Bark Bark: A Narrative Fiction

It all began with a simple phone call one night after dinner. “Bark bark,” Robert hollered up the stairs, “bark bark bark bark.” Which I could only assume meant “Number Seven, it’s for you. It’s Hugo, and she sounds pissed.” As I came down the stairs to pick up the phone, I was not motivated to go on another “adventure” after the last few times. I was tired and had looked forward to a nice quiet evening at home, not another stupid adventure with Hugo. Thirty minutes later, however, Hugo’s chrome plated tandem bike swung into our driveway, and Hugo was frantically ringing the doorbell as the bike fell over in the driveway. Grabbing my coat from the couch, I walked out my front door with all the enthusiasm of a man going before a firing squad. We got onto the bike and he told me we had another mission to go on. All I could think of was the last “mission” he took us on. We went to the Circle K down the street from his house to pick up a bag of corn chips. I never thought he was a normal person in the slightest, granted I didn’t even know him until 3 months ago and didn’t know we were 6th cousins once removed until last Monday, but now I know that crazy runs in my family and that my mom is no longer the odd one out. “Pedal faster!” Hugo screeched as we approached a yellow. “Are you insane?!” I yelled as he sped up and nearly rammed us into a semi-truck. A semi-truck that would have no business being in space on its way to deliver products to an intergalactic sports tournament. That wouldn’t be the last time he would almost have us killed on this trip. He then stopped at the Circle K to pick up some snacks, but instead of paying with money he pulled a chainsaw out of his backpack and robbed the place of all of their pork rinds. Since we were in Florida at the time I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was about to eat a homeless man’s face. He comes running out with his backpack and every single pocket he has on his cargo shorts bulging from the sheer amount of pork rinds he stole. We pedal until we can’t anymore literally and figuratively. We get to the harbor in South Beach and he stops pedaling and starts peddling the pork rinds he stole from earlier. But of course nobody wants to buy a bag of pork rinds from a fat, sweaty man in his mid-20s. He gives up trying to sell individual pork rinds and tell me to shut and ride. “Yo dawg,” he whispers into my ear, “watch this.” Thinking I would expect immediate death he pushes a button and the tandem bike morphs into a pedal boat. “Where did you get this?” I ask, questioning whether or not I want to hear his response. “I have my sources.” He stated as he stared out into the ocean. “You got it from the meth head down the street, didn’t you?” I replied almost certain of his response. “Enough questions,” he mumbles under his breath, “we have to get going.” “Where the hell are we even going?” I ask as he stuffs …show more content…
It was the leader of Russia. We were immediately thrown in purgatory where we only got 5 minutes outside just to stare at the Siberian sun. The one thing I don’t regret is being forced We were isolated for 5 weeks. I know it was 5 weeks because . Then one day I noticed we were let out for much longer, or I was just hallucinating again. I realized I wasn’t when an armored truck pulled up blaring Russian propaganda music. We were taking on a several hour trip to what they described as a “working establishment.” Except the thing was it was a gulag and I could see the prison we were previously in so they literally just drove in circles to confuse us since we couldn’t see out the truck. They send us into small rooms that couldn’t have been large enough to fit a smart car. Nonetheless I tried my best to sleep through the screams of the men grueling in the labor camps knowing that will soon be