Dead Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell
I Want a New Layer
"So, Elvis Presely is Satan, Im his only opponent, and you want me to kill myself? Great plan." I look down at the rotting canine and let out a feminine little giggle that was initially meant to sound condescending and cynical. "We dont actually need you to die . . ." I interrupt the dog, "what?!? You just told me . . ." he interrupts me in return, "could I have a minute, here?" Bilbo, the dead canine, starts sounding amazingly close to my seventh-grade teacher, Mr. Shelstead, the living jerk. "You need to kill yourself because this casino is surviving through your alternate reality." I would slouch even further, but Im already on the floor, and theres no slouching room left.
"Actually, what youre saying is that Im the cause of this Armageddon?" The dog sighs. "The cause, but also the solution. It couldnt happen without you, but its very likely that it wouldnt be stopped if you werent already here." My head begins spinning. "But, if I wasnt here, it wouldnt need to be stopped, because it wouldnt happen at all." "Yes!" the dog grows more and more irritated with his every word, "It just wouldnt happen at this time, in this reality, but it would still be here." The dog stops a moment to gather his thoughts. He tries sucking in a deep breath before speaking, but remembers that hes dead. "JFK is alive, retired, and sipping lemonade in a whole nother world, but at the same time its the identical world that you live in now, only another layer of its reality. Ronald Reagan has now entered his fourth term, in yet another layer of this very same timezone." I cringe at the thought. "Eww . . . couldnt I go save that world instead?" "Youll save that world at the same time as you save this, because no matter where you are, youre still going to save wherever it is that you could be." I sit on the floor, hoping I dont look as confused as I feel.
The Dalmatian lets me know that I do, by simply giving up on all explanations. "Okay," he whispers, "youre not getting this. You dont really need to." I laugh. "Typical," I say, "we never need to know anything. Whether its rotting Dalmatians, or Jesus Christ; we just have to die, and hope one of these crazy stories holds true." "Trust me," the dog replies cryptically, "this one will." After all that Ive seen today, I cant argue with him about that.
Go to: Chapter 54
©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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