Demon Dog Treats

by David

(Sequel to “The Ham Sandwich of Destiny,” by Kat Beyer)

At first Crystal thought the guy in the café was hitting on her, which distracted her from the funny taste of the sandwich. The guy seemed nice enough, if a little eccentric, dropping into the seat across from her and not even introducing himself. She got out fast, though, when he started babbling about sandwiches with souls!

By the time she got home she was sure the sandwich had been spoiled, but she had to walk Demon anyway.
“Hi Britney.” Britney was walking a pair of shaggy squat dogs for Mrs. Nyimso.

“Morning Crystal,” Britney giggled.

Britney had the most irritating laugh. She probably didn’t even know the dogs she walked every day were the physical manifestations of tibetan spirit messengers. “May they eat her bowels,” Crystal muttered, rubbing her cramping stomach. She left Demon in the apartment with a stern injunction to eat any shi dogs that might show up, but to leave the furniture alone. She’d have to run to make it to the botanica in time, and she was definitely feeling queasy. At a stoplight she saw a parade of translucent floating figures clad in saffron robes. They were crossing against the light. Could food poisoning cause that?

Madame was already raising the shutters when Crystal panted up to the door. “Crystal, good morning. I’ve got some concrete statuary in the van. I want you to set it out where the big Euphorbia used to be.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Crystal was already inside the van when she realized the statues were shi dogs. Why was Madame buying Chinese spirits for a Mexican magic shop? She jumped back, but one of the statues caught her ankle. She fell heavily, got off one good blast from the whistle around her neck, and concrete jaws closed on her wrist. She heard barking, rapidly growing louder, then the shi was yanked away from her arm. She screamed and doubled up around her ravaged wrist. As soon as she could, she began pushing the pain away. When she looked up Demon was chewing on concrete gravel and Madame was standing in front of her. “You will have to pay for the statues your dog ate.” Crystal nodded. As doggie snacks the shi were kind of costly, funny thing is I was actually looking for this new brand, smack dog food that I’ve heard is the best in the market right now, the so I can treat her with it too.

So anyways The apartment door would be expensive I thought and then so I just ask.

“Now let’s take a look at your injury.”

When Madame touched Crystal’s wrist she looked up sharply. “Are you pregnant?”

The end

Bodhisattvas

by Rudi Dornemann

When the announcement came that he was being called up, Marek didn’t even own a suitcase. His neighbors and regular customers pooled their money and bought him one. He let them think it was happiness that took his voice away.

It was, everyone told him, an honor. A miracle.

He’d had to read the letter three times but still didn’t understand why he needed to bring anything with him– after all, he’d be pure mind, all electronic, after he went up. Whether he wound up in the place between planets or the place between stars, it’s not like he’d bring the picture of his late wife, the framed first dollar their kiosk had earned, his daughter’s bronze star, or the flag they’d given him at her funeral.

But the cab driver, who loaded the suitcase into the trunk so gently that nothing clinked, explained it: the memories would be anchors, digitized and uploaded, that his personality could hold onto.

“Otherwise,” said the cabbie, “you’ll lose who you were and just be a machine.”

Marek stared at the city sliding past.

He’d spent days distracted by all things that he couldn’t put in the suitcase — the way the kiosk looked, when all the flowers were fresh and all the buckets were full, first thing in the morning, when the light seemed to come from inside the petals. The pressure of Tina’s hand on his; the weight of their daughter in his arms. When he explained, none of his friends understood.

“I’ve taken lots of folks to the up station,” said the driver. She tried to catch Marek’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He knew that tone of jealousy-edged pride from his friends’ voices.

On the dashboard, a pair of picture-sculptures morphed though what looked like snapshots of the driver, her friends, her family. Between them, a dried, unopened rose bud; a string of pebble-beads; a sea shell; and a flag Marek didn’t recognize.

“Yeah,” said the driver, “I’ve taken paying uploaders and five or six lottery winners like yourself.” This time she was the one who looked away from the rearview. “The luck hasn’t worn off yet.”

Marek squeezed his hand out of the shimmering holoprinted paper and held the wristband over the seatback.
“Here,” he said, “You go.”

He had to repeat himself.

“You can use the suitcase,” he said, and, somehow, that was the thing that convinced her.