Chapter 1: Part 5, Stand Off

The stand off had continued for what seemed like an eternity without any movement on either side. Intermittent growls of hunger cut through the air like deafening roars. In the darkness he could sense the creature scanning him, looking for weaknesses, and looking through him... into him. The presence in the corner tracked every flicker and minute twitch of his aching body. After a short while his bicep no longer wanted to play with his newfound friends at the game of being still. Tremulous spasms pinned tendons against muscle. A violent eruption of off-white lava burst from between the sutures in his shoulder. Putrid magma flowed down his arm, renewed with every pulsing flex, unimpeded by surgical stainless or black nylon.

A sudden flurry of movement exploded from the corner and was immediately upon him. It seemed that as soon as the ride had started that it was over and the carnies were telling him to get off, some fun house. His head hit the floor triggering a lightning paced channel surfing of random memories. The remote in the hands of a schizophrenic watching a snowy black and white TV with the volume turned down. Mothers giving comforting hugs, fathers helping with homework, triplicates of holidays, and hundreds of birthdays flickered on the static filled screen. Could that be right? How could he have had hundreds of birthdays? For that matter how could he have memories of more than a dozen different parents.

Through all of the many sitcoms of life that played on the TV the one character that remained the same was the family pet. It was a large Doberman Pinscher that looked as if it was the long-standing champion in a southern Cali dog-fighting ring. Its body had been sectioned off by hundreds of healing scars and fresh stitches. Its body cordoned off into the major muscle groups. The forefoot was bisected by spiraling stitches at the pastern. A large scar ran from the withers down to its chest giving one the impression that it had been split in two and pieced back together, in fact the whole creature looked as if it had been assembled from a multitude of pieces. The other flashes of memories had been frightened away by the image of the dog, even the schizo had abandoned the remote and ran away screaming in lunacy.

The TV went black as sharp claws pulled him back to reality. The dog was no memory, it was real, and it was on top of him. A gaping jaw loomed over him as drool rained down. Any strength that he had gained from his rest now drained from him as powerful paws pinned him to the ground. A rotten stench fell upon him as the beast closed in. This is it he thought, happy to be released from this confused nightmare and hoping that whatever existed beyond this hell had more answers than questions. His arms fought back in vain as the dogs strong neck rammed it muzzle to within inches of his. In an instant it would be over and then peace.

That moment never came nor the peace. The dog's demeanor changed from aggression to a curious sniffing as something had caught its attention. Approaching his jugular the scar-strewn visage had stopped and started moving slowly to his shoulder. Finding what it wanted its mouth opened and a long tongue rolled out. What came next surprised him with a nauseating fascination. As if tending to a newborn the dog proceeded to clean all traces of the fetid puss that coated his arm. When finished the animal strode off him, circled twice and took up its position in the corner. A metallic clinking could be heard as the animal retreated. Someone had placed the dog in chains so that it couldn't get loose. His mind awash in questions focused on one in particular, where were his restraints?




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