The Final Thoughts of Snoopy the Dog - 560 words

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Handsome Carl: Sep 6, 2011

I am reading this for some slam-fiction competition tonight and thought I might try to get some reactions here.

The first thought experienced by Snoopy the Dog when he realized he was still alive was one of shame, coupled with images of scattered down and fabric. Above and away a woman spoke with a voice of muted brass, a voice which carried a stern patience and understanding despite the tone. A scolding was being delivered, but without any real weight behind it. Snoopy was a dog. The pillow�s end was an expected consequence of the fact that Snoopy was a dog.

A dog that had been flying a plane. Had been. No longer. What happened?

A perforated engine. A fall followed by a great tumbling. Snapping and scraping and the hard thud of flesh impacting hard things. These. Things. Had. Happened.
THE BARON had happened. They had been flying straight at each other, Snoopy and the Red Dragon. He had fired and fired and fired even as his Sopwith Camel was disassembled by unseen hands, parts scattered like down across the floor. Firing until the forces applied to his body had ripped the gun from his hand. Had he hit The Baron? If he had then the Barron has also fallen. He may still be around. Snoopy tried to move.

But The Pain. The most sudden terrible pain. Pain from a million directions, eclipsing past and future with the terrible immediacy of suffering. THIS IS HOW IT IS NOW it shouted with a finality that truly terrified Snoopy. He stopped moving.

This was bad. Snoopy managed a paw down to the nexus of the feeling and drew it back up. Blood. A dog was dying. Something had poked a hole in Snoopy. Such a simple thing, but the results were impressive. Good grief, he thought, prompting a laugh that was immediately shushed by broken ribs. A dog was dying.

Snoopy willed his eyes to open. He saw that he was amongst the remains of his doghouse. Doghouse? Airplane. Why had he imagined a doghouse? Another stifled laugh. I am homeless now, he thought. I must have lost a lot of blood, he thought.

Not much time left, he also thought.

Snoopy saw the fallen red dragon two hundred paces away. He heard it growling. He squinted through dimming eyes and saw its rider slumped, unmoving. Dead? No. Not yet. Still squirming. Snoopy found his knife at his waist. Snoopy wouldn�t need his knife. He remembered the ruined pillow.

I will shake The Baron in my jaws and spill his down across this field. I am a dog. I am a god of broken things. I am a great disassembler of the universe. The Baron will know the consequences of my dogdom.

Snoopy found himself crawling. The pain was gone, replaced by something different. Fifty paces now. Twenty. The dragon�s growling was deafening. Ten.None. The dragon�s roar was in his own throat now. No, not a dragon�s roar but something else. The Baron filled his vision. A look of final terror. A muted brassy scream. The Baron�s throat. An ancient taste of skin and blood.

These are the consequences Baron. Kaput.

Snoopy loosed his jaws and fell to his back, and as he died, he thought he felt the familiar wood of his doghouse at his back, and had the sensation of being propelled upwards towards the clouds. A dog was flying once more.