Chomper and Donkey

"'Only the nutcase thinks life is hard. Hard? It's softer than silk pajamas.'
'My life is hard.'
'Oh? Then you're the one don't mind dying.'
'Yes. Yes I do.'
'There you go then.'"
-Stanley Elkin, The Magic Kingdom

On Lucas Pederson's blog he has started a story and invited anybody to change it, tweak it, or add to it. I've added to the piece. Where the font changes is where I've begun my own addition.

For another version of the story, see also Stewart Sternberg's blog.

Chomper and Donkey

The dog emerged from the shadows, its muzzle wet and dripping with a dark liquid Donkey cared not to look at. Chomper had killed again, the mangy mutt. But Donkey knew if he said anything Chomper would definitely be angry. And what then? Would Chomper eat Donkey too? Donkey shuddered at the thought. Chomper could be a real prick when he wanted to be, Donkey had the bite marks to prove it. Not to mention his missing tail too. Chomper trotted over, grinning, blood spattering the sidewalk.

"Got'em, Donk. Good eats all aroun'." Said Chomper as he came to a stop before Donkey.

"Good fa you Chompa." Donkey said, hoping his smile was at least partially convincing.

It must have been because Chomper nodded and turned to look back at the small house he had just finished dinning in.

"Damn good eats, Donk. The man tried to trick me but I gotts him b'for he could so much as wiggle that steak at me. Dumb human."

"We betta get a move along, Chompa. Don' wanna be 'round when more humans show up." Donk said, his voice soft.

"Yeah." Chomper said and began padding down the sidewalk.

Donk followed behind Chomper, his heart trip-hammering in his furry chest. He should've never gotten hooked up with Chomper to begin with. Chomper was mean, evil almost. The mutt loved
to kill people, something whick Donk didn't much like at all. Donk was a simple, usually kind hearted animal, if not a little odd looking. He knew he was ugly, but that didn't mean he was a bad a guy, did it? No. Of course it didn't. Donk just had no other friends anymore. Chomper was the only friend left, and Chomper had made damn sure of it too. Donk was a prisoner here. Chomper was the warden, and executioner. If Donk tried to leave, Chomper would kill him sure as shit out of a cows' bum.

Still, it was Donk that had chosen Chomper as a companion, that had found a twisted protector in Chomper. It was Donk, though he hated to admit it, that had a certain admiration for Chomper's predatory nature. It was Donk that, despite only faintly realizing it, sometimes wished he was more vicious, more fear inducing, more of a charming villian like his canine friend, rather than the braying klutz that Donk knew he was.

Chomper stopped to sniff at a rotting skunk beside the dirt road. "I used to eat this," he said. "Can you believe that?" He sniffed a while longer as Donk stared at Chomper's mangy, patchy fur. He was an ugly dog, not as ugly as Donk, but ugly nonetheless, but he still had that appeal. He still had that certain "thing" that attracted those to him, unless they were human. The humans immediately knew that something was wrong with Chomper, that he was not something you throw a stick for and wait for him to return. But the bitches, they could never seem to say no to Chomper, probably out of total fear. There was the poodle that Chomper spent an entire evening berating, a whiny thing whose owner, a fat city lady with a silly beehive hairdo, had been killed by Chomper. All night long, the poodle sat in the barn where Chomper had lead her and she whined, mourning her newly dead owner as Chomper licked the blood from his paws. But, even knowing that Chomper had eaten her lady master, the stupid poodle kept trying to get comfort from Chomper rather than ugly Donk. She whined to Chomper and pawed at him, and he seemed to grow more and more irritated.

"Shut up," he commanded, over and over, until he snapped at her ear, making her bleed. Finally she shut up. All evening he tormented her with his words, his comments as harsh as his behavior. He nipped and snapped and growled until the puffy white poodle, a creature even more pathetic than Donk, was as submissive as could be. The entire time Chomper continually looked over to Donk and smiled his evil way, and he continued to wink and smirk as he and the poodle got stuck together. Afterwards, Chomper wrapped his jaws around the poodle's neck and shook her until she was still. She never fought back.

Watching Chomper at the dead skunk, Donk remembered living on the countryside, his human master whipping him to no end. His master called him stubborn, but Donk was only stupid. You can fix stubborn, but not stupid. Donk remembered braying senselessly and not understanding the human commands, and his master had whipped and beat him bloody until that day that Chomper chewed off the master's face. Donk was frightened of Chomper, for he'd never seen such brutality, such a hunger to kill, but Donk had no sympathy for his master, and he hated himself for this. He hated that the poodle had not gone to him for some reassurance, and he hated Chomper.

He began to make his way to the Chomper and the skunk, his awkward hooves clomping beneath him. Chomper didn't notice, for he'd chosen to gnaw on the skunk. He looked rather disgusted. Donk wondered if the rotting meat disgusted Chomper, or if it was the fact that the skunk had died before Chomper could kill it.

Donk tried to be swift, tried to be fueled by his heart full of angry hatred as he wrapped his large, square teeth around Chomper's flea-ridden back. He heard something crack, but whatever had broken did not slow Chomper down, and he was much faster than Donk. Chomper tore into Donk's knobby knee, causing Donk to collapse. Chomper ripped into Donk's neck, his chest, his face.

Though Donk lay bleeding and in severe pain as the mutt chewed at his torso, he still noticed that Chomper was not actually eating. He was only working on Donk for the kill. Chomper always ate his victims, even if just a little, always saved a taste for himself. Apparently not with Donk. Even a rotting skunk must've had a better taste than ugly Donk. Or maybe Chomper actually felt remorse.

Chomper's jaws had ripped away one of Donk's eyes, but with the remaining, dying eye, Donk watched Chomper grip the flesh from his abdomen and furiously shake. But there was no swallowing. Just biting, chewing, shredding and shaking.

Chomper left Donk in the dust, dirt drying in his bloodied, wiry hair, and as Donk slipped away, he watched Chomper shuffle down the dirt road, hurt, alone, a mangy mutt, blood caked in his paws, with something broken inside of him, and for first the first time ever, Donk felt victorious, a sense of accomplishment, a sense that he'd done something right, done something that, though he was dying, (sure, he'd lost in that sense), he'd still somehow won.