A dog of a day in Australia

short fiction with no particular purpose

I wrote this a long time ago and I just found it on my hard drive, no idea where my head was at LMAO

Chapter 1: Tom and Clara

It was a scorching hot December afternoon in Northern Sydney. An ice tea day as Tom called it. He was gulping down a homemade concoction of green tea, ginger and guava juice from his black steel cannister as feet clapped rhytmically on the tan concrete side walk, a sweaty white t-shirt clinging to his grey tattooed skin. Beside him, Clara bopped her head to her airpods and made faint humming noises to herself in a hhalf sing along. She took a piece of beef jerky out of the packet she had sitting on the canopy of the stroller in front of her and crunched it between her front teeth, wiggling from side to side slightly as she pushed it along. Her tinted sunglasses, red hair and ivory cheeks all glowed in the sun and Tom wondered how he could have ever become so lucky.

Four years ago Tom had lost everything in the space of a week. His last wife had left him, leaving only a note and taking their five year old child with her. The following day he had shown up to his brick laying job still half pissed from the night before and fallen off three floors of scaffolding, fracturing his spine and the forearm of his right hand. Unable to get a pay out he had lived off the dole for 12 months, alone in his apartment. His parents reluctantly helped him with his Hilux payments but every time he spoke to the 26 year old they let him know what a loser they thought he was for showing up to work half drunk and having an accident. It seemed like they took his ex-wifes side. Every day of that time he questioned if life was really worth it.

When he finally got a job as a bartender, all that was on his mind was getting a little beer money and finally getting to meet some women. Clara had her eye on him right away. At first hed had his eye on one of the other barmaids, who was a bit chubbier but still kind and fun. He knew he had a beer belly and a fat face from sinking piss and a tendency to speak with a tone as if he was apologising for himself, which he couldnt seem to stop doing and for that reason, he didnt even register that Clara could be more than a friend. She was a bubbly young thing of 20, always making a joke with the locals and singing along to the jukebox, it never occurred to him that the one every one wanted could be his.

But somehow here they were, three years later, pushing their two year old daughter Cayley along the path in front of the shore, asleep in the pram. It had been a long morning setting up the coffee shop they had just bought on seller finance with the help of Claras father. Tom had insisted in doing most of the work himself, he had recovered full movement in his back and had been training in jiu jitsu and wrestling, able to enjoy what his body could do instead of just using it to slave away. As he screwed the lid back on, he thought about how it was the best day he had had in a really long time and perhaps the best day of his life all together.

Tom sighed. If only I could feel like I really deserved this, he thought to himself. If only I knew for sure that she would never leave.

Chapter 2: Simon and Mandy

“You fucking wreak of white ox. Put on some spray.”

“Shut the fuck up cunt.”

Simon and Mandy lived around the corner from the beach in government housing. Simon sold weed but they both received additional government benefits for their aboriginal ancestry. Simons was completely undetectable, he was a tall wiry man with leathery skin on his face, a light brown goatee, eyes permenantly squinted as if he was perpetually annoyed with everyone on earth and a bald head beneath his red and black holden cap. Today he also wore an Orlando magic basketball singlet from the good will store.

Mandy was clearly of a race other than pure white, but it was actually the part Maori ancestry on her mothers side that contributed most to her dark appearance. She was thin and reasonably attractive before she would open her mouth to reveal half her teeth missing from smoking meth. Nonetheless, her pink nails looked fresh and her hair was cropped back by an unusually shiny tiara. A long shirt with a candy skull on the front and cut off sleaves ran down almost to her knees, the torn edges of dirty denim jean shorts poking out slightly lower, with writing tattooed on the backs of the knees. She was almost as tall as Simon and her head looked unusually large for the size of her body.

Simon and Mandy hadnt slept in two days and hadnt seen their two boys in at least 24 hours. They had been out all morning scouting the town with their pitbull Buster, who they hoped had picked up the scent. They would periodically become distracted to light up a cigarette and fetch a stubby of warm Tooheys New out of Simons back pack.

“We’re never gonna find the little cunts.” Said Simon in one of his rare moments of self awareness. They were always disappearing.

“Ahh for fucks sake!” Mandy had been holding Buster’s leash while Simon walked ahead. As she stumbled around trying to keep hold of the powerful animal, her white sneaker slammed one of the jagged rocks that aligned the pathway, separating it from the shoreline. She dropped down, wincing her pain and grabbed onto her foot, letting go of the leash in the process. “Simon!” She called out. He was already about 10 metres ahead when he turned around.

“What’s wrong with you?” He shouted. “Keep hold of the bloody dog.”

Buster had his head down and was sniffing the edge of the foot path. Simon trotted over, shaking his head. Bloody useless woman. But just as he got within reach, the dog took off back the way they had come, a greyish brown blur of fury.

Glass shattered loudly from the beer bottles as Simon dropped his back pack to give chase.

Chapter 3: Buster

Buster’s owners hadn’t fed him at all during their multi day bender. But that is not to say he hadn’t eaten. The previous morning Simon had gone out of their housing unit to smoke one of his white ox rollies and Buster had seen his opportunity to escape. He made his way down to the back of the nearest kebab shop and ambushed a young lebanese man who was taking out the garbage. He barked and snarled at the man, who quickly retreated behind the fly screen door of the restaurant but took the rubbish bag with him. Buster kept banging on the door until the men inside threw some chicken out to him.

Then he went about the day free to do his favourite activity, terrorise other people’s dogs. First he chased a pomeranian around the park to the horror of a lady in lulu lemon tights. Two council workers with a shovel and a rake chased him away. Next he made the mistake of attacking one of two large Alaskan malamutes just as they left the front of the owner’s house. He was already beginning to be over powered by the dogs when he someone came out of the house and gave him a hit with a frying pan. He retreated at maximum velocity. Feeling somewhat demoralised, he spent the rest of the afternoon chasing birds until he finally caught a magpie. He ripped it’s head clean off and feasted on it’s organs. The meat was tough and stringy.

When he passed the block of flats again that night he could smell dog food so he made his way around the back and at that moment both of his owners dove on top of him and dragged him inside. He was locked in the garage all night, barking until his voice went rasp. But he was no longer hungry and he slept well.

He never knew when he would have to go hungry again because of his idiot owners. But that’s only half of why he took off to run. Buster was tired of being locked in a tiny little room smelling of white ox and beer. He wanted to roam free and decimate other organisms whenever the impulse would arise.

He smelled meat and thought why not take it? Who is going to stop me? His paws plodded along the pavement as he got closer and closer to his target: on the top of the hill a blue stroller in the sunset.

Chapter 4: the attack

Tom’s strange anxiety wouldn’t leave him. He was obsessed with the idea that everything he had could be taken away any moment. Clara would leave with Cayley just like his ex. His back would stop working again and leave him crippled. Perhaps the sun would set and never rise again. I’m such a worrier, he mumbled to himself.

They were reaching the top of a small slope in the footpath overlooking the sand dunes by the water and Clara stopped for a second to get her breath. Tom turned to face the stroller. His daughter was still sleep, her little belly rising and falling and a soft white face like her mother’s. Tom stroked her hair and smiled.

Then it happened. There was suddenly an enormous weight on his back knocking him forward towards the stroller. He collapsed into a heap on the ground and rolled a part way down the slope, grazing his shoulders on the rocks at the edge of the footpath. He pulled himself up in a flash, disoriented. He heard his wife scream no!

She was on top of the toppled stroller with ta huge muscular grey dog biting gnawing at her forearm. She sank further, hunched over Cayley, screaming for help. The dog let go of her arm and jumped onto her back. It locked it’s bite down around what appeared to be Clara’s neck. No!

Tom sprang into action. In a moment he was on the dog’s back with his thumbs in both eyes. “Let go!” He screamed. “Let go or I’ll kill you.” It didn’t seem to be working so he made a fist with his right hand and smashed it against the back of the animal’s head repeatedly.

There was another man there now with his arms around the dog’s wasted just above his legs. We should be able to get him off if we both pull!

But Tom knew it wouldn’t be enough. His wife might already be dead and he didn’t want to take any chances with his daughter. He sunk his right arm over the animal’s shoulder and around the front of it’s neck. The neck was muscular and felt twice as thick as the biggest man he had wrestled at jiu jitsu. As the dog shook from side to side Tom struggled with all of his strength to reach the fingers past the other shoulder where he could lock them up to his other hand. He was aware that if the dog let go and bit onto his hand he would lose his fingers instantly.

But as more blood gushed out of the victim, the dog’s neck became slipper and his hand finally slid around past the other shoulder. He squeezed both hands together and squeezed with his arms, his chest, everything he had. Veins were popping out of his head when the dog finally let go of its prey. It let out a gargled bark.

“Got him! “The voice shouted out behind him. Tom rolled around onto his back with the dog on top of him and wrapped his legs around to secure it’s lower body. He could still feel it moving but the fight was going out of it. The man in the black singlet standing over him was holding a leash to the dog and signalling for Tom to let go. No fucking way mate, Tom thought, your dog is going to sleep. And if I find out he killed my wife I’ll fucking kill you both.

Up at the top of the hill he was suddenly aware another figure had appeared standing over him. A bottle smashed into the top of his head and he fell limp on the pavement.

Chapter 5: The Man with the Scar on His Face

Mark was Clara’s older half brother from her father’s first marriage. They never met before and she only knew his face from photos. When he came into the pub one evening her heart sank. She knew his wild blue eyes and twisted bottom lip from anywhere. The only thing not in the pictures was the ropey scar running down his left cheek.

Mark went to prison for killing a man in a bar fight. Her parents were sure it was deliberate but because the man had hit him first and it could have been accidental, he was only charged with manslaughter. He served 10 years. When he was out their father only saw him one time. He regretted telling him that he had another child. Mark wanted to meet Clara but their father refused to let him. He said he didn’t like the look of the man he had become in prison.

Mark had become a Neo-Nazi. The gang he had joined deliberately inflicted the scar on his face in imitation of the old German custom of scarring the face from longsword fencing. He also had tattoos, swastikas, iron crosses and lightning bolts. His dad asked him if he believed in the things they represented and he said he did.

The first night he came into the pub he sat in the corner with his schooner and never made eye contact with Clara. She wondered if he even knew it was her. Should she tell her parents? The police? Was he watching her? He didn’t seem interested in her at all, he only sat in the corner and watched sport on the television. He stayed for an hour and had only two beers.

The second time he came in he smoked a cigarette in the beer garden. When Clara went out to change the ashtray they looked it each other for a moment. She realised he didn’t know who she was or he wasn’t sure. She said nothing and he left not long afterwards.

After that she told Tom. She said she wanted to talk to Mark but she was afraid. She didn’t know what to expect. Tom told her it would be easy to get him into trouble if he crossed any lines. He said he would talk to Mark himself. It was before Tom and Clara were together.

Tom told him that Clara worked in the bar and she recognised him. He said she’d like to meet him one time but one time only. Mark agreed but said he needed to go home and get something for her.

On her next shift she met her half brother for the first time in the beer garden on her break. She was relieved that he was kind and respectful. He said he would drink at another pub after that day to respect their father’s wishes.

Had she not known who he was already, and had he not had tattoos and a horrifying scar, she wouldn’t have known he was a criminal who’d lived a rough life. At least not until he said his parting words.

“Listen. It was a place like this that ruined my life. I need to know you’re safe. If anyone ever fucks with you, you need to forget everything you were ever taught about being a good girl and you have to fight back.”

He gave her a switch blade with a beautiful ivory handle and a tiny ornament of an eagle on one side. She never saw him again.

Chapter 6: The knife

Clara’s first thought when the stroller toppled over was that Cayley’s head might hit the pavement. She had knelt down over the side of the stroller, frantically reaching for her baby without any thought that the animal would continue it’s attack. Then she felt it’s teeth sink in just below the elbow. A chunk of flesh ripped out of her arm as she pulled free. She heard Cayley squeal and she knew what she had to do.

Hunched over into the fetal position she covered her daughter’s body with her own and hoped for the best. The dog was on top of her before she had time to think. She felt a sharp pain as it sunk its teeth into her shoulder. Cayley was squealing. Clara could feel her heart thumping out of her chest.

When Tom finally got the beast off of her she was still in shock. She rolled onto her back and saw that she had blood all over her. There was blood all through Cayley’s hair, another shade mixed into her copper red locks. She checked her for any wounds. She was fine.

And then it happened. The crazy brown skinned woman smashed the bottle over Tom’s head and he laid unconscious on the pavement with the dog asleep on top of him. She never thought in a million years that an afternoon walk could end like this. “Tom!” She screamed. Her visions blurred from the tears in her eyes.

“He killed my baby!” The woman shouted.

“He just choked him out Mandy, he’ll be fine.”

“He tried to kill him! He’s a mad man! Doing UFC moves on my poor Buster!”

“Get your dog out of here!” Clara was standing up now, holding the Cayley’s blanket to her shoulder to stop the bleeding. “He attacked my child! Take him and go NOW! Before I call the cops.”

They didn’t listen. They continued to ramble and rave at each other.

No more playing around. She reached into her little faux leather hand bag. She took out the knife and flicked open the blade. She started walking towards the woman, pointing the blade out at eye level. “Hey, bitch! Take your dog and get out of here!”

“She’s got a knife Simon! This psycho bitch!”

“Hey! Put the knife down. We’ll get him out of here but you’ve gotta put that knife away.”

“No one pulls a knife on me! You’ll regret this! I’ll kill your whole fucking family.”

You almost did already. Get the damn dog! She pointed the knife down towards Buster awkwardly. She had to look again. His legs were starting to wiggle. He was waking up.

Chapter 7: the final fight

Buster rolled over onto his hands and knees, still dazed and confused. Clara straddled him and took hold of his collar with her left hand. She plunged the knife into his side with her right hand. He made a yelping noise. She only got two stabs in when the two junkies were on top of her. She heard Cayley scream.

Simon had his arms around both of her shoulders not and Mandy pummelled her with heavy smacks to the face. She felt sick. She’d gone too far and now the dog would surely finish her off. She could see it had retreated up the slope and was wheeling around to come back, raining a trail of blood drops wherever it ran.

“Mummy!” Cayley squealed. “Daddy!”

Clara was over powered by Simon completely. He kept yelling at her to drop the knife but she held on, white knuckled and determined to go down fighting for her child.

Mandy had stopped hitting her and was now focused on Buster. “Come to me baby! Mummy will patch you up.” The blood soaked mutt trotted back towards them cautiously.

At the very moment he passed, Tom came to consciousness. He had blood dripping through his blond hair and fury in his eyes like Clara had never seen before. He took Buster’s leash, about a foot length from his collar and used it to pull himself up on to the dog’s back and started to fail his fists like a mad man.

Mandy was going for the bag to grab another beer bottle to use as a weapon. But Clara broke free from Simon’s grip and plunged her knife into his leg. She poked both of his eyes with her fingers and then charged at the other woman. Mandy toppled over trying to escape and landed sprawled out on the jagged rocks.

By now Buster had escaped Tom’s attack, locked it’s jaws on his leg and pulled him down to a sitting position. Clara took heavy breaths as she creeped over towards the dog, keeping one eye on Cayley. She knew what had to be done. She darted around the back as the dog wiggled from side to side. This time she wanted a clear shot at it’s neck. But Buster was still too fast.

And then it happened. There was a sickening clunking sound as Tom lifted up a football sized rock with both hands and smashed it down on Buster’s skull. He hit him again and again, screaming out in a beserker frenzy. But it was clear the first blow had killed him.

Tom was up. He picked up Cayley and limped over to his blood soaked, hyperventilating wife. He looked at the knife. “I’ll swap you.” Clara nodded and handed the knife to him while she took their child in both arms.

“You killed our dog! You stabbed me! You fucking psychos!” Simon was pale and shaking his head violently from side to side as he pressed both hands into his wound.

“Buster!” Mandy shrieked and whaled for a moment. Then she saw Tom had the knife. She backed away slowly and silently towards Simon.

Tom breathed out hard. His teeth were clenched and every muscle was twitching.

“I think it’s time you two run along and let us enjoy our walk.”

The End, cunts