Dead Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell


Chapter 48
Waking Up To A Giant

I wake up in a sterile, off-white room, with someone taking my blood pressure. "Where am I?" I ask the large man standing above me. "You’re at ‘Broken Arrow’ casino." "Where is this?" "You’re in the E.M.T.’s room." I roll my eyes, "what the hell is an E.M.T.?" I wonder outloud, feeling as though I should already know. The man gives me a gentle smile, and pats me on the shoulder. "An E.M.T. is an Emergency Medical Technician. I’m one of them. You had a fainting spell, out on the floor." My heart begins to palpitate. "I DID! Why?" The E.M.T. continues to smile, like some gentle giant. I wish I could kick his teeth in. "We don’t know why," he says, in a patronizing tone, cleverly disguised as "comforting." "Your blood-pressure is elevated. And your pulse is racing. We’re assuming you had a panic-attack. Have you had anything out of the ordinary happen to you today?"

Suddenly, it all comes back to me, and I wish it would just go away. I try passing out, again, but it doesn’t seem to work. "What are you doing?" another, scrawnier looking, E.M.T. asks me, as he sees me pushing my head back into the seat, closing my eyes, trying to faint. I sit back up, "nothing," I answer, while patting down my hair, and feeling slightly embarrassed. The gentle giant with the perpetual smile comments on how I must still be "a little" disoriented. "Were you born with that thing?" I ask. The giant looks confused. "What?" He grins. "That smile." My question makes him open his mouth up even wider. The guy would make a great politician. "I’m just a happy person – glad you noticed." "I don’t know how you could miss it," I return. "Thanks," the medical-monster smiles back. "It wasn’t a compliment," I reply.

"Well," says the giant, a bit more bitter than before, "I think you’re looking healthy enough, I guess we’ll send you on your way." My eyes light up. "I get to go home?!?" "No, I was thinking we’d send you back out on the floor," says the giant, all traces of his politician's grin, long-gone. "I’d rather go home," I say, "I’m not feeling so hot." "Well, you’re lookin’ great! No need to send you home." I look toward the ceiling, making sure that there aren't any cameras around, then turn toward the smaller E.M.T., and gesture for him to put his head a little closer to mine.

"You gotta send me home," I whisper, "strange things are going on, around here." The scrawny E.M.T. remains silent. I look back toward the once gentle-giant. "C’mon, you guys, I passed out, you’d send anyone else home." My eyes shoot from one E.M.T., to the other. A minute goes by without a sound. Finally, the giant pats me on the shoulder, and whispers into my ear; "but, you’re not anyone else, Wayne."

Go to: Chapter 49

1997 Alex Sandell but, if you're a book publisher and, you wanna get this puppy out, please get in touch with me, hand me a nice, big contract and, of course, a 12 pack of Grape Soda and maybe we can do lunch.

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