It was the deal of the century! All I had to do was put a few bullets in a couple dogs’ heads and I would be up a hundred thousand dollars. Not a misprint folks, a hundred FUCKING THOUSAND DOLLARS. As far as I knew that wasn’t the going rate for this kind of thing. I think I would have done it for like… five thousand, easy. I was broke. All the way broke. Literally no money at all. I hadn’t paid rent in months, and was much in debt to drug folks, again.
I hopped on my motorcycle and drove about a mile before it ran out of gas and I had to ditch it on the side of the road. I walked the rest of the way, like an hour or so. I was running real late and was also pissed, cause I knew I had to walk all the way back too. You never realize how much of a pain it is to have no money at all until you don’t have any. I hadn’t eaten in 2 days, no laundry in a month, water’s turned off, I just walked a mile. It was a really fucking shitty day and all I had to look forward to was blowing a couple of dogs’ heads off.
I walked up to the apartment, and had someone buzz me in with the old “I’ve got a package” routine. Walked up to the third floor, busted the door in with my foot, and found myself pointing a gun straight at a huge fucking painting of my face, surrounded by candles. The three dog men were huddled around it in dirty old monk’s robes and were mumbling dog noises and slurping up liquid in wooden bowls. They didn’t move to look at me at all. I kept the gun pointed at them, and just stood there, conflicted. A solid minute passed. The dogs one by one slowly turned their heads to me and got up off their knees, tottering, like they hand’t stood up in a long time. They all slowly stumbled towards me dropped at my feet and started weeping in joy.
“Fellas,” I sad, “let it be known, I’m here kill you guys.”
“We know!” they shouted through their tears in unison “We have been waiting.”
The middle dog looked up at me and into my eyes, “We have been waiting for you to come, and send us to our ecstasy. We all have met with god, we saw his genitals and experienced his eternal paradise. Bring us back there! Josiah! King of men! Chosen of god! Kill us! Blow our brains away! We do not need them! Send us to heaven! Grim reaper! Face of Paradise! God on Earth!”
They begged to die. Over and over again. But It wasn’t sad begging. They were joyous. Filled with love. They looked at me like I was their mother, that I had brought them back to life. I felt their love.
They crawled then, back to the painting, and became upright on their knees, joining hands. They were taking position to be executed. I never said a word. I knew their story was true. Their God was my God, and I would recognize the work of my God anywhere. The painting of my face, also, was extremely accurate. I took a gun to each head, and as I pulled the trigger the dog would slump to the ground, and a splatter of blood would mar the painting of my face. For a moment I wished I were them, I wished I could go with them to God’s glorious paradise. I knew, though, I had a mission here on earth. I just wasn’t sure what it was, what God intended for me. Maybe I should have asked those crazy dog guys about it. Maybe that was a mistake. An Important part of my life, though, is that I do not have regrets, and I try to get over things as quick as I can. Be okay with stuff that’s happened. It’s worked so far. Despite the outwardly sad oddness of my life, I’m really a pretty happy guy.
“God bless you,” I said meekly to no one.
I covered their bodies in a sheet, out of respect, ate some leftovers out of their fridge and walked down the stairs and out the front door where I was hit square in the face by the swing of an aluminum baseball bat. I woke up, some time later, with my head bobbing just above the water of the bank a shallow canal.