I’m The Dog In A Post-Apocalyptic Movie And My Chances Are Not Looking Good
Ever since this post-apocalyptic movie began, I’ve been a loyal canine companion to my owner. But as our bond grows during this global A.I- inspired mutant zombie alien invasion pandemic, I realize one thing more and more: I’m not making it to the end of this movie.
My owner loves me, don’t get me wrong. He’ll do anything to protect me. But it’s “Man’s Best Friend” until the last hour, then it’s “Man’s Best Plot Device.”
I should have known better. The leading cause of death for dogs like me is foreshadowing.
There were red flags when I started following him around the burned-out ruins of the 7/11 and the makeshift shelter he built inside a K-Mart. I was his only confidant? Check. A depressing backstory about his dead wife? You bet. Endless stories about how we’ll spend our future together? I started digging my doggy grave before he gave me an emotionally resonant name.
With every mention of our peaceful future lives together, when they invent a cure/defeat the robots/the resistance wins, go my chances of making it to Act III. I give myself a week at most, and that’s in dog years.
There are a million ways I could go. I might sprint four legs ahead into battle, sacrificing my sentimental self so my owner can escape…
