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I Hate Surprises…

I hate surprises, but this one was worse than most. Well, dying could be considered right up there as being pretty damn awful, and I certainly did. I mean, being brutally tortured could be considered a worse surprise, especially if you weren’t expecting it (and who actually does, really?), but no, dying is about the worst surprise you could have.

I imagine it came as a surprise to my murderer as well, given that he wasn’t expecting to encounter me on his way out of the bank. I was a bit cautious going past it, given all the wailing alarms and flashing lights and all that, but even so, I didn’t expect a balaclava-wearing man to rush out, knock me to the ground, swear incomprehensively at me and then blow my head off with his sawn-off shotgun.

It was so unfair as well, what had I ever done to him? Oh, foiling the bank robbery. I’ve got you. But apart from that. He didn’t have to shoot me, after all. I hadn’t seen his face, I barely knew what was going on, in fact. But there you go. Shoot me he did, and die I did.

It’s a pity too, because I was on my way to somewhere pretty important. Yes, yes, it’s a pity for all sorts of reasons, but in the context of this particular day it was a pity because I was going to meet a man about a dog. Literally. I know people say that just to get out of doing they don’t particularly want to do, but in this case I really was going to see a man about a dog.

“Why?” you might ask. Well, this particular dog was owned by this particular man, and I needed this particular dog for a very particular purpose. You see, that dog was the last of its line, a line that had gone back a very long way along the paternal line of my family. Some way along that line the connection twixt dog and human had been broken owing to some long-since owed gambling debt or something – the line of dogs being something pretty pedigree-ish – and it was high time that that connection was remade.

“But why was this so important?” you might also ask. Well, that’s a good question. It’s because I’m the last of my family. No, no brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, or anything. So this was the last chance. And now that chance has gone. Like I say, it’s all so unfair.

I’m sure the man with the gun also thought it was unfair, that idiotic man spoiling his perfect bank robbery then getting himself shot, causing our antagonist to be sent down for a great many years, but frankly I have little sympathy for him. Dying trumps jail, in my book, so sorry, Mr Bank Robber, sucks to be you.

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