# Alan, You Insensitive Monster Dog-Lover [just for funsies, bad language]



## Pluralized (Mar 14, 2015)

Alan loaded up the last pieces to the crib and slammed the tailgate. He pulled a crumpled twenty from his wallet and paid the sad bearded man, who grabbed his shoulder as he turned to leave. 

“Something you should know,” said the man, not looking Alan in the eye. “My daughter Emily died in that crib. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you that before, but it would mean a lot to us if someone got some use out of it. Would mean a great deal to my wife.”

Alan noticed he wasn’t breathing and so inhaled. He stood there for a time, listening to the sounds of the suburbs. Lawnmowers chuckled and hummed to themselves, birds told anyone who’d listen about the convenience of flight. “You should have told me that,” he said. “Not that I wouldn’t have bought it from you, but, man. I’d have stopped halfway through telling you about our little girl’s medical problems. Man, I’m so sorry.”

The bearded man caught Alan’s eye contact for a brief second, in which Alan saw a lifetime of despair. The tiny black pupils opened up to an inner sea of sorrow, two black holes right through to his soul. His voice cracked as he tried to dismiss Alan’s apology, and he turned his gaze back toward the house. A young woman with translucent skin stood at the door, arms folded. The bearded man motioned her over. 

“This is my wife, Jules.” 

She stuck out a cold hand and Alan shook it, racing through platitudes in his mind, finding nothing that worked. “Hi, Jules.” He looked into her eyes for a moment and saw the same ocean of loss behind them, so he tried being rigid and respectful. “We are really honored to have the crib,” he said, feeling sick and inadequate. “Our little daughter Nessie is going to love it.” 

Jules’s mouth formed a thin, flat line. “Did you say Nessie?”

“Yes, like the lake beast.” Alan no longer worried what people thought of the name, after everything poor Nessie had been through at the hospital. “If you don’t mind, can I ask how your daughter died? Wasn’t the crib, was it?” Alan cringed inside as the words passed his lips.

Beardy stood straighter, mouth in an inverted U. He sputtered, but whispered through tears, “W..we need to get back inside. Good luck with the crib, Alan.” Beardy put his arm around Jules, whose face was buried in her hands, and walked toward the house, glaring back at Alan, who didn’t recall telling Beardy his name. Dammit, he thought. What happened to that poor kid?

Alan didn’t really have a daughter. Didn’t have a son, didn’t have a wife, and his one-eyed dog Tuna was his only friend. Good thing was, Tuna loved sleeping. And sleeping in a crib, well, that was going to make his fucking day. Alan started the truck and inched away from that sad house where things died, and cranked up the Celine Dion.


----------



## Toot Sweets (Mar 15, 2015)

I enjoyed this piece Pluralized, it makes for a good Sunday funny. I know that you said it was strictly for fun, but in my opinion there is definitely potential for the thick of this plot to evolve into something deeper if you would so desire. I also liked that you used the name "Nessie" and included a bit of Celine. It's the little details like those that make a story so much more fun and interesting to the reader. If I could suggest adding some more emphasis on the guilt that Alan feels for deceiving Beardy and Jules, I think that would end the story nicely. And on the contrary, if he experiences little to no guilt (which is the impression I actually got) you should make this more obvious in the conclusion. I liked the title, BTW. :encouragement:


----------



## Pluralized (Mar 15, 2015)

Thanks, Toot. Glad you saw the humor in this.


----------



## Noth (Mar 16, 2015)

Well, I am going to hell for laughing at this. Very good story, hope you keep making these.


----------



## escorial (May 26, 2015)

you always pack alot into a small piece...as always i get to the end and would like to read more...one paragraph jumped out....

The bearded man caught Alan’s eye contact for a brief second, in which Alan saw a lifetime of despair. The tiny black pupils opened up to an inner sea of sorrow, two black holes right through to his soul. His voice cracked as he tried to dismiss Alan’s apology, and he turned his gaze back toward the house. A young woman with translucent skin stood at the door, arms folded. The bearded man motioned her over.


----------



## T. John. C. (Jun 17, 2015)

I agree with Toot Sweets - this could make for an interesting story. It makes for a very good opening scene that describes Alan and how he would be for the rest of the story. I feel so intrigued on why Tuna loves cribs, why Alan would lie like that, and why Beardy and Jules were so upset. There's some possible obvious answers to this, but, I still think the idea could be played with and produce an exotic story.


----------



## troughs (Jun 18, 2015)

I think this story works very well for its length, which compliments the deadpan humour. No further explanation seems necessary.


----------



## Nexx (Jun 19, 2015)

For me seriously sad, but maybe I'm oversensitive to the topic. I would rather say that Alan behaved with empathy and delicacy. I like him.
Wery well written, in my humble personal opinion. "Lawnmowers chuckled and hummed to themselves, birds told anyone who’d listen about the convenience of flight." I love such sentences. The impression they make is beyond words. Thanks.


----------



## lzbeth97 (Jun 20, 2015)

I find that this story has a powerful impact for being how short it is.  I also find your detail about the couple to be fantastically written.  You pack a really powerful punch in a small amount of time.  That's a hard quality to find.


----------



## qwertyman (Jun 21, 2015)

Top drawer, loved it.

Comments are probably unnecessary but I felt a little cheated by the unreliable narrator.  I think it would have been complete if you could have found a different way of deceiving the reader other than in red below.



Pluralized said:


> “Yes, like the lake beast.” _Alan no longer worried what people thought of the name, after everything poor Nessie had been through at the hospital. _“If you don’t mind, can I ask how your daughter died? Wasn’t the crib, was it?” Alan cringed inside as the words passed his lips.



If Alan consistently referred to his 'little girl' rather than 'daughter' and changed the dogs name to Nessie; that would wrap it up.


----------

