Sunday, February 27, 2005

The Demise of Sita and the Return of the Chihuahua Hive Mind

Aside from the individual mini-novellas we all have to write for my creative fiction class, we're also doing a group novella. Each person in class writes a page. The next person has to add onto what the previous person did, but they can't edit what they get — you have to work with what people give you. As the group novella has progressed, what people have been giving each other is shit. I read all the previous installments in sequence and I still don't know what's going on or why anybody's doing what they're doing.

I never like the idea of doing group work. It's rough and you have to work your schedule around people that aren't you, which is way harder than working centering everything around yourself, which I enjoy. In any case, my grade depends on me writing something for this trainwreck, so I did my contribution tonight. In retrospect, starting another project — however small — after forty-eight hours of writing was probably a bad idea. Too late now.

I'm reproducing my installment here because I think it's funny. I should preface it by saying that I felt people were introducing too many characters to an already complicated story. My installment eliminated many of those characters — notably, in ways that would keep people from bringing them back to life like Dina did.

I will not, however, preface this with a synopsis of what happened before. Even if you had the ten or so preceding chapters, I swear this wouldn't make any more sense. All I'll say is that the installment that led into mine ended with two Chihuahuas being dropped by a vulture and said Chihuahuas wondering if they'll look like carne asada upon impact.
And carne asada is exactly what Tiny and Jose turned into the moment they landed. They did, in fact, hit the car, but that did nothing to break the fall. In fact, landing on the metal hurt them infinitely more than the desert sand ever could. Splattered and chunky, Tiny and Jose were very much so dead — certainly in a way that no means, whether medical or supernatural, could ever revive them.

"Oh, those two dogs are dead now," Sita said. "I'm hot."

"Me too. I'm sure it's been hours since I've had anything to drink," Jason said.

"And, being a bum, I only drink alcohol," said Fred. "So I'm dehydrated as well."

Time passed as the three people and two Chihuahuas trudged onward, in search of some refuge from the brutal heat. Their bodies, already weakened from the stress of the day's events, soon gave out. Fred Durst was the first to fall. His bodily literally depleted of every drop of water, he collapsed, a pile of filthy rags and matted hair coughing and choking in the desert.

"I—I—I always loved you, Sita," he said before all life rushed from his body in a final violent spasm. Needless to say, he voided his bowels.

A mile or so later, Jason and Sita collapsed as well, falling onto Luis the Chihuahua in the process. Jason's head hit a large rock, critically wounding his brain in a way that surely no doctor could ever repair. Dehydration wracked ever muscle in Sita's body in pain. As she lay atop Jason, her limbs twitched slightly. She heaved — alas, she had nothing to throw up. She to died in a very definite and final manner.

Flor, the girl Chihuahua, yapped and nibbled at the human cage that imprisoned her companion, but to no avail. Her tiny frame could budge neither Sita or Jason and the weight of their two, sagging corpses quickly choked all life from Luis, the other Chihuahua.

I—I—I always loved you, Sita, he said before all life rushed from his body in a final, violent spasm. Luis also voided his bowels.

In seconds, an army of flesh-eating ants covered the heap of death and skeletonized Sita, Jason and Luis. The ants thereupon scattered their bones throughout the desert, ensuring that not only would no one ever bring them back from the dead — no one would ever find them, either.

Alone and feeling more insignificant than ever, Flor sat on a sand dune and wondered if death would soon come for her.

I sure wish we hadn't given that dead guy all of our magical Chihuahua power, she thought. O Chihuahua hive mind! How can you help me now?

Meanwhile, all the way in Hawaii, Joss and Carl sipped fancy drinks on a beautiful, golden beach. Joss wondered for a moment if Twyla was taking good care of her puppy dogs. Oh, that's silly, she thought. I'm sure that stripper who dresses like a whore and uses a fake name was the most responsible person I could have picked to watch my dogs, which I apparently cherish.

"Oh Carl, my husband, I love you so. I'm glad we are married now," Joss said adoringly.

"And I love you as well, wife," said Carl.

Just then, Joss suddenly felt much warmer than she had only moments before. She at first wondered if perhaps the sun had shifted, causing the rays to strike her at a more direct angle. No, this was not the case. Flames had mysteriously engulfed Joss.

"Help! Help! I'm on fire!" she cried.

"Would if I could, woman!" Carl shouted back.

Just before her eyes melted, Joss saw that Carl too was also burning to death. Crowds of beach goers surrounded the burning newlyweds. Some grabbed logs and umbrella stands and tried to beat their flames out, but it only made Joss and Carl die faster.

"I'm dying!" Joss cried.

"Me too!" Carl cried.

"I'm dead now," Joss said.

"Me too," Carl said.
I hope my class doesn't hate me.

3 comments:

  1. Anonymous11:27 AM

    This is Bri.
    I happen to think this was an awesome addition to the novella and I don't hate you.
    ...
    I hope you don't hate me! Oh, dear!

    ReplyDelete