This is for the Short Story Prompt by We Drink Because We’re Poets. My first attempt at first person perspective and going strictly by an inner monologue. Might as well go all out on these challenges.
A Snickers bar. A fucking Snickers bar! That’s what got me into the damn mess. I was hungry and I planned on getting my friend to give me money before we left the store. That bitch of a shop owner didn’t believe me, so now I’m stuck. Maybe I should have taken the offer for sex and be done with it. Sure, she was in her eighties and had no teeth, but I could have . . . okay, I guess there are worse fates than this.
The disturbing thing is that she had everything for this job tucked away behind the counter. It was like she was waiting for somebody to come along and put themselves in this position. I wonder how long this shit has gone on for since this is a pretty messy escalation. I think she mentioned a cat at one point, but I was too busy thinking that I didn’t want to go to jail for a Snickers bar. Can a guy go to jail over a Snickers bar? If not then I’m going to feel like an idiot.
Well, it can’t get any darker and this bush is starting to make me itch. Maybe I’m just nervous because this doesn’t look like poison ivy. So, I’ll just crawl across her neighbor’s front lawn and sneak to the back. Son of a bitch! He’s got the fucking sprinklers on. I’m going to get soaked. Probably be smart to leave my wallet and phone here, so they don’t get destroyed. Not that I have any money in my wallet in the first place. If I did, I wouldn’t be in the middle of this mess. Stop thinking and just get across the damned lawn! Okay! Here I go!
That wasn’t fun in any way, but maybe this will hide my scent from the dog. She said it was a big brute that I had to be careful of. That’s probably what this package of sausage is for. I feel like I’m in a cartoon all of a sudden. Well, dogs like meat, so I can see this working. Now, I remember the cat. She wanted me to dig up the cat that she thinks the dog mauled. Why didn’t she call animal control for something like this? That makes more sense than blackmailing me into handling this crap. I’m a fucking college student majoring in political science. Not a . . . what would you even call this?
Let me get around the house and then I can think clearly. It’s a bad idea to not have a gate around here. That’s just asking for people to go into your backyard or for your dog to run away. Oh, he has one of those shock barrier things that zap dogs if they go too far. That makes sense then.
This guy’s backyard is wide open and so are his windows. How the hell am I supposed to dig up a dead cat without him noticing? All she gave me was a small shovel, rat poison, rope, a flashlight, and . . . I have no idea what this thing is. It has a red button and a green button and I think it’s a toy from aisle 9. It looks like one of those things that make loud noises and comes from China or Taiwan. Oh my god, I got tricked by a crazy woman. She might try to kill me if I don’t do this job. If she put this stuff together for digging up a dead cat then I don’t want to know what kit she would give to the person she blackmails into killing me.
I don’t see anyone in the house, so I’ll crawl across the yard to the fence where she said a patch of dirt will be. Here we go. Keep crawling and crawling until I find the patch of dirt. Found it! Now, I’ll just dig until I hit something squishy or see bones or whatever it is that means I’ve hit a dead cat. Though, if the dog ate the cat, why would there be anything left to bury? I should stop asking questions and get this done. I have to sleep through biology 101 tomorrow morning and pray the professor doesn’t hear me snoring again.
Wow. This dirt is really easy to move. It’s like this was done recently, so the dirt hasn’t settled yet. Ha! I guess I did learn something during earth science. What? Dead cats don’t go clink when your shovel hits them. They go squish or . . . my dead cat experience is very limited, so all I have is squish. This looks like a metal urn with layers of duct tape around the top to keep it sealed. This guy cremated the lady’s dead cat and buried it in an urn. Even stranger, the cat’s name is Thomas and Agatha Janison. That’s a stupid name for a cat. Do I hear something growling?
Holy shit that’s a big dog! Get him off me! Get him off me! Where’s that fucking rat poison? Son of a bitch! The box is fucking empty! Ow! Get your teeth out of my arm! That’s a lot of blood. Rope is fucking useless. Maybe the toy will scare it off . . . and it ate the toy. At least it let go of my arm. I need that leg! Wait! I’ll beat this monster with the shovel! Let go you stupid . . . over-sized . . . man-eating mutt! I think I only made it mad with that beating.
Is someone yelling? That’s the shop owner’s voice from over the fence. Did she say something about her dead parents? Wait a second. The dog’s owner just called her his sister and said the urn is his. Oh for fuck’s sake! I just got dragged into a sibling war over their dead, cremated parents. Just split the fucking ashes and move away from each other, you dumb bastards. Can one of you idiots call the police or the army to kill this dog? You know, take your time because this barely hurts any more. I’ll just lie here and continue being his chew toy. I hope you two die in your bathtubs. This fucking sucks. I never even got to finish that fucking Snickers bar.