Dogs of Orninica Read online

  A couple of times I sabotaged the dumb dental activities so they had to let us do something else. The other day, I hid all the stupid rock brushes, and they had to just let us play ball and swim in the lake instead. But then later they saw we were all drinking from the lake, so they made us stop what we were doing and had us pour tons of barrels of aluminium fluoride into the water. Those barrels were heavy as fuck. Didn't really want to drink that water after seeing that nasty stuff pouring out of the barrels. Man, dentists are screwy.

  It wouldn't be so bad here if they just left us alone, you know? If we didn't have all this dumb dentist shit to do, we could have a really great time. But every time we start to have a bit of fun, the counselors all rush in and try to ruin it with more tedious dentistry bullshit. It's almost enough to make a guy want to burn the whole place down, but I guess there's no point now, since we're all gonna die tomorrow. What really sucks is I only came here because my dad promised to get me a car, and now I'll never even see the damn thing. What a gyp. I wonder if he bought it yet, and it's waiting in the driveway back home all shiny and new. Shame it'll never get driven by me even once.

  I mean, if I had gotten the car when it was all over with, then at least it would have been kind of worth it. My summer would have still been a total fucking waste, but I would have been sacrificing it for something at least. It wouldn't have just been a total miserable waste of time and effort.

  Now everyone's gonna die and my whole last summer was a total bore-fest. You know, there aren't even any girls here? It's such a shitty situation. They could at least bring in some girls from another camp or something for our last night on earth. Let us have a couple of hours of fun before they launch us off into that brick wall. Well, most of the junior dentists here are total bore-holes anyway, so they wouldn't know what to do with a proper horny girl. But actually, that would just leave more honey for me, so it would work out, I guess.

  They pretty much shut down the net completely now. Whenever I turn on my iYglass and try to go online, it just plays the same stupid video of the preachy Justness League clerics talking about following the humans on the 'ultimate quest of enlightenment'. They play an animation of a giant catapult launching hundreds of dogs into the sun, while rockets follow in the background, and then when they reach the sun, the dogs turn into these shiny light beings or something, all smiling and pleased, and Bahman and Soupman and the rest of the humans are all there on the sun, and the dogs and the masters all join hands and sing and spiral around in twirly circles, and then they turn into this big blue flame that gets sucked into the sun. It's really fucking lame, if you ask me.

  If Bahman is such a bad-ass messiah of justice, then why does he need to wear a mask? Seems like kind of a weird thing for a holy savior to need to hide his identity from everyone like that. There's a lot about religion that doesn't make much sense come to think of it, but it's like there's this mental block in my mind that cuts me off whenever I start to analyze it too deeply, you know? I don't know if I'm really going to go to the cave in the sky and meet Bahman and Soupman when I choke, but I guess it would be better than just suddenly ceasing to exist forever.

  Or maybe the cave is just as dull as dental camp and I'll want to do myself in the whole time I'm there, which I guess is infinity. That would really fucking suck. I really hope it's not going to be anything like this place, and there better be girls there, millions and billions of them, and all of them raring to go. Yeah, there'd better be around the clock wild animal fucking going on up there, or I'm going to be pretty pissed off.

  I'm just sorry I don't get to be with a girl just one time before I die. That's what really sucks about all this. Even prison convicts get conjugal visits, but junior dentists don't get shit all. If I knew this was going to be my last summer ever, I would have never given in to my dad. I could be laying on a beach right now next to a fine little bikini babe instead of sharing a tent with drooling Froggy Joe and his rock collection.

  Really wish I could convince them to let us have a little farewell party. They won't hear of it, though. They're even still making us all recite the precious dentist's code to everyone after dinner tonight. They've had us memorize it all month, it's like five pages long. We don't get dessert unless we recite it perfectly. What's the point even any more? I kind of wish I could just get onto the catapult now instead of waiting until the morning, so I can skip that whole stupid dinner. It's going to be such a pull down. Maybe I can just stay in bed and say I'm sick...

  Nah, they would make me go to the nurse and she'd say I was faking again. Every time you get caught lying like that, they make you clean the toilets. I don't want to spend my last night on earth scrubbing a disgusting toilet bowl. I'll just have to finish memorizing the damn dentist's code.

  You know, maybe I shouldn't have been such a dick to that girl I was talking to online back home. She wasn't like a perfect underwear model or anything, but she was pretty hot I guess. And I think she really liked me, too. I wonder what she's doing right now. She's probably scared about the catapulting. If the Internet was still working, I'd totally look her up tonight. At least we could hang out online for a bit before the morning. Really sucks that they turned off the net. Fuck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Senior Citizen III

  I can't get the news site to load, been trying all day, so I don't know if this message will go through. I've been standing in this bloody line at my local catapult loading station for thirty-eight minutes now. It's completely asinine. The summons said to be here at 7:30 to take my turn, yet here I stand at 8:08, and there's still more than a dozen groups ahead of mine, and they don't even think to offer us seniors a chair. They can't expect us to stand in line for hours! Why the hell do they tell us to be here at a specific time if we get here and have to stand around waiting like a bunch of dirty migrants at the border? It's just bad organization, is what it is. Isn't the whole point of having bots managing something like this to have it done prompt and orderly? I just don't understand it.

  If they had put even a molecule of thought into this, we'd arrive at the catapult on time, climb right in, an orchestra would play as we recite the anthem, maybe raise a celebratory glass with the local priest before he presses the button, and Bob's your uncle. A princely send-off fit for any proud Orninican. But instead, they're herding us through this long winding line, no one of flesh and blood in charge, no music, nowhere to sit while we wait, pups are vomiting all over their seats on the catapult, and they're not even hosing it down before the next group gets on. It's complete disarray!

  I wouldn't mind the wait so much if it weren't so damn cold today. I spent an hour when I woke up this morning salting the thick layer of ice covering the driveway. Not that I needed to get the car out of the garage, mind you. It specifically says on the summons not to bring your car with you because there's no bloody parking, so I had to leave it in the garage and walk here. Five blocks! My poor feet are killing me. But anyway, I can't just leave the house with all that ice on the driveway, it's not right. It's bad enough that the weeds in the flower beds are back again, but I didn't have time to deal with them because I had to make this appointment on time.

  Now I can't stop thinking about the damned weeds. I should have woken up earlier so I could spray them. Anyone that walks by the house now is going to think I was a lazy good for nothing that didn't even maintain his landscaping.

  You know the kind of riffraff that let weeds take over their front yard? The kind with the six screaming flea-bitten pups, somehow each a different breed, and the never-ending stream of social workers banging on their door. The kind of dogs that shouldn't even be allowed onto the catapult since all they've ever done is leech from the rest of us and complain about it all the while. No, they should just drown those types down in the river and reserve the catapults for hard-working taxpayers. At least then this line wouldn't be so damn long.

  They could at least do the pups on a different day than the grownups. How much high-pitched wailing and b
awling can I put up with? I'm this close to losing my damned marbles. Honestly, it's really shocking how downright cowardly and unruly the pups in the line are. When I was a pup, I always did exactly as I was told or I knew I'd get what for. You wouldn't ever catch me shedding a tear, let-alone kicking and screaming and trying to run away.

  Lucky we've got a lot of drones here, since the parents aren't doing anything to contain their little mongrels. They're basically just asleep at the wheel, staring into space all blank and expressionless. A lot of them don't even have their iYglass with them, so I don't know why they're acting so damn dazed. Probably a bunch of hopped up drug addicts, I bet.

  The moment the parents let go of them, the pups make pathetic attempts at getting away, but the drones just bring them right back every time, and the parents don't even bother to thank them. Just keep starring blankly at the catapult while the pups whimper and howl. Just pathetic parenting.

  Fortunately, the drones do spray some gas over us periodically to keep everyone calm, but it's pretty windy out here, and it doesn't look like it's reaching the smaller pups at all. This really should be an exciting day for them, especially since they're undoubtedly all used to lining up at theme parks all day long to get on a useless roller-coaster. At least this ride has a purpose and doesn't cost an arm and a leg to go on. And when it's over, they get to meet Bahman and the prophets in the great cave in the stars. What more can a miserable little runt ask for from life than that?

  I wonder what Bahman is going to say when he shakes my hand. I know he'll want to recognize my great service to the country, fighting in two great wars and losing my big toe to frostbite while I was liberating miserable brainless deluded dogs from communism. Almost took a bullet in the eye at one point, but I tripped and fell just before the commie bastard fired, and it just singed my fur. Of course, his eyes didn't fare so well when we caught up with him. Kept them as a souvenir for a while, but my whore wife made me throw them out when she swindled me into marrying her.

  I'm sure Bahman, as a great fighter for justice, will want to hear all my old army stories. We'll probably have a drink together and he'll pat me on the back, congratulating me for living such a full and honorable life. He'll likely compliment me on my flower beds, tell me they're the best on the street. Of course, if he sees those damn weeds, he might change his mind. I wonder if I can pop back home and give them a spray without the drones noticing. Probably not a good idea, I might lose my place in line if I do that, and there's no way I'm going to start over at the back of the line. I'm not some hoodlum living on government handouts with nowhere to be like the rest of the damn dogs in the line.

  Why have they grouped me up with all these sorry losers anyway? If they had put any thought into this at all, they'd have the upper echelons of society get priority; have the noble upper-society types all show up on Monday. And then, on Tuesday, have the next best citizens; us hard-working war veterans line up together. The rest of the rabble can be carted in and stuffed into the catapult the remaining days of the week. That way, only the ragtags would have to stand in line for ages. I tell you, if they would just listen to my ideas, this society would be a hell of a lot more orderly. I have the answers to all of society's problems, but no one listens. It's such a waste.

  It's so frigidly cold today. I honestly can't remember a colder summer that this, it's like the bloody ice age out here. I should have worn an extra sweater under my jacket, but I didn't want to be too hot when I get to the cave in the sky. Who knows how long the antiperspirant I put on this morning is going to last? I'm sure Bahman keeps the air-conditioning up there at the perfect temperature. I really hope I don't start drooling before I get on the catapult. That would be just my luck, wouldn't it? To finally meet Bahman in the cave in the sky, and he comes to shake my hand, and finds me drooling all over the floor because the antiperspirant rang out. He'll think I'm a without any decorum or class, like a common mongrel.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it, why didn't I bring a tube of tongue antiperspirant with me? It would have fit in my pocket with a bit of effort. I don't know what I was thinking. Then again, I'm sure they must have a store in the cave that sells some, before we get to the reception area. Probably even a special heavenly kind of antiperspirant that lasts all day. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Not to worry then.

  Bahman will surely want to talk about my car and how I've kept her in mint factory condition for forty four years. That's no easy feat when you've got all the potholes on my street to contend with. And he'll no doubt want to have a look at all my medals. This uniform still fits perfectly after all this time, I'm sure he'll mention how smart I look in it. I wanted to bring my golf trophies with me to show him, but they don't let us bring anything on the catapult that won't fit in our pockets. With the exception of a bottle of water, they let us bring that thankfully.

  I hope Bahman doesn't know that my mother was only half Pekinese. Well, he is all-knowing, so I suppose there's no way he doesn't know about it. I just hope he doesn't bring it up in front of the rest of my old regiment.

  Sure, most of them were half-breeds at best, but they always looked to me to class up the unit, always seeing me as the the well-bred dignitary of the group; something to aspire to. It would be very embarrassing if Bahman mentioned that I wasn't entirely pure of blood. Even the old sergeant once came up to me and declared how much he appreciated my staunch character. “Private Teacup, you do us all proud, blaring your fancy music out of your trench and always acting the part of a proper Pekinese VIP”, he told me. He'd be devastated if he knew I was only three-quarters. I might have to take Bahman a side for a bit and tell him to keep it under his hat. I know he'll understand.

  He'll probably even want to invite me to enter the part of the cave reserved for pure-bloods, since I'm so close to being one anyway. I would certainly fit right in with the aristocratic members of society. I've even been told on two separate occasions that an air of grace follows me about at all times.

  Oh it's about time, my group is finally boarding, got to go now. Certainly hope my hat is still on straight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Professor of Antiquities III

  I suppose there will be no one left to read this journal entry, can't even seem to get online to post it to my journal. My summons came today. I'm actually loaded into the catapult right now, with nine of my equally doomed neighbors. I'm dictating my final thoughts, through my iYglass, for whatever good it will do, as the bots wait for the clouds to clear so that my group may be properly pointed at the sun when they push the button.

  I've never been particularly politically active, honestly I've only ever really had an interest in history. Things were getting really dire in recent years, I'm not oblivious to that fact. As a student of history, it would be impossible to ignore the patterns of a collapsing empire in the midst of its final, spiteful tantrum. Sitting here, locked into this over-sized catapult, waiting to be splattered across the sidewalk, right by the post office on Rutgers Street I estimate, I suppose there's no reason to censor myself any longer.

  Until now, I always felt the compulsion to bury the long-stifled voices in my head telling me how utterly outrageous all this is. This madness that consumed our leaders, all utterly and irredeemably corrupted by greed, power and dogma, has been allowed to go too far, and now all of us pay for it with our lives. I should have stood up and opposed the madness a long time ago. But I didn't. None of us did, and now we will be punished for our silence and inaction one last time.

  I'm sure I'm expected to be in full support of this final plan to follow in the masters ultimate footsteps, after all, my entire career has consisted of putting the pieces of the human jigsaw together so that we can adopt their laws and customs as our own.

  I'm starting to realize, especially since my journey to Nureongi, that I may have been properly misguided. In fact, I may very well have wasted my entire pitiful life aspiring to the ravings of madmen that ultimately destroyed themselves.

  I spent my
whole time in Nureongi running after rusted knickknacks left behind by long dead men, when right before me was this awesome interconnected civilization. Disparate cultures living side by side, dogs wholly unconcerned with matters of wealth and hubris, cooperating with each other of their own free will.

  No constant threat of force necessary to compel them to be civil to each other. No all seeing eyes needed to protect them from themselves. They worked together because it is natural to do so, easier than to work alone. A world completely unlike any I've ever thought possible. The dogs of Nureongi were happier than any Orninican. Their society was the only wonder of the world worth seeking, and I was blind to it.

  If one day another civilization rises up to replace our soon to be annihilated one, if our hamsters suddenly rise from their cages to build courthouses and radio stations, I only hope they don't get it in their minds to recreate our civilization or follow our example in any way. Our civilization was only ever successful at being a facsimile of man's broken spirit.

  Every decision we've made for more than a generation has been completely amiss. We haven't followed any kind of logical trajectory in anything we've set out to do. It's simply been a giant charade. We'd find random historical relics, and then wangle ludicrous policies out of them, that only really acted to expand the power of a few wealthy power elites. These elites then used their new powers to further grow their personal wealth to obscene ratios and oppress the rest of the population under them.

  Our whole system of living, just like the humans before us, was designed around the idea of accumulating wealth. Except our wealthy-born leaders made sure to keep the wealth perpetually out of reach for the rest of society.

  Yet by some inexplicable lapse of logic, we allowed ourselves to be convinced that this fundamentally defective system of living they foisted on us was somehow in our favor. That some day, some how, we too would have the chance to join the power elites in their secret societies and exclusive country clubs. It would just take some dedication and hard work and then it would all be worth it. What gullible fools were we.