It turned out Blacky had all the guns and none of the ammunition to go with it. It also turned out that the fire dogs got easily distracted. So, with a bag of kibble in my hand, I ran from my soul, making sure to take every available turn in the way.
Three fiery canids followed, smashing against walls and statues, colliding with each other, leaving a trail of sooth and embers behind them.Blacky ran backwards by my sid,e never stopping looking at them.
“Yes, I was a fan of the King of Pop,” he said out of the blue.
Seeing the pursuers get closer, I threw another handful of kibble behind us. And grabbed Blacky from the tail so he would not eat them himself.
My chest burned and the only way I could keep on running is picturing two young males dressed in bootleg Nike and Adidas clothing, riding a motorbike in my direction.
I reached an U turn on the halls and Realized I didn’t knew this part of the pocket dimension. On one of the sides a ladder led to a hole on the roof.
I smiled, but Blacky bit my shirt as he realized what I intended to do. “Master no, that place is ominous!”
“What do you mean ominous.”
“They play music all day there.”
I tried to pull my shirt off of Blacky’s grasp. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Miranda!’s greatest hits.”
Before I had filtered Blacky’s statement through the lens of reason, we were running again. Ontological destruction was a preferable fate for Blacky, and for me too. I mean, I have nothing against Miranda! or their fans, but… just… well yes, I have something against them. But I swear the reasons for my bigotry are completely logical.
So we kept on running and eventually two of the three fire dogs caught up to us.
“What happened to the other one?” I asked, panting, to Blacky, that had jumped back into his card for ease of movement.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“I reckon he must have twisted his stomach. Happens a lot to fire dogs,” Blacky said, and a led lightbulb spawned over my head, immediately falling to the floor and bouncing on the brown tiles, because its exterior was made of plastic.
“Give me more kibble.”
“It’s mine!” Blacky growled.
“You have unlimited kibble in there.”
“Still mine! All of it.”
I took his card and I positioned my hands as if I were going to rip it.
“Wait, no, no! Here!” The card spat a 30 kilos bag of kibble with a gash already cut on it. The little dark brown and sick green pellets scattered all over the tiles and our pursuers stopped to sniff them. AS they ate, I retreated to the nearest corner, and hiding behind it, I observed.
The fire dogs began lapping it up the kibble until, after they had eaten about half of the bag, one of them fell on its side, and his abdomen began bloating more and more, like a balloon of a dog ablaze. His flames grew yellower, dimmer. Eventually, they extinguished, and the ex-dog was now working as the local pile of ashes.
“It works,” I mewled, and began walking away down the hall. “Uh, where are we precisely, Blacky?”
“Ah.” Blacky popped his head out of the card and looked around. “I haven’t got the palest of ideas.” He made a pause. “Ah, yes, the playerkiller. We are in the playerkiller.”
“The What?”
“Follow me if you want to live!” he jumped out of his card and began running down the winding halls.
I dejectedly walked behind him. “Just take me to the fucking room.”
Blacky didn’t listen, and down winding wide stairs draped in cyan, I followed. After several minutes of descending through this spiral staircase innervated by numerous halls, as if we were descending inside a tree and each bough was hollow. I pulled the brakes when I beheld the first skeleton littered against the inner border of the stairs. “Blacky, what is this?
The dog approached the skeleton , gave it a sniff , and began wagging his tail.
“It’s a deposit of hydroxyapatite. Completely natural occurrence. Maybe of biological origin.” He explained in an almost encyclopedic tone.
“Blacky, that’s a human skeleton. It has a skull. It has ribs. Arms. Legs.”
Blacky looked at me and blinked. “I don’t see how that contradicts the conclusions I arrived to.”
“That came out of a dead person,” I said, emphasizing every word with long pauses between them.
“We don’t know if the skeleton owner is dead.” Blacky argued. “He could be alive and just… skeletonless. Like, forgot it like it was his keys or wallet.”
“We are going back to the room,” I said, and I started climbing back upstairs.
“Ah, come on! Just a little run of the Roguelike mode of Playerkiller! It has neat rewards!”
His petition fell in deaf ears as I kept climbing.
“Come on, master, I want my holiday!”
And, while reluctantly guiding me back to safety, Blacky kept on trying to get me to suicide by means that wouldn’t cause him to be eaten by fiery dogs.