Houndoom_Lover
12th August 2007, 04:44 PM
Every dog has his day
As many great stories start with a storm, this one does as well. Gallons of acid rain poured down from the heavens, singeing all living things that dared walk out under it. A couple of years ago, we had a problem with some suicides, they would just have to walk outside in the rain. Now adays the doors latch themselves shut, although no one knew how they really work.
On a day like this many struggled to find things to do, Berdinard was spending his time reading. He loved to read things of fantasy, where every one got along with each other (except, of course, the bad guys). And the best thing of was that everything talked. Every child and ever chicken seemed to have something to say in these pages. Their words like inky finger prints, forever known.
Berdinard was twenty one and was very lucky to still have his brown hair. Oh, he was very vain, always saying that he’d rather have his eyes go than his beautiful brown locks. Even though he sat in a chair, anyone that would happen to walk into his house could tell that he was very tall indeed. He wiped his glasses again, turning the page.
He put his book down, with a stunned look on his face. He couldn’t believe what he had just read. The cat, was unable to talk anymore? What could be worse then that? He thought to himself in horror. What would it be like not to talk? With a shudder he put the book down on his smooth wooden desk. Ever corner of its shininess was covered in books, of course, when it’s wasn’t raining he’d have people over, and how they would ooh and aah over his desk. Very few people owned wooden things; only the very rich could afford to do such things.
He made himself a cup of strong tea and sat down in his comfy chair. It was old as well, the velvet pealing away to reveal its fluffy innards. Berdinard was just going to put the heat on when he heard a knock on the door. A knock?! He thought, why that is just crazy, I’m hearing things now. What loon would be out in this? Berdinard dismissed the knocking as just noise in his head, or maybe that it was hailing. It wasn’t the time of year of hail but with the crazy weather they had, who knew what it was going to do next.
You can tell who’s out your door when they knock. If it’s loud and firm it must be a stranger with something important or someone you know who is angry at you. If the knock is soft but rapid then the person on the other side is shy or knows you really well. And if the knocks are soft and short the person on the other side either know they’ll get in or hope you don’t answer the door. This was the kind of knock that knocked on Berdinard’s door. Soft and short, as though they knew they would get in eventually.
Berdinard turned up the heat a bit. The sound of buzzing electricity filled the room for a few minutes. He mumbled to himself about the price. It was just too high these days…
He lowered himself into his chair again, when there was a knock on the door again.
“Blast that infernal door! You know very well that I cannot open the door, Sir or Lady, for they are all locked.” He barked, standing up all the way. Berdinard just realized that the knocker should have known that. It has to be some homeless person, he thought, as he strolled to the door.
“My house is not a safe haven to the vagabond, please leave my door step.” He growled, now leaning up against the door, when he heard an odd sound. His milky brown eyes widened as the air compressors in the door hissed. And very slowly, so slowly that Beridinard dared not breathe, the door opened.
The figure that walked in was robed in all black, and rather tall, taller that Berdinard in fact. Berdinard quickly closed the door behind the figure, so none of the acidy rain would get in. The figure strolled in as though it owned the place, sitting in Berdinard’s comfy chair.
“Excuse me, Sir or Lady, but this is my house.” He said, in a strained voice. How dare this, this thing, sit in my chair? He thought angrily, watching the figure.
“Neither.” It said, in a chilling monotonic voice that made Berdinard whimper.
“Neither? What do you mean neither?” Berdinard demanded, still standing by the door.
“I am neither…sir nor lady.”
Berdinard fell back on a wooden chair which he hadn’t sat in for sometime. The chair’s wood creaked under his weight. A smile played on his face, as he let out a barkish laugh.
“Neither sir or lady? Why that’s just insane, you have to be one or the other-“ But the stranger in black cut him off.
“Not both. I am nothing.”
“Nothing? Why, everyone has to be something, you can’t just be nothing, can you?” He tilted his head to the side, forgetting about his anger.
“Yes, I am nothing and yet I sit in front of front of you as bright as day.” The figure laughed, its laugh was very cheery. It didn’t seem to fit it at all.
“Well, Nothing, why are you here?” Berdinard didn’t mean to snap like this, he was just getting old, and it happens when you’re old.
“I may be nothing, but my name is not nothing.” The figure returned to its very cold voice.
“Then what, may I ask, is your name?” Berdinard felt irked. He wished this thing would just leave him alone.
“Death.”
That simple word sent chills down his spine. He felt every hair on his body stand up on end as he stared at Death, himself. His old heart gave a jolt, he had read about Death before, and never in his many books had Death sat down and talked to his victims like this.
Well then why don’t you get on with it?” He asked, gripping the arms of the wooden chair. He couldn’t believe it, hadn’t he, just that morning, been complemented on his youthful looks?
“You see, my friend, I always give a choice to your kind. You see, you have three picks. Instead of just Heaven and Hell,” At this he waved his hand, as though dismissing these thoughts, “which I have no control of, I can take you to a place where I have control on when you die, and if I like, you can live forever.”
“Well, that’s a raw deal. If you take us there and we only last a week-“ Once again, Death interrupted.
“If you are so worried then I’ll let you know that your good deeds determine where I take you. Were you a good boy?” And for some reason Death started to laugh that cheerful laugh.
Berdinard was awestruck, he had donated to many places in the name of good, and he couldn’t think of anytime that he was a ‘bad boy’. He wanted to know more.
“What is this place like?” He asked, his voice sounded eager he was so excited that his whole body shaking.
“You are pampered there, and there are fields as far as the eye can see. Skies as blue as a newborn star and nights as dark as my clothes, and there is weather (Berdinard sighed) but you can run and play in it.” Death said, Berdinard was sure if he could see his face it would be grinning.
“What else?” He asked, his face looked greedy, but it was really a good greed, it was the need for information. “Are there others there? Like…”
“Yes, there are animals there but there is one thing you should…”
“Are there books?!” Berdinard now stood up, grabbing his outside coat.
“Yes, but you need to know something, something important.”
Panting, Berdinard sat back down. He looked at Death with his milky eyes. What could be so important that he, Berinard, had to waste another moment of his time?
“You’ll lose your ability to talk…” Death said slowly, moving about in an uncomfortable manner. Berdinard’s body sudden shlumped forward, if a blow was even under the belt, it had to be that one.
“Not being able to speak? Well, I’m sorry Death, but I…cannot go.” He looked at Death, who seemed disappointed.
“It’s not that you won’t be able to speak, it’s just you won’t be understood by those that take care of you.” At this, Death stood up. “It is a dog’s life isn’t it?” He gave a dry chuckled and moved to the door.
“When will you be back?” Berdinard asked, very disappointed himself in what just happened. It got his old blood pumping to think that he could run again.
“I’ll knock.” Death said, sounding very downhearted, “After all, every dog has his day.”
Berdinard closed the door after Death, turning up the heat as high as it would go. After all, if Death had been there once, then he would surly be there again. And what would money matter, he thought, after he was dead and gone?
He sat back down in the chair that Death sat on. It sent a chill up Berdinard’s spine. How cold it was! But that’s not the only thing that was bothering him. Who would pick a life where you couldn’t talk anymore, well, to those that took care of you? But wouldn’t that be a hard life? Maybe I made the wrong choice, he thought.
The thought had gripped him so hard that it sent him out of his comfy chair and to his door. It opened up for him, this just had meant that the rain had stopped, but he was wrong. Very wrong. In seconds acid began to strip at his old body, when he heard a knock from somewhere.
“Every dog has his day, Berdinard.” Death laughed evily. Berdinard’s ear started to itch; apparently fleas weren’t affected by acid.
As many great stories start with a storm, this one does as well. Gallons of acid rain poured down from the heavens, singeing all living things that dared walk out under it. A couple of years ago, we had a problem with some suicides, they would just have to walk outside in the rain. Now adays the doors latch themselves shut, although no one knew how they really work.
On a day like this many struggled to find things to do, Berdinard was spending his time reading. He loved to read things of fantasy, where every one got along with each other (except, of course, the bad guys). And the best thing of was that everything talked. Every child and ever chicken seemed to have something to say in these pages. Their words like inky finger prints, forever known.
Berdinard was twenty one and was very lucky to still have his brown hair. Oh, he was very vain, always saying that he’d rather have his eyes go than his beautiful brown locks. Even though he sat in a chair, anyone that would happen to walk into his house could tell that he was very tall indeed. He wiped his glasses again, turning the page.
He put his book down, with a stunned look on his face. He couldn’t believe what he had just read. The cat, was unable to talk anymore? What could be worse then that? He thought to himself in horror. What would it be like not to talk? With a shudder he put the book down on his smooth wooden desk. Ever corner of its shininess was covered in books, of course, when it’s wasn’t raining he’d have people over, and how they would ooh and aah over his desk. Very few people owned wooden things; only the very rich could afford to do such things.
He made himself a cup of strong tea and sat down in his comfy chair. It was old as well, the velvet pealing away to reveal its fluffy innards. Berdinard was just going to put the heat on when he heard a knock on the door. A knock?! He thought, why that is just crazy, I’m hearing things now. What loon would be out in this? Berdinard dismissed the knocking as just noise in his head, or maybe that it was hailing. It wasn’t the time of year of hail but with the crazy weather they had, who knew what it was going to do next.
You can tell who’s out your door when they knock. If it’s loud and firm it must be a stranger with something important or someone you know who is angry at you. If the knock is soft but rapid then the person on the other side is shy or knows you really well. And if the knocks are soft and short the person on the other side either know they’ll get in or hope you don’t answer the door. This was the kind of knock that knocked on Berdinard’s door. Soft and short, as though they knew they would get in eventually.
Berdinard turned up the heat a bit. The sound of buzzing electricity filled the room for a few minutes. He mumbled to himself about the price. It was just too high these days…
He lowered himself into his chair again, when there was a knock on the door again.
“Blast that infernal door! You know very well that I cannot open the door, Sir or Lady, for they are all locked.” He barked, standing up all the way. Berdinard just realized that the knocker should have known that. It has to be some homeless person, he thought, as he strolled to the door.
“My house is not a safe haven to the vagabond, please leave my door step.” He growled, now leaning up against the door, when he heard an odd sound. His milky brown eyes widened as the air compressors in the door hissed. And very slowly, so slowly that Beridinard dared not breathe, the door opened.
The figure that walked in was robed in all black, and rather tall, taller that Berdinard in fact. Berdinard quickly closed the door behind the figure, so none of the acidy rain would get in. The figure strolled in as though it owned the place, sitting in Berdinard’s comfy chair.
“Excuse me, Sir or Lady, but this is my house.” He said, in a strained voice. How dare this, this thing, sit in my chair? He thought angrily, watching the figure.
“Neither.” It said, in a chilling monotonic voice that made Berdinard whimper.
“Neither? What do you mean neither?” Berdinard demanded, still standing by the door.
“I am neither…sir nor lady.”
Berdinard fell back on a wooden chair which he hadn’t sat in for sometime. The chair’s wood creaked under his weight. A smile played on his face, as he let out a barkish laugh.
“Neither sir or lady? Why that’s just insane, you have to be one or the other-“ But the stranger in black cut him off.
“Not both. I am nothing.”
“Nothing? Why, everyone has to be something, you can’t just be nothing, can you?” He tilted his head to the side, forgetting about his anger.
“Yes, I am nothing and yet I sit in front of front of you as bright as day.” The figure laughed, its laugh was very cheery. It didn’t seem to fit it at all.
“Well, Nothing, why are you here?” Berdinard didn’t mean to snap like this, he was just getting old, and it happens when you’re old.
“I may be nothing, but my name is not nothing.” The figure returned to its very cold voice.
“Then what, may I ask, is your name?” Berdinard felt irked. He wished this thing would just leave him alone.
“Death.”
That simple word sent chills down his spine. He felt every hair on his body stand up on end as he stared at Death, himself. His old heart gave a jolt, he had read about Death before, and never in his many books had Death sat down and talked to his victims like this.
Well then why don’t you get on with it?” He asked, gripping the arms of the wooden chair. He couldn’t believe it, hadn’t he, just that morning, been complemented on his youthful looks?
“You see, my friend, I always give a choice to your kind. You see, you have three picks. Instead of just Heaven and Hell,” At this he waved his hand, as though dismissing these thoughts, “which I have no control of, I can take you to a place where I have control on when you die, and if I like, you can live forever.”
“Well, that’s a raw deal. If you take us there and we only last a week-“ Once again, Death interrupted.
“If you are so worried then I’ll let you know that your good deeds determine where I take you. Were you a good boy?” And for some reason Death started to laugh that cheerful laugh.
Berdinard was awestruck, he had donated to many places in the name of good, and he couldn’t think of anytime that he was a ‘bad boy’. He wanted to know more.
“What is this place like?” He asked, his voice sounded eager he was so excited that his whole body shaking.
“You are pampered there, and there are fields as far as the eye can see. Skies as blue as a newborn star and nights as dark as my clothes, and there is weather (Berdinard sighed) but you can run and play in it.” Death said, Berdinard was sure if he could see his face it would be grinning.
“What else?” He asked, his face looked greedy, but it was really a good greed, it was the need for information. “Are there others there? Like…”
“Yes, there are animals there but there is one thing you should…”
“Are there books?!” Berdinard now stood up, grabbing his outside coat.
“Yes, but you need to know something, something important.”
Panting, Berdinard sat back down. He looked at Death with his milky eyes. What could be so important that he, Berinard, had to waste another moment of his time?
“You’ll lose your ability to talk…” Death said slowly, moving about in an uncomfortable manner. Berdinard’s body sudden shlumped forward, if a blow was even under the belt, it had to be that one.
“Not being able to speak? Well, I’m sorry Death, but I…cannot go.” He looked at Death, who seemed disappointed.
“It’s not that you won’t be able to speak, it’s just you won’t be understood by those that take care of you.” At this, Death stood up. “It is a dog’s life isn’t it?” He gave a dry chuckled and moved to the door.
“When will you be back?” Berdinard asked, very disappointed himself in what just happened. It got his old blood pumping to think that he could run again.
“I’ll knock.” Death said, sounding very downhearted, “After all, every dog has his day.”
Berdinard closed the door after Death, turning up the heat as high as it would go. After all, if Death had been there once, then he would surly be there again. And what would money matter, he thought, after he was dead and gone?
He sat back down in the chair that Death sat on. It sent a chill up Berdinard’s spine. How cold it was! But that’s not the only thing that was bothering him. Who would pick a life where you couldn’t talk anymore, well, to those that took care of you? But wouldn’t that be a hard life? Maybe I made the wrong choice, he thought.
The thought had gripped him so hard that it sent him out of his comfy chair and to his door. It opened up for him, this just had meant that the rain had stopped, but he was wrong. Very wrong. In seconds acid began to strip at his old body, when he heard a knock from somewhere.
“Every dog has his day, Berdinard.” Death laughed evily. Berdinard’s ear started to itch; apparently fleas weren’t affected by acid.