to do with her new apartment. Part of her wanted to clean the place entirely showing Frank that she was not a slob, and the other half wanted to leave everything the way it was all boxed up so he would stay longer. In the end, she decided to do a mixture of both where it was not too messy but still needed some work. She also thought that it would give them enough time for her to suggest grabbing dinner together; her treat of course for coming over to help with the move.
Frank was torn as well; but, not by the clutter of his house, but how to dress for the day. Does he put on a nice shirt and tie like he does every day when going to work? Does he wear a t-shirt since he is mainly moving boxes and could get dirty?
“Could you help me out Martian?” Paris said to the hairy creature below him on the ground.
The dog got to its feet and looked up at his friend.
“What do you think I should wear when I go see Roxy tonight?” he said showing Martian two shirts. Martian gave a snore signaling Paris to put the shirts back. Paris then pulled out two new shirts, one work dress and the other a t-shirt.
Again the dog snored.
Pairs became a little annoyed by this but decided to try something different. He pulled out two polo shirts he had not worn in a long time and showed them to Martian.
The dog barked and waged his tail, and Paris knew what his friend was telling him: go with something in the middle.
In the end, Paris put on a black and blue stripped polo shirt and dark blue jeans.
“Thanks buddy,” Paris said as he came down the ladder.
Looking at his watch, Paris saw that there was still some time before he needed to start walking toward Roxy’s place. So, with the time he had to spare, Paris decided to play a game with Martian. Their games were never the simple dog games like “fetch the ball” and “sit, stay, come, play dead;” Paris thought those sort of games would be degrading to his friend. So, they would play games that would make them feel like equals. As opposed to games that could be viewed as “teaching a dog a new trick.” One of their favorite games was the shell game. Paris would take three opaque cups, place them on the table, and put a super ball underneath one of them. Then, he would rearrange the cups several times to try and fool Martian as to the super ball’s location. Martian was surprisingly good at this game, and there were only a few times where Paris was able to fool him.
“Either I’m getting better at this, or you‘re losing your touch old friend,” said Paris smiling after winning a game.
Playing games was just one of the many things these two friends would do together. They would stay up all night having conversations, one sided of course with the usual bark to acknowledge that Martian was listening. They would sit down on the porch and eat watermelon on a hot day. They would even play music together with Martian improvising a melody with howls and whines while Paris kept a steady beat playing the spoons. Every writer who searched for the perfect “boy and his dog” story could look at Paris and Martian’s companionship and see inspiration. And yet, Paris would disagree, about the “dog” part. Martian was like no other dog that he had encountered in the past; in fact, Martian was perhaps the only dog in history to truly comprehend what was on television. For, there were times when Martian would place his paw on the wireless TV on the wall and whine for Paris to turn on the device. Once the request was obliged, Martian would decide if the show was worth watching. If he did not like what he was seeing, he would give a very loud snore, and Paris would change the channel. There would be a back and forth of snoring and channel changing until Martian saw what he wanted to watch, barked, and waged his tail. Martian would sit and watch the show until it was over and snore again for Paris to find another show. What kind of a dog does that? Certainly none that Paris knew or heard of, which further solidified Frank’s belief that there was a “Martian” taking the form of a dog named Martian. Why the alien was here, he did not care; Paris was just happy to have a true friend help him through a world filled with annoying, animal worshiping humans.
However, Paris did hope that his feelings would change the more he socialized with people. Roxy would be the best place to start. Hopefully, this would not only be the first step toward gaining another loyal friend like Martian, but also in helping him with his hallucinations. The fact that Paris had one during an important meeting just proves that they were starting to get worse. Even though Martian was helping him cope with the terrible reality he was living, it still was not enough. Paris needed something more; he desired hope. Hope that the world would either get better and make it through the “transition period,” or come to its senses and realize that the animal’s kingdom should be abolished. Paris had almost completely given up hope until a few years ago on a Thursday, a day that he saw Death; it was also the day that Paris had met Martian.
It was a time when Paris was at his lowest. Lower than any human on the political chain or farm house web. Paris was 33 at the time and walking home from CFI after a terrible day at the office. He had messed up on his first tree tag proposal order. Even though they caught the problem in time, they told him that another mistake would lead to termination. Paris came home to find a Great Dane outside his place of which he had never seen in person before. From afar, he thought it was some sort of alien life form. Surprisingly, Paris ran up to the figure hoping it was a being from outer space who could take him away from this dystopia. He soon found that his dreams of sailing away from Orwell’s farm were crushed when the alien was in reality a very large dog. The Dane did not run in terror after seeing the man approach. He was more concerned about a gofer that could easily feed his hunger for the day. Digging for the prey, the large canine had his large, saliva drenched tongue flopping around hopping that he would soon taste the flesh of the ground rodent. Watching the black dog digging for the gofer outside made Paris hallucinate for a few seconds, but, within those seconds, he saw a dark figure wearing a black coat digging his grave. His pointed ears were the horns of the Devil, and his salivating mouth was bile dripping from Satan’s jaws. The tongue was the serpent that tempted Eve with the apple, and the teeth were tombstones lined up showing all who had fallen before the lord of evil. Others would just see a dog digging in the yard, but Paris saw his death. No longer could he live in a world where he was beneath the hooves of a cow, the wings of a chicken, and the claws of a lizard. It was time for him to die, and it was going to be a carrion feast for man’s former best friend, a dog.
Paris began his walk on the grey mile to face his death. He dropped his briefcase on the ground, took his glasses off, and placed them gently into his side pocket. As he drew closer, the dog stopped what he was doing and looked up at Paris staring at him with blank eyes. Paris fell to his knees before the grim as a sign of defeat.
“Take me away,” Paris said to the beast, “I don’t want to live in this Hell anymore.”
The dog looked at him, taking in all that was said, and then went back to looking for the gofer.
Most people would take several steps of emotions when death has been denied to them. The first step is shock which comes after one has been denied to die, the second is rage which is used to instigate death, and the third is contentment which comes after knowing that one will die soon. Paris skipped the first step and became enraged with fury.
He started yelling at the dog, “Kill me, kill me you stupid dog!”
But the hunter kept digging for prey which made Paris furious. The hunger to escape this cannibalistic paradox was eating his sanity. He needed to die and Paris was going to do anything to make this wish a reality. Then, Paris got an idea. He went back to pick up his briefcase and told himself that he would show that stupid animal.
“Either that animal is going to kill me after I hit him with this, or the police are gonna have to kill me for beating that piece of shit to death,” he muttered to himself.
Paris
