inside and heard the sound of someone cooking.
"Little Bai?"
My subconscious immediately sensed that something was wrong.
A white figure should have been there to greet me, circling around me excitedly.
Dad and Mom's voices followed one after another.
The scene was blurry.
This must have been a memory.
"Where's Little Bai?"
"Huh? He was just at home. Didn't he go downstairs to wait for you?"
"No."
"Ball, ball. Bai Bai, fetch the ball."
My little sister's childish voice rang out.
The scene around me changed again.
My parents held my hands as we called for Little Bai around the residential complex.
Nothing.
There was no white figure.
Mom and Dad asked the neighbors around the complex. Some had seen him, others hadn't. Those who had only said they'd seen Little Bai run out.
I grew more and more uneasy and distressed.
My childhood subconscious and my present-day consciousness intermingled.
I was worried about Little Bai, and regretted that