hole
HOLE
“Say’s here, that you led a good life.”
The words churned out of the printer of a mouth belonging to Walter Goodman. He sat at his desk looking like he had been installed there by a technician long ago. A florescent light flickered above, giving Walter’s pale face the look of an aging monitor. The man he was speaking to looked like any you would pass on the street.
“You treated your friends and family well,” continued Walter, “donated money to charity, helped old people, jogged three days a week and avoided swear words.”
“Uh, yeah.” said the man like any other.
Walter said nothing and simply looked at the man with a time-clock expression.
“So…uh,” began the man, as Walter knew he would. “Why am I here then? I mean, If I lived my life right then shouldn’t I be heading to some glowing afterlife or something?”
“Gerbils.” said Walter.
“What?”
“Gerbils.”
“Yeah, I heard you, but what about them?”
“How many Gerbils do you think you hurt, tortured and killed when you were alive?”
“Are you serious?”
“37.”
“You keep track of that stuff? Shit, I was just a kid when I did that, just a kid!”
“Number 34 to 37 happened during college,” Walter scanned an open file on his desk, “your ‘fire cracker party trick’, I believe.’”
The man looked deeply into Walters face and tried to discover any clue as to what was coming. He found nothing. Next, he looked over to see if the bland figure in front of him was somehow un-pluggable. No luck there either.
“So what now then?” asked the man carefully as a cold feeling he remembered from his life, seeped into his death. Flashes of the revenue offices and piles of papers with words like “Un-paid Back Tax” pounded into them in cold bold type. He had imagined that feelings like that would stop after death.
“You will live life again twice.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
“I shit you not sir. You will live once as a gerbil and once again as a Human.”
“Two fucking lifetimes just for killing some fucking rodents! Fuck man, what about all the good things I did after all that, I was seventy-fucking-two when I had my heart attack, that’s over fifty years of good things!”
“I’m not here to dispute that. I’m simply here to pass on the decisions made regarding your souls direction in the universe.”
“Decisions? Direction? I thought I was the one with free will and the ability to choose my own destiny.”
Walter never got tired of hearing that line.
“Of course you do.” He said patronizingly. “But, there has to be some amount of self-control, otherwise everyone would just run around being greedy, inconsiderate shits; getting away with murder everyday of their lives. What’s the point of all of that then?”
After a lengthy pause the man like any other asked, “Is there a point to everything?”
“Of course, you just haven’t figured it out yet. Two lifetimes; please make your way out to the bailiff.”
The man like any other leaned forward and placed his hands on the severe desk of Walter Goodman. “You little fucking turd, you don’t know either, do you?”
Walters face flickered coolly under the pasty glow of the light. “Figure this:” printed his voice, “you’re over there, floating nowhere, heading back down the big flush, and once I’ve washed my hands of you I get to go back to the party.”
“Let me wipe that asshole grin off of your asshole face!” shouted the man like any other as he launched himself over Walter’s desk.
Now, without the burdens of life, he was swift and agile, his aim was true and his fist connected with Walters jaw…and passed right through it. The man like any other continued through Walter and ended up back where he started heading straight for the desk. He did not pass through the desk again. Walter never got tired of seeing that.
A door the colour of nicotine stains opened behind the man like any other. Two men unlike any others entered and each took hold of an arm and dragged the man through the door. It closed on his heels like a cigarette stepping on a shoe. The man like any other’s file disappeared with a wisp of smoke.
Walter Goodman stood from his chair like a man made out of crutches. Walking round his desk he headed out of his tiny office through the nicotine coloured door. He smiled, as he always did, when looking over the crowded waiting room. Uncomfortable plastic seats perched nervously on welded frames bolted to the floor, cradling a vast swarm of lonely filth, each lost in a glassy eyed world of personal despair. The room was a symphony of unhealthy coughs, uncomfortable creaks and children crying into their mother’s ratty bosom, unheeded in favour of lighting cigarette filters from the abundant ashtrays next to each seat. The atmosphere was muggy and close; tinted ever so gently with the fragrance of stale cigarette smoke and hospital. Walter had designed every nook and cranny. Every stained seat, every booger on the wall, every vacant expression with all hope lost. Walter wanted anyone who found themselves waiting in this room, with only a nicotine stained door to look forward to, to think one thing and one thing only: somehow, in some way, I really fucked up somewhere.
Walter stepped into the heart of the waiting grime and the room dissolved around him, leaving an empty room of glowing white. Only one chair grazed on the white floor. He picked it up and placed it neatly to one side. A section of the wall opened of its own accord and Walter Goodman left his office after another days work.
He made his way home in the usual way and entered his piece of the afterlife and sat down. As his shoes disappeared off his feet, a large rectangle of light appeared in front of him. Walter smiled, as he always did at the end of the day, X-factor was about to begin. He raised his feet and rested them on a piece of the hereafter similar to the one he was sitting on. The rectangle beamed the digital image of an X hurtling through space towards its ultimate destination, somewhere in London. Walter tapped his foot to the overly dramatic theme music and braced himself for another dose of Cowell’s cold cruelty rewarded to those with big hope and no talent.
Walter cackled and snorted as his hero cut down the no-hopers with his blunt brutality. Occasionally he would help judge and decree, “Crap!” or “Yeah, flush ‘em!”
He never watched the episodes later in the season with the talent there was no fun in that. At one point or another Walter would always try and make a mental note to remember any particularly dire performance so as to produce it during the performer’s eventual sentencing. He relished the opportunity to add that one last kick in the teeth to someone just as he flushed them back for another spin. Secretly he fantasized about Simon Cowell being on the wrong side of his desk one day. Walter would let him fall through the desk twice before he hit it with the extra momentum, a trick he only saved for special occasions and government figures.
X-factor soon ended and Walter stretched out to rest. His slice of the afterlife disappeared and the dream of Walter Goodman slept with the stars of the universe around him.
*
Walter awoke when he was supposed to and made the journey back to work. The door to the waiting room opened, granting him entry. He picked up the chair from against the white wall, placing it in the center of the room. Sometimes he liked to think of this room as “the bowl.” Walter then proceeded to fill it with the most depressing shit he could think of. It was a talent of his. The nicotine stain of a door materialized and had only just opened when two figures unlike any others came in through the door to the bowl.
“Aw, Christ,” said Walter, turning back from the door to his desk.
“Who?”
“Never mind. Am I late, or do you have some extras for me to flush today?” he asked, brightening slightly.
“Oh, come on now Walter, we’ve told you before not to call it that. We’re in the business of helping lost souls re-live to rectify mistakes they made in life; encourage them to improve their consciousness in order to prepare them for the afterlife and beyond. Not to lower it all into the cycles of a cosmic toilet.”
“Whatever gets you through the day,” said Walter. “So what do I owe the pleasure of this early visit? Nothing serious, I hope. I’d like to have a look at the files for today before my first session.”
The man unlike any other who had been doing all the talking stepped aside to let his associate speak.
“You’re being reassigned, Mr Goodman.”
“What! Fuck that, I like it here!”
“Yes, Walter, and we like having you here. It’s just temporary. There’s been a bit of a cock up and we think you’re the man to set things straight.”
“How can it be my fault? I just pack ‘em off. I’m not the one who makes the decisions!” Walter dug himself in and aimed an eye at each of them.
“This is true, Mr Goodman, you do not make the decisions,” said the target of Walters left eye. “And neither do we. We are servants to the order of things, like you. Needs dictate our tasks and right now you are being asked to help mend a simple error to restore the integrity of this point of life. Your job will be waiting for you when you get back.”
“Back! Where the fuck am I going?”
“You will be returning to life on your planet and living as an agent of”
“Fuck that!” fired Walter as both his eyes turned to the figure on the right and launched a look riddled with contempt and profanity. “I’ve already made it through to the other side. I’ve paid my dues and claimed my reward. Pick someone waiting to be sentenced, they’ll be better suited for this bullshit.”
“You know very well that cannot happen. The sentenced must toil to improve the quality of their own soul. You will be sent to rescue a soul sent back by mistake. This soul does not deserve the re-live it has been sent to endure. Your job will be to remove the soul from harms way so that it may live the rest of its days in peace until it is time to return.”
“Well, Kumba-fucking-ya,” said Walter. “If sorting this mistake is so important then why are you two bunking off and dropping it on me?”
The two men unlike any others looked at each other. Walter was sure they shared a brief smirk. “Like I said,” began the figure on Walters right (whom Walter Goodman had now decided to call Mr Cock ), “you are the perfect man for the job.”
“You see, Mr Goodman,” continued the figure on his left (Mr Balls), “you are correct in saying that you have made it through to the other side… just. Our records show that it was only by a mere technicality that you did not have to live your life over one last time to iron out a few more creases in your soul….”
“Technicality! Fuck off, I’m in. I made it. End of story.”
“No, Mr Goodman, you are mistaken,” said, Mr Cock. “The story does not end. It may change as it plays itself out but it never ends. You should know that by now. Perhaps that is why you have been chosen to complete this simple task.”
Walter’s invitation for Mr Cock to eat shit was interrupted by Mr Balls. “Your story still has a chapter left to complete, Mr Goodman. End of story. It is time for you to return. Do try and avoid fucking this up.”
Walters monitor of a face lit up in panic as the associates moved like shadows in light speed and each took an arm, dragging him back the way he had come.
“Wait. Wait!” cried Walter. “What the fuck am I supposed to do when I get there?”
“That’s the spirit!” said Mr Cock. “I knew curiosity would get the better of you sooner or later. Don’t worry, Walt! All you gotta do is track down a dog named Asbo. His soul was sent back to endure life as a pit fighter owned by a reeeaal motherfucker. It was supposed to be the owner that got sent back as the dog but someone in space and time buggered it all up and now we’ve got to get him away to a lovely family who’re themselves on their last incarnation on earth. Oh, what a happy group they’ll be!”
Mr Balls nodded vigorously and smiled in agreement as they picked up speed with their unwitting agent of kharma. “It’s all been arranged. The family will be only too happy to take in this poor helpless puppy. Just drop him off in their yard and let your heart melt with joy. Won’t that be nice?”
They were sped through the afterlife. Faster and faster they hurtled through the barriers of the unknown and barely shown.
“How will I know where to find Asbo?” wheezed Walter, eyes screwed shut.
“Never fear, old boy! You’ll figure it out as soon as you get to Manchester.”
Mr Cock and Mr Balls pushed forward and launched Walter Goodman through the gateway of the hereafter. Ordinarily there wasn’t a long flight of stairs at the gateway but they made an extra effort for Walter as they pushed him down. The steps rushed to greet him and repeatedly kissed him in the face.
“I never get tired of doing that,” said Mr Softcock to his associate as they shared a giggle at the border of life and death.
*
Walter Goodman awoke abruptly, took his first breath again and promptly shit all over his talons. In a panic he tried to hop away from his own filth, flapping his wings in every which way. Gravity wandered by for a visit and he soon found his beak rushing towards the floor of his nest.
“Squawk!” he screeched. Cock and Balls, he thought. I’m a fucking bird.
Walter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His body and mind were swimming with the confusing signals of raw animal instinct having a fistfight with the consciousness of a fan of X-factor. Walter was getting his head kicked in.
Powerful hunger for small rodents and cravings for awkward, feathery sex made him feel nauseas. He tried to get up but his hands flapped and failed spectacularly. Rolling onto his side, eyes closed, Walter Goodman exerted his will over the natural programming of his vessel. His will fought dirty and he soon rolled upright and experimentally flapped his wings to bring himself up to perch in the edge of his nest. He was alive. Deep breaths pulled sweet air into his lungs as he looked unto the living world for the first time in lifetimes. He could see for miles over the country side and into the city beyond. The slightest movement was clear to him; nothing on the ground could hide from his eyes. The wind was a myriad collection of thermal ladders and pathways that he was the master of.
“Screech!” he announced to the world. I’m a fucking bird of prey, he thought. Cool.
Walter Goodman: bird of prey, launched himself into the air. He beat his wings hard and climbed a stairway of wind, hiking higher and higher until he reached a nice thermal updraft. There, he stretched his feathers and let the wind carry him peacefully over the countryside. The day was sunny and warm.
Right, he thought. Find dog, save dog, happy family, X-factor. He aimed himself at the city of Manchester and rode the sky forwards.
As he flew he tuned into the living planet, looking for direction. The perfection of his new body as he soared along allowed him to concentrate on his targets: one dog called Asbo and one real motherfucker. With his connection with the before and after he was able to see Destiny’s map. He felt the currents of life, seeking the right path to take. It was just as he entered the city limits that a particular line gave him the feeling of deja-vu. Too familiar to ignore, Walter Goodman locked onto it and followed.
Manchester had changed considerably. He remembered visiting when he was a young man by a train powered by coal. His tuning into the broadcasts of his former home world had prepared him for the changes but he still marveled at the scope of it when alive and flying over it all. Cars, buildings and the sounds of civilization and progress filtered up to him vividly.
He flew over what he remembered to be Castlefield and the feeling of having been there before and after rushed over him strong. This is it! He thought. Walter banked hard and landed atop the old railway bridge overlooking the canal and several beer gardens.
His bird’s eyes scanned the winding streets, busy with merriment and leisure under the afternoon sun. The thread of destiny flowed into one of the gardens and he quickly marked his quarry. A beast of a man with the tattoo of a spider’s web on his bald head was holding court at one of the tables. Two more ratty individuals were sat with him. And there, held by a lead in the beasts thick fingers, was Asbo. Even Walter thought he was cute. The little fella was a sort of mongrel terrier, stocky yet friendly. Just a pup, he busied himself with snuffling around under the table. He blissfully wandered a bit too far and was suddenly yanked back with a nasty snap of the beasts wrists. He then was then roughly palmed into the hard cobbles by a meaty hand. There, he cowered and carefully looked at his master with eyes of loyal fear.
“Fookin’ stay!” spat the bald spider web.
Motherfucker! Thought Walter. He decided then and there to shit on hs head.
A plan began to form in Walter Goodman’s mind. His grip on his new body’s reflexes was strong. He knew he had the agility to dive-bomb the twat, shit on his head, pick up the puppy and fly away to safety. What could go wrong?
Walter closed his eyes and focused on reaching mental and physical balance with his mind and the body of the predator.
The urge to hunt for food and rut threatened to bubble over. He had forgotten how powerful these feelings could be, and how pleasant. It had been a long time. And even when he was alive he didn’t explore them to the fullest. He had been a shit cook and rarely got laid. He thought he may have even been a porn star in a previous life and lived his last incarnation with very little shagging as penance.
Yeah, he thought. A blowjob sure would be nice.
These urges were laid to rest in favour of his divine task and other celestial pursuits; like X-factor and taking a shit on a real motherfucker’s head.
Asbo was poking about again and Walter could see Motherfucker idly twiddling his leash in his fingertips as he guzzled some of his stout. It was time.
Walter launched into a power dive. The world became a blurry razor to him. He was a living weapon. The dive took less than a second. he pulled up hard and opened fire on Motherfucker. His runny missile streamed down with perfect aim only to miss at the last moment as Motherfucker moved his fat head out of the way, mid belly laugh. The bomb jetted past Motherfucker’s face and landed neatly in the remaining half-pint of his stout. Motherfucker’s rat friends witnessed this but wordlessly decided to see if their mate would drink it.
Fuck you! Thought Walter as he arced around the table to scoop up the puppy. The little fur ball was light as a feather in Walters strong talons. They rose quickly as the momentum of the dive shot them soaring upwards. Everything was happening in lightning time.
Motherfucker barely knew what was going on as the lead was pulled from his finger tips by the force of the swooping bird. He jumped up from the table and grabbed for the lead with speed Walter was shocked to see. The lead was momentarily pinched in the crook of one sausage finger but a few mighty flaps from Walter pulled it free.
“Screech!” howled Walter. Fuck you Motherfucker! He taunted, looking back just in time to see rest of the foamy stout wash down some foul language. The rat men howled with laughter, falling from their chairs.
Poor little Asbo was absolutely terrified and was wriggling about frantically. No one had told him that he was being rescued. The final yank on his lead had pulled him slightly from the grip of Walters Talons and he was able to squirm with more fever. Walter was still swearing mentally at Motherfucker and failed to notice this, thinking his grip to be sure. His sudden lift into the sky from the loss of about the same weight as a puppy proved him wrong.
Asbo plummeted to the ground, still wriggling. Walter banked hard and folded his wings for a dive. A feathered bullet, he shot after the small pup. The lead flapped behind Asbo as he became a fuzzy comet…a particularly cute and fuzzy comet. Talon met fabric and wings pulled up hard. Success!
Now, it’s hard to really say what happened next: it was either the snap of the lead wrenching Asbo’s neck or the windscreen connecting with his little body that killed him.
Mu-ther-fucker! Thought Walter.
Motherfucker and his friends were still watching the show, laughing raucously, tears streaming from their eyes.
At least he finished his pint, thought Walter. Bastard doesn’t even care that his dog is dead. What a Motherfucker.
He turned his head back to his flight path just in time to see the power line smash into his face. The sound of his head cooking from the inside almost blanketed the drunken laughter below. Then it went dark.
*
Walter found himself tumbling down a flight of rusty metal stairs, landing violently on the border of now and then.
“You asshole!” seethed Mr Cock.
“Uhrg,” said Walter Goodman as he stiffly picked himself up. “Thank Fuck that’s over.”
The men unlike any others glared at Walter with eyes set to murder.
“Mr Goodman,” began Mr Balls. “You were supposed to rescue Asbo and deliver him to a life of bliss. We asked you not to fuck up. Instead, you spent your time planning a fly-by shitting and ended up delivering said puppy into the windscreen of a moving truck. In most books, that would constitute fucking up.”
Walter looked into the unreadable faces of the unlikely associates.
“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed. “I did what any animal lover would have done.”
“Love of animals had nothing to do with it and you know it! You simply found an excuse to be an asshole and you put that souls well-being right out of your head in favour of acting like a prick.”
“Hey, you said it yourself, ‘reeeeaal motherfucker! He deserved it!” argued Walter, waving his arms about vigorously.
“Fuck you, Goodman!” announced Mr Cock. “You of all people should know that Motherfucker will get what’s coming to him. WE SEE ALL. WE KNOW ALL. ALL ARE ACCOUNTABLE!”
“Yeah, voyeurs passing judgment through a moldy ring of fire and brimstone. That’s rich. If the mortals only knew, eh?”
Mr Cock moved unlike any word for speed, with intentions very much like violence, towards Walter. Walter moved in the opposite direction like a wheelchair with a flat tire. Mr Balls was kind enough to turn the universe into a slingshot and launched himself between them.
“STOP THIS!” commanded space and time by way of Mr. Balls.
They stopped. Everything did. And then it began again.
“Woah, easy!” said order and chaos by way of Walter Goodman. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. It’s been a strange day.”
He wheeled himself around limply, hands high and submissive. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I really did think I was getting in a dig for the puppy. That motherfucker really was nasty. It was hard to control my emotions back there. I had forgotten the passionate rollercoaster of sentiment and sensation that is life. One can easily become derailed by a twisted loop. Quite the head-fuck when you’re a bird.
Mr Cock relaxed and composed himself. The atmosphere soon returned to the status-quo. Walter had a groove on and decided to flow with it.
“Ok, I fucked up but this whole thing was a cluster-fuck from the word go, anyways. But let’s look at the bright side; it could be worse. At least Asbo’s soul has avoided a truly horrific life and is through to the hereafter it was definitely instant, that truck was really moving. Better that than the alternative.
“Now, I know that wasn’t the plan but you’ve got to admit that we’ve all been left with quite the mess here and not one of us is responsible. I think that it’s pretty much par for the course at this point. Asbo’s safe in the afterlife and I’m sure we have the resources to get the family a new puppy. I don’t know about you guys but I am definitely ready to get back to my regular duties, that’s for sure.”
They all shared a light chuckle together at the situation. Walter was visibly relieved as the shadow passed from the associates faces.
“You’re lucky you hit that power line, you know,” giggled Mr. Cock. “I wanted to hit you with a bolt of lightning.”
“You really do that kind of shit?” hooted Walter.
“Not normally. There’s a lot of paper work involved but I was willing to make the effort.”
They all laughed with the banter. Mr Balls even gave Walter a brotherly squeeze on his shoulder.
“You’ll love being a dog Walter,” he said.
“Oh, fuck No!” said Walter, alarmed.
“Fuck yes. You are correct. We do have the resources to give the family a puppy to love. You.”
“But…but what about my j?”
“Your job will be here for you when you return.”
Walter felt sick. Life as a dog was the last thing he expected when he got up this morning.
“Oh, come on,” piped Mr Cock cheerfully. “It’ll be great! You run about, chase stuff, get dirty and eat plenty. Whenever you walk into a room you get your ears scratched and all the belly rubs you want. They’re really a lovely family.”
Walter Goodman suddenly realized that both of the associates had their hands on his shoulders. He was also moving. Quickly.
“They’re called the Coopers lovely people,” confirmed Mr Balls. “You’ll enjoy this. Oh, what bliss for you!”
He was firmly guided back to the staircase (rusty as ever, aiming down) at speed and released. Walter had to run as fast as he could to keep his legs from falling behind and his face falling forwards. He’d just caught up with himself when his next step ended up empty and began his fall.
*
A bag of rubbish broke Walter’s fall. His first breath exploded with smells. He wriggled around, getting his bearings. Every movement brought the new promise of wonderful odorous adventure. It was amazing! He explored the world inside the wheelie-bin. It was a happy place. Walter Goodman wagged his tail.
Fuck the Cooper’s, he thought. This trash is the life for me. Walter the dog snuffled his way deeper into the wheelie-bins throat. The bin wasted no time in keeling over and puking up plastic bagged bile and a fuzzy parasite with a waggy tail. Walter took advantage of the bin’s ill health and pulled out more of it’s insides to snuffle over in the open air. Certain aromas called to him. He was powerless to stop himself. The combination of a hundred slices of sweet disgusting was just too much for his consciousness to handle while trapped in a body powered by a nose and a belly.
“Eeew, it’s eating the neighbors tampon!” exclaimed a deep voice from behind Walter.
He spun about clumsily to see a man and a woman exiting a door from a tidy little semi-detached.
“Aw, babes, that’s really disgusting!” said the woman with a laugh, adding quietly, “Glad he didn’t get into our bin.”
They both walked slowly towards Walter Goodman.
“Aw, it’s just a puppy, can’t be more than a year old, really.”
“No collar either. What d’you think, babes?”
The woman looked around the street, searching for some clue as to the owner of the puppy.
“Dunno, it’s a bit late to go round knockin’ people awake. The poor thing must be starving if it’s nosin’ about the bins. Let’s take him for the night and figure it out in the morning, yeah?”
The woman knelt down and gently picked up Walter Goodman. He squirmed slightly but played along.
“Look at those plums! He takes after my side of the family, y’know,” announced the man. Walter had never dreamed that he would be held aloft in the soft hands of an enormous woman as she inspected his genetalia.
“Yeah, but his are going to get bigger.”
“Arf!” said Walter in perfect mongrel for, Big balls, yeah!
The Cooper’s laughed together as they took Walter into their home. Mrs Cooper brought him straight to the bathroom and plopped him in the tub. He was soon lathered up and drunk by the will of Mrs Cooper’s lovely hands. All the while her sweet voice cooed at him at what a handsome fella he was. It was like no soapy hand-job Walter could have ever dreamed of. All too soon he was removed and bundled into a fluffy towel for a final rub down. His consciousness blinked through the delirium and his tongue lolled from the side of his face.
The extras didn’t stop there. Mrs Cooper brought him wrapped and fluffy into the kitchen. Mr Cooper had produced a plate of leftovers and a bowl of cool water. Walter Goodman’s mouth suddenly exploded with saliva as his nose mainlined his soul. Eating had suddenly become an all encompassing orgasm of senses. Ejaculating slobber gushed from his muzzle as his tongue revealed itself to be tool of exquisite precision. His first meal in lifetimes was a glorious and filthy experience.
The aftermath was a tangled couple of dishes, each sharing the remains of the other. Walter was lolling on the tiled kitchen floor panting. Mr and Mrs Cooper chuckled as they took it in turns scratching him behind the ears.
He decided that he liked the Coopers very much. And if all he had to do to receive such executive treatment was chew on a juicy tampon then so be it. The dream of Walter Goodman slept in bliss for the first time in lifetimes.
*
There was no mistaking it. The hard yank on his tail and subsequent dragging across the kitchen floor was definitely the reason Walter was now awake.
“Yiap!” exclaimed Walter as he tried unsuccessfully to dig his feeble claws into the tile work. Motherfucker! He thought.
“Oh, Elliot, don’t do that to the puppy! Gently, gently!”
The dragging stopped at the firmness of Mrs Coopers voice. Walter turned around as his tail was released and confronted his assailant. The utter dickhead in question was about 6 years old. Another littler shit-bag was lurking close behind him.
Walter growled as he debated the consequences for maiming Elliots pudgy little face. Perhaps, he thought, Elliot had been an animal abuser in a previous life and Walter was now acting as an agent of fate sent to make him ugly and afraid.
The ground suddenly rushed away as he was scooped into Mrs Cooper’s loving bosom.
“Elliot, Lola. Come and meet our guest.”
Cradled on his back, Walter was lowered down to be viewed by the Cooper’s deviant spawn. Two messy orbs of mousey hair rose from the horizon of Mrs Coopers forearm. The experience became strangely alien as their matching googly blue eyes beamed curiously at him. Then the hands, plump and clumsy.
“Softly, now,” soothed Mrs Cooper. The hands gently stroked Walters muzzle and belly.
They smell of chocolate! His anger melted away as he licked his five fingered lolly pops. The children laughed. Mrs Cooper laughed and nuzzled her face playfully against Walters before returning him to the floor and fresh plates of food and water. His nose was very, very wet. The chocolate finger-lollies were slow foreplay compared to the rampant gobbling that sent the Coopers running for cover.
Afterwards Walter lay sprawled on the floor and watched his new world go by. It was a big, dreamlike place to him. Children’s toys, giant and surreal from his perspective, were scattered here and there. The open plan dining/living/kitchen area offered no end of things to sit on or lay under. Mysteries called to his nose from unfathomable locations in the house. Mrs Cooper tended to both children as she glided about the house, cheerful and bright.
The door opened to reveal Mr Cooper. At the sight if him Elliot and Lola went spastic, running about and giggling. He joined them.
“Well,” he began when they were all together. “I went to every house in the area and nobody is missing a puppy. I think we should keep him. What do you guys think?”
The children went bonkers with glee, fists of chocolate and dog slobber punched the air.
“He’s gonna need a name,” declared Mr Cooper. This caused a hush to fall over the children.
“I think,” said Elliot, “that we should call him Mr Wheelie-bin coz Mummy saw him first in a wheelie-bin.
“Mr Wheelie-bin? I think that’s a great name.”
“What about his first name?” asked Mrs Cooper of little Lola.
Her big blue eyes searched her imagination and soon sparkled at her new puppy. “I like Walter,” she said.
The Coopers Laughed. “Walter Wheelie-bin it is!”
Walter rolled on his back as the whole family welcomed him into their home. He felt wonderful.
After some more Cooper lovin’ and another culinary quickie, Walter strolled freely about his new home. He explored this new life with his new body. As he trotted about a slight itch in his hind leg caused him to fold himself round to gnaw it out. The itch vanished from his mind instantly as he lifted his leg to discover another hidden talent.
Oh, this just keeps getting better and better, thought Walter Wheelie-bin.
*
“Mom, He’s doing it again!” accused Elliot Cooper.
Walter was suddenly air-lifted, mid suck, out the back door and into the yard. Mrs Cooper dumped him with a practiced ease. “Bad dog!” she scolded, slamming the door.
This always killed the mood for Walter so he padded his way through the grass and plopped himself under the patio table.
After 6 months with the Coopers life had settled into an awkward routine. Walter’s new talent/hobby had slightly affected his relationship with the new family. It was tough to cuddle a puppy with a hard-on.
At first Walter did try and keep his hobby discreet and casual. A kiss goodnight to himself after a hard days running, eating and playing. But it was these family routines that eventually brought his sloppy habit creeping out from its furry sheath.
Walter Wheelie-bin found the majority of a dog’s life to be fucking boring. Having transcended matter and energy, existing between space and time, it was hard to see the allure of chasing a shitty stick or ball about. It also became clear early on that the bulk of his time was to be spent with Elliot. To be fair, Elliot wasn’t too bad. He liked to run and hide and play pirates and build forts and go on adventures. Walter Wheelie-bin liked to eat, sleep and suck his own cock. Their relationship was based more on circumstance than common interests.
He also spent a lot of time in the house these days as the Coopers were wary of taking him for walks. Walter could smell the ass of another dog two houses away. The first few times at the local park nearly landed the Coopers in prison. Walter was delighted to finally have a rock-fucking-solid excuse to utterly dispense with formality and pleasantries and skip right to smelling ANY furry ass in range in an effort to launch his red rocket into any hole available. He’d nearly been laid twice now and he was sure the next time would be the money shot.
Eventually Mrs Cooper would open the back patio door and Walter would trot inside for the meal that was always waiting.
Tonight, the family sat together in the front room, watching TV. The Coopers did not watch X-factor. They watched boring nature documentaries or cartoons. Prime time for Walter to sneak off for a personal polish.
In the kitchen, near his food dish, Walter played himself. His talented tongue was like somebody else’s… somebody expensive. Every lick all encompassing.
Only his ears were on duty as he swept himself away with furry felatio. Hearing his name was a yellow alert: keep sucking, wait and see. If he heard someone moving nearby it was orange alert: he would stop sucking but still keep his mouthful and wait and see. If his name was called or he was busted then it was red alert: lipstick away and back to reality.
He went on yellow alert. His ears zeroed in on the conversation.
“I don’t know where he went,” said Mrs Cooper, adding with a shiver. “But I think we all know what he’s doing.”
“Michael Finn’s dog doesn’t do that. Not all the time anyway. Why does Walter?” asked Elliot, somewhat confused by his best friend’s curious behavior.
“Well,” began Mr Cooper. “Walter’s still a puppy and sometimes puppies can get a bit too excited. Remember your Grannies dog? Remember when you couldn’t get him off your leg? Well that’s kind of what Walter is like except he gets excited in a different way.”
“Walter likes mummy’s leg,” chirped Lola.
Mrs Cooper said nothing, staring into space.
“Yes, well, we’re going to take Walter to the Vet on Friday and get him fixed so he’ll calm down a bit. You’ll see, he’ll be just like Michael Finns dog.”
Walter Wheelie-bin gagged on his pecker.
Fuck That! Flaccid and frantic, Walter Wheelie-bin decided then and there that it was time to escape. There was no other option. He would do it tomorrow..
*
The night was restless for Walter. The hours stretched and were hacked apart with dreams of angry faces unlike any others. Visions of Simon Cowell as a veterinarian plagued him. Life was a nightmare.
His plan was simple: wait until Mr Cooper left for work and Elliot went to school. Next, wait to be fed. Then, while Mrs Cooper was cleaning up after breakfast, put on a private porn show for mother and daughter and get thrown outside. Once there, he’d use his vast knowledge of the ages to open the back gate and eternal salvation for his testicles.
If Mrs Cooper had known Walter’s plan she would have probably left the gate open. As it was, Walter didn’t even have to lay eyes on his balls. Mrs Cooper put Walter out along with the rubbish from the Kitchen bin. The door shut behind her and he was alone.
Excited, Walter ran around to the back gate.
This is for the best, he thought.
I tried, it didn’t work. By now they must have a suitable soul for this family to take on walks and play fetch with. Now if I can just… ah-ha!
A toddler car was drunkenly parked on the back walkway as result of Lola’s last back yard binge. Walter nudged it against the back fence and ran to the opposite end of the yard. He ran back. Fast. His run ended with a jump onto the plastic roof of the kiddy car and a further vault into the gate. He was at one with the moment and his paw unclasped the gate-lock and freedom flooded into the Coopers Back yard. Their house became a memory within seconds.
Walter’s new freedom felt great. He roamed new avenues and followed his nose through the endless veins of piss and sex that countless other dogs had left before him. It didn’t take long before he caught the unmistakable scent of sweet bitch-ass twinkling in the air. He ran.
There, in the park! Her nose shimmered wet in the sunshine as it tasted the smells in the air. She was up for it! He could fell his balls being sniffed and wasted no time. His nose collided with sphincter. Foreplay lasted mere moments before Walter mounted and executed the style of his dogness all over the strange bitch in the park. Passionate seconds later they howled in unison.
The bolt of lightning killed both dogs.
*
It was dark and Walter was falling. When it got light, he landed. If there was such a thing as bones in the hereafter they would have all broken. It was a strange sensation and very, very unpleasant.
“The weave of souls we found you in looked like it had been used to wipe the universes’ ass,” sneered Mr Cock as he hauled Walter upright. “You were the only bit that wasn’t completely saturated in shit.”
“The best of the worst,” sighed Mr Balls, picking up the other side. “We squeezed you through with the hope that experience dealing with returning souls would give you that final, glowing balance.”
They began moving, quick, fast.
“Who knew you’d turn it all into a toilet metaphor,” said Mr Cock, stepping up the pace.
“Woah, hey!” cried Walter, digging his heels in. “What the fuck! I tried my best! You can’t expect me to just flow into the life of a fucking dog after all I’ve witnessed in the universe!”
“Granted! But d’you think y’coulda thoughta some other way to adapt than sucking your own cock in front of children!”
“Hey, I remember seeing dogs do it when I was a kid. Come On! If you could, you would. Who wouldn’t? How could you throw me that forbidden fruit when you were trying to reform me, you cunts!”
Faster and faster they traveled.
“Fuck Guys!” pleaded Walter. “I thought I’d met my fate; my destiny realized. What more do you two want?”
“We are not finite Walter. There can be many eventualities. We do what we can to keep a nice stream of consciousness moving to the bigger picture. We welcome any soul ready to look. But we get a bit fucked off with souls going nowhere in circles. What is with you assholes?
“Walter…the Coopers had nothing but love for you and that’s all they wanted in return.”
Faster...
“Well, what now?” sweated Walter.
Silence.
“All want is to go back to my job. I was good at it.”
More silence, more speed.
“A Job, of sorts, awaits you.”
Awkward silence
“A man called Simon Cowell has just had a heart attack. You will be his new assistant.
Long Pause.
“We figure that if the afterlife looks like the waiting room for an X-factor audition and the first person seen is you as you lead them to Simon Cowell; the soul will feel guilt unlike anything felt in life for fucking up so heinously.”
“We think it’s hilarious.”
Walter was at the mercy of the associates as they whispered into his ears and hauled him through eternity.
A bleak gateway opened and lurched towards them.
“Wait!! What’s my mission?!”
In he went.
*
His awareness suddenly exploded with a familiar burst of smells and sounds.
He was a dog again!
Fuck! He thought. He wasn’t the same dog, though. Definitely different. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on something…
Then Walter Goodman got a whiff of something very familiar. Sniffing the air he soon realized that it was the smell of the very balls he’d been sucking on for the past six months.
What the fuck? But I’m a different dog this time…?
His ass was suddenly full of dog nose as he realized with horror that he was his first rapist. Before he could do anything he had been penetrated a drilled mercilessly by what can only be described as himself. It was painful and humiliating. He howled in pain just as he howled in ecstasy.
The bolt of lightning connected with one head and exited the other into the rest of him.
Dark mercy.
*
So dark. So hot.
Walter had no idea where the fuck he was. Furthermore, he had no clue as to what the fuck he was. He had no arms, legs or eyes but he could somehow sense his world. He was on the wall of a vast tunnel. A tunnel so dark and hot, the thought of life seemed criminal. He also felt the presence of more of his kind. Many, many more. All writhing and vying for position. It was not comfortable.
The tunnel he dwelled in with so many others, moved. Contracting, pulsing and pushing… something traveled past.
Walters heightened senses told him that the huge log of feaces being pinched his way contained waste products from gross amounts of stout, curry and bird shit. He couldn’t believe he was eating it.
Motherfucker! He thought.
Walter Goodman couldn’t help but wonder if someone was trying to tell him something.
*
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