December 30, 2006

On the Seventh Day

Thread: Game

Graham fiddled with the joystick and hit its red button a few times; the button replied with the sound of weary springs under load. The electrical contacts inside the stick had worn down considerably since he had picked up the Video Computer System and the trigger didn’t always respond these days. Especially in particularly hairy moments when Dog was about to blow away a hundred years of his work. Moaning aside, he was happy with how the game had been progressing. Life was just coming onto the scene and they’d be at the Garden of Eden stage soon; Graham would have to be on his guard.

Dog was always rubbish during the first billion years. He got bored with building ecosystems, it just wasn’t his thing. He’d let Graham do all the hard work, all that boring “resource management” as he called it, only to pounce when the first humans appeared on the scene. He’d encourage them to think that the planet was real and not just a game. When they forgot about the game, they took things all too seriously and started to worry about living for the moment instead of seeing the bigger picture. The bigger picture was that Graham could lose.

His bum was sore, a natural reaction to not moving from the sofa for a billion years. He’d left his special cushion that comforted his tail bone in the wardrobe, next to his Kevlar vest. He couldn’t even spare a moment for a toilet break as it was getting all very tense. Graham averted his eyes from the phosphor glare of the television for a moment and saw that Dog wasn’t even in the room. His joystick lay discarded on the floor like an unwanted Christmas toy. Graham considered abusing the situation and…

Pow! Pow!

Graham looked down to see the white garb over his breast stained with a couple of patches of blood like the bite of some dim-witted vampire.

“Not… again…” he lamented and collapsed to the floor, his final thoughts revolving around a forgotten Kevlar vest.

Dog lowered his pistol and removed the silencer, smiling. Watching for movement, he observed Graham’s still form resembling a pile of bloodied towels heaped on the floor. Dog wasn’t even sure why he used the silencer, it wasn’t as if anyone was going to come to his aid, but he liked the cool snick-snick sound it made.

The phone on the pedestal by the door rang.

Dog turned towards the phone and wondered who it could be.

The phone continued to ring.

Dog hopped over to it, crouched on the floor and snatched it down from the pedestal with his bony, crimson fingers. He couldn’t help smirking as he answered with the lofty voice of a butler, “Yes, hello, this is Graham’s residence.”

The voice on the line was familiar. “Is Weldon. I want to speak a’Dad.”

Dog held the receiver as far from his face as possible as he guffawed into his free hand.

“Allo? Is Weldon here.”

Calmer now, Dog replied, “Yeah, hi Weldon. Uh, Dad, yes. He’s… he’s in the toilet. Yes he is.” Dog shouted in the direction of the sofa, “Graham, it’s Weldon on the phone. Shall I tell him to phone back later?”

The pile of bloodied towels divulged nothing.

“So-rry, Weldon. But the old coot is doing a number two.”

“Is Dog speaking, yes? Is Dad okay? You shoot him again?”

“Good God,” Dog wailed, “how could you say such a thing? I shall tell Graham you said that as soon as he’s finished his dump! Horrible! I am mortally offended!” Dog threw the phone aside as a powerful gust of laughter blustered out of his system. He farted while he did it, a nice wet fart. He hadn’t laughed like this for a while. He’d been bored shitless by evolution, it was so booooringly slow – he’d like to have shot Graham in the head for that wonderful invention. God only knows why someone in his position couldn’t just rustle up a planet with a click of the fingers.

He picked the receiver up again and heard Weldon drowning in a stream of threats. “…sonofabiitch, I fukin kill you Dog. You kant. You fukin kant. Sweet fukin bastard, I kill you. I kill your family. ”

“Now, now, calm yourself. You are my family, you twat. What you going to do, kill yourself you stupid asshole? Go ahead, see if I give a crispy rat’s ass.”

Weldon fell silent.

“I’m waiting.”

“I will fukin kill you.”

“Oh you never killed anybody in your whole life, Wellie. See ya.”

Dog hung up on Weldon, thinking that the boy needed to get himself a decent job. He thought nothing more of it, though, and leapt over the back of the sofa into the old man’s space. He kicked Graham’s corpse closer to the television so that he could stretch out his legs.

Scooping up Graham’s joystick, he grinned. Ah, shit, this was going to be fun. First stop, the Garden of Eden.

Posted by: The Harbour Master @ 2210

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