brain dogs (short story)

[requiescant_in_pace]

There are seven dogs on my street. One day they started barking and they haven’t stopped since. I can hear them wherever I go. It does not matter if they appear to be barking or not. Inside of my head they never stop.
It had taken me sometime to realize that six of them sound like people I know. My pharmacist and my sister are just two from the merciless canine choir that growl and roar while I try to sleep or, eat my food. Those two bark the loudest when it is time for me to take my medication. But I have stopped taking those pills. I’ve been saving them.
My computer is full of spyware, and the customer service representative who is supposed to be helping me fix this, thinks that it is funny to put on different voices every time I call to ask for the help. I know that this is the same person because; they always fail to fix my computer. When this tricky son of a bitch isn’t sabotaging my computer they are barking in my head with the rest of the dogs.
I don’t watch the shows on my television. All of the programs on TV are filled with people pretending to be somebody else, and you cannot trust people who make a living as liars. Even if wanted to listen to their bullshit; there is always music playing in the background and that distracts me from what is being talked about. I only watch the news because; it contains information that could affect me. I have however, become increasingly concerned about the station director (who also happens to be the director and produced of the weekly evening news) David Bruce. I have trouble deciphering the strange facial expressions that people are always making but, lately I have noticed that the news anchors have been squinting with their eyes or setting their mouths in a very peculiar way. I believe this is done to confuse and irritate the viewer in order to elicit stronger emotions during viewing. I would simply watch the news on a different network but, the reception is poor and together with the barking; I cannot hear over the static. This has confirmed my worst fears; that these sadistic forms of torture have been (by the command of David Bruce) directed at me. I also believe he is one of my dogs. Even though I have not met the man or heard his voice, the language and technique are identical. I even fear that this is his design.
For a living I take orders over the telephone and you can be certain that from time to time the dogs call and pretend to be customers. I work for a company that sells sporting goods out of a catalog. One of the saddest and hardest things that I have to deal with is that my best friend and co-worker; Richard is my fifth dog. I liked him because he has a simple smile. I know that it means only joy or approval; it’s not tricky like the smiles of everybody else. Richard barks the loudest when I am lonely or depressed and that almost makes me feel better but, it really hurts the most because I know it’s just a ploy to keep me dependent to the barking. The dogs (whatever they really are) know that I can stop them and they will do anything they can to keep me pacified.
If I decided to fall in love it would be with Janet Sayers; she is a data analyst at the catalog company where I work. She is like Richard in a way that, she isn’t always making stupid or tricky faces. She does make those faces sometimes, but only to teach me a lesson if I say something stupid like ‘How was your day, Janet?’ I don’t need her and since I haven’t decided to fall in love with her; I haven’t decided what she means to me. It’s convenient that she’s around and I don’t have to rush to judgment on anything. I’m relieved she’s not one of the dogs but, it’s possible they are using her.
When she isn’t howling in my head with the rest of the pack; my sister comes to my house or calls me on the phone. She claims she wants to ‘Make sure I’m doing alright’ or other things like that but, I know she just wants to make sure I’m taking the pills. The pharmacist probably told her I have stopped taking my meds. He probably barked it to her in doggy code, right in my head, and right under my nose. That son of a bitch started making those tricky faces at me second I decided to quit the pills. So anyway, now I have had to take steps. Every day I take three pills out of the bottle (my daily dosage) and I hide them under the- never mind. If my sister comes sticking her snout around my house she’ll think I’m taking the pills. Now the pharmacist (Todd, that smug son of a bitch) can see what it feels like to be unsure. Yesterday my sister asked me if I have ‘met anyone special.’ And chills ran down my spine. ‘Poor Janet Sayers’ I thought to myself, ‘whether or not you know about the dogs; they know about you.’
The other two dogs are me and the bus driver. He scares the hell out of me because; he keeps his face as straight as I do. Every time I have a particularly bad day at work or say something stupid to Janet; it’s after he drove me in. The worst thing about the bus driver dogs is that his barking sounds like silence. When the bus driver barks I can hear myself and this is the cruelest device that they use. It’s not me of course; I’m the one being terrorized. The use my voice and every stupid thing I have ever said to Janet. It is in this way that they not only terrorize but, demoralize me.
This may all sound crazy to you. You may ask; how can people simultaneously sound like them selves and the barking of dogs? Maybe you want to know how, one person can hear something when nobody else can. If you have to ask then you could never understand. You probably can’t understand; that for two days red was the only thing I could smell after I saw Janet smile in approval when the director of operations put his hand on her hip. Do you think I haven’t tried to go to the source and deal with the dogs on my block directly? Why do you think I have been saving my pills? I gave two weeks worth of my medication to the dog one house over; the beast that sounds like Richard, my best friend. All seven rose to a crescendo when I watched the little girl who lives next door cry over her dead retriever. I already told you that it doesn’t matter whether they appear to be barking or not.
So, once again I have been forced to take steps. I spent last night waiting outside of David Bruce’s office. I killed him of course. Item #864HK in my company’s catalog is a large hunting knife. The brain dogs (as I have come to call them) are still barking. I think that I know why they have not stopped but, I don’t want to bother telling you; it may sound paranoid. I know that I should just blow my brains out (Item # 533HR Walnut arms 302. Winchester) but, I’m afraid these dogs will be barking for eternity while I’m burning in hell. I have a plan that I cannot deviate from. Yes, maybe I do sound crazy but, let me ask you this; could an insane man stay as calm as I have for the past two months with a pack of dogs snarling and barking in his head?
While I write this I am waiting in my home. Soon my sister will come knocking (like she always does) and tonight I will have to ask her some questions. I don’t expect that the dogs will stop barking, regardless of how thorough my questioning is. My friend and co-worker Richard, gets out of work soon and the customer service rep who pretends to help me, answers his phone just a three hour drive from here.

[PortraitOfSanity]

Errrrrrrrr..............

Wut?

[requiescant_in_pace]

Originally Posted by PortraitOfSanity

Errrrrrrrr..............

Wut?

I dont know how to answer your question. Did you like anything about the story? I mean... I know that I'm no Stephanie Meyers but; Every one has to start somewhere.

[PortraitOfSanity]

I'm not gonna lie, your story is all over the place. I think like the second time your plot got derailed and you went into some side note, I stopped reading.

This reads like some old guy telling war stories, you go off on a tangent and never come back.

[requiescant_in_pace]

Originally Posted by PortraitOfSanity

I'm not gonna lie, your story is all over the place. I think like the second time your plot got derailed and you went into some side note, I stopped reading.

This reads like some old guy telling war stories, you go off on a tangent and never come back.

of course, can't be certain that I never come back because, you never finished reading this.
Does it really seem all over the place? I thought I would have been blowing my load if I laid out the antagonist/dogs one by one. I did want to try and develope the character and since this story is a first person narrative; it would have to be him dropping this little details of his life while he goes on his paranoid rant. Even though he's nut's I wanted to show a little humanity coing to the surface.
I do feel like a major asshole for not spacing the paragraphs enough. Someone said that 'a wall of text is not very inviting' and I feel like that what I've got here.
Anyway, PortraitOfSanity (can I call you P.O.S. ?) thanks for atleast taking the time to post. Idont know if I'm going to change this story, but I will keep your critique in mind when i write next.

[PortraitOfSanity]

Yea, it just seems like you have a pretty cool plot laid out in your head, but you need to stick with it.

[requiescant_in_pace]

I did stick to the plot. Little detours add character... atleast that is what I like in the shortstory's that I read...

Any way, thanks for reading this.

Most people find it difficult to read more than 'pop' fiction like, 'Twilight'.

[Still Jack]

P.O.S is right about the plot. it could actually turn into something readable if you take his advice.

[Ophelia's Snorkel]

You've got a very good handle on your protagonist/narrator, and all your story needs is more fleshing out. Take your time, lengthen the story, develop the dogs and surrounding characters some more. I liked it.

[Lesz-chan]

You got dem braindawgs, lol. No, seriously, that was a good short story.

[Lesz-chan]

and I don't think you're supposed to actually develop on the characters. Isn't the challenge of a short story not to develop on the characters?

[Ophelia's Snorkel]

It's possible to concisely, subtly develop supporting characters like the sister, without distracting a reader from the narrator's object or turning the short story into a multi-generational epic that requires seven follow-up novels. If the narrator's co-workers and family - and neighbourhood dogs - seem real and tangible, it causes a more emotional, visceral reaction when they become his victims. As the story is now, it's probably no more than two or three printed pages, so he'd have a lot of space to work in before he exceeds the limits of what qualifies as a short story.

And the challenge is not to avoid developing characters; that would be easy - just don't say much about them. The challenge is to make extremely vivid but brief sketches of them without bogging down the story.

[requiescant_in_pace]

Because this story is written in the paranoid suspicions of the narrator, any attempt I made to build other characters would just re-enforce the narrators character. His judgements and understanding of other people are mired by his mental illness.

This story isn't about sympathy for his victims. It's about the possibilty that crazy people like the narrator may (son of sam) exist and kill at -what appears to us (not the maniac)- random.