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


Chapter 50
Jeez, and I thought I had it bad

"I can’t wait to hear this" I mumble, sarcastically. Bilbo, the scrawny E.M.T., smiles at my comment, giving me that, "if you only knew" look, and then begins to speak. "You’re going to have to make the ultimate sacrifice." "What’s that?" I ask, feeling as though I’m going to pass out, again. "Let me explain what I meant," Bilbo returns, "when I said it was your mind that can control the evil." "Okay," I say, ignoring the fact that he just ignored my last question.

"Have you ever felt you were ‘different’ from other people?" Bilbo asks. When I don’t answer, he continues, "like you actually had a mind of your own?" I stare blankly, looking an awful lot like Homer Simpson. "Remember back in sixth grade, when all your classmates where busy scurrying around, handing in their petty little reports? All eager to please the teacher? Looking for that little sticker to be slapped on their paper reading, ‘you did GREAT!’?" I continue looking like Homer. "Don’t you remember all those little stars you would get, if you did a ‘good job’ with your multiplication?" "Yeah," I finally say, coming out of my daze, "I remember. I don’t see any correlation between a bunch of stupid stickers, and my conquering evil, and saving the world."

"There’s EVERY correlation!" Bilbo declares, getting rather excited, at least for a Bilbo. "Don’t you see it?" "Uh," I reply, "not really." Bilbo’s eyes light up, as he tries, once again, to explain. "Instead of desperately struggling to get a star, you desperately struggled over why the hell anyone would want one." He begins salivating, as he speaks. "Can’t you remember sitting in the back of the classroom, just watching all these kids, and trying to figure out why they all care so much? Don’t you remember how you compared them to rats, running around in a maze, looking for a bite of cheese, way back in the third-grade, when you were only nine years old? You got an ‘F’ on it, not to mention really nasty looks from your teacher, from that point on. Don’t tell me you can’t remember that."

I’m still not impressed. The easily excited E.M.T. looks disappointed. "I’m sorry, man," I can’t believe I just called someone, "man," things must be really going downhill now, "I just can’t see why what I thought in sixth-grade matters; much less a report that I wrote when I was nine-years-old." "How can you not see it??? It’s as clear as the tail on my ass!" At that, Bilbo stops cold. I do a double take. "What did you say?" I ask. Bilbo remains silent. I try again, "what did you just say?" Bilbo squeaks out an answer. "I said, ‘it’s as clear as the hail on pie grass." I start to laugh. "That doesn’t even make any sense. What I heard you say was, ‘it’s as clear as the tail on my ass!’" "Well," returns Bilbo, "that wouldn’t make any sense, either - since I don’t have a tail."

The two of us remain motionless, for a good minute, or two. Finally, Bilbo speaks. "Damn, I blew it. I knew I’d screw it up." I pretend to look concerned, just because that’s what humans are supposed to do, when someone else is distressed. "You screwed up what, Bilbo?"

Bilbo answers my question by shrinking, and rapidly growing hair all over his body. Pieces of scalp begin falling off, and his flesh starts deteriorating. With a "squiiiishy" type noise, one of his eyeballs disappears, leaving a socket full of squirming tendons. His jaw becomes detached, and hangs off of his head on a greasy looking string of flesh. The blood that drips onto the floor, Bilbo begins to lick up, as he continues his metamorphosis into . . . my dead Dalmatian.

Go to: chapter 51

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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