Before
I was walking home from school one day. I always got bored if I walked the same way, so I took different routes. I would take a side street here, an alley there.
On this day I came across one of the dirtiest dogs you would ever hope to see. I wasn’t afraid of it until I saw the body of a boy about my age laying next to it. Even then I wasn’t so much afraid as I was in shock. I didn’t know then but the dog was rabid. I must have been standing there a while. The next thing I knew he was charging at me and within leaping distance.
The only thing I knew I had was a glass bottle in my bag. I didn’t have time to look for a stick or a rock or to take inventory of my surroundings. I knew I had a bottle in my bag but no way I would get it out in time. So as he leapt up and pushed me back, I put my hand in his mouth and I let him bite down.
If I told you it was painful I would be lying. The truth is I don’t remember feeling anything at all. I do remember thinking that he was going for my throat and I would prefer anything to that.
While he was tearing at me, eating my flesh, with my free hand, I opened my bag, smashed the bottle and stabbed that poor rabid son of a bitch what must have been 60 times. Then I was on top of it and it was like poking at a wet blanket before too long. When I came to my senses I was being lifted up by a woman who worked in a store nearby.
I remember then her asking me if I was hurt, but I didn’t snap out of it until she picked me up. She didn’t see what happened but she put it together when she saw the scene. I don’t know how long I was sitting there but the blood had dried and the dog was no longer breathing. I was still clutching the bottle and my hand was ok. Apparently I shoved my hand so far down his throat that he didn’t really bite. He was trying to get away from me.