The Worst Evil Plot Yet!

"Even still," Matchstick continued, railing into me now that he had finally found his voice, "I felt that things weren't all bad. I felt that things could be made right. No, that I had to make them right. I hadn't chosen my owner to be my owner, and he certainly hadn't chosen me to be his pet, but somehow or another, here we were. That we should do our best for one another… was what I thought."

Matchstick continued to command the crowd's complete attention with his monologue. His origin story. The tale of how me and him had fallen out — no, not fallen out. More like failed each other from the start.

And as it turned out, most of it was on me.

My fists were balled. Shaking. I couldn't stop them. Could hardly even feel them. A heavy heat was growing somewhere behind my eyes. All on their own, my hands reached for my pockets, where they found the smooth, cool corner of something that shouldn't have been there.

What's this…?

I pulled whatever was in my pocket out.

It was the instant photo of me and Matchstick. The one I hadn't been able to think of a name for. The one Snowball had taken way back, of the two of us sleeping peacefully next to each other on my bed. If all you had to go by was this picture, you'd think me and Matchstick were the best of pals. It was probably the best picture of me and Matchstick there was. Actually, it was probably the only picture of me and Matchstick together. It was also a total misrepresentation of the truth.

But why was it in my pocket? When had it returned to my side? I could have sworn I gave it back to Snowball earlier…

"So after our rocky start," Matchstick said, "I sought to make amends. I was only a month or two old at the time, but I was growing fast and, according to my dear owner, becoming a quote-unquote 'bigger headache and nuisance than ever before.'"

At that moment, I was the epicenter of an onslaught of disapproving stares, practically the whole beach, pet and owner alike, launching them at me. Not like I didn't deserve them. Hell, not like I needed them to know on my own what a lousy owner I had been to Matchstick.

"But to a certain extent, he had a point," Matchstick continued. "If I'm going to call my owner out for his failure to reach ideal petownerhood — and I am going to keep calling him out, you can rest assured of that — then it must also be mentioned that I wasn't the greatest pet in the world either. I made messes on purpose. I howled through the night. I once cleaned out every last meat product in the local grocery store in a matter of minutes. I admit to this. I admit to it all. It was all I could do to get my owner's attention. It was the only way I knew to get him to even glance my way."

I bit my lip.

So that was it. That was the story.

Matchstick just wanted me to see him. Just that. Just see him, in any way, at all. Even if it was in a bad light.

Well, big surprise: I still couldn't do it. Even here, even now, listening to all of this, I still couldn't face him. Still couldn't look him head on. All I could do was keep hanging my head and keep gripping on to the old photo of me and him I had suddenly found.

"Still," he went on, "the time came when I thought that we could make amends. That we could make things right between us and start fresh. That I could let the first impression my owner had given me wear off and that we could both learn to get along, as pet and owner, owner and pet. That's what they say about time, isn't it? That it heals all wounds, no matter how grave? That was why I believed it. Believed we could both take a bad stumble at the starting line and turn it into a good run. Like it or not, we had been forced together, right? I thought that we might as well try. What a mistake that was. The more I tried to right the situation, the more wrong it all seemed to get…"

Matchstick just kept going. And going. And going. And going.

Everything that had happened between us was laid out, for all to hear. Every accident he ever had, all the mischief he made — all of it in the name of trying to make me care, even just a little. And every last petty reprisal from me. Back and forth, forth and back, till we could hardly even remember why we hated each others' guts anymore.

Except actually, it was just me who forgot.

Matchstick remembered.

And considering the circumstances, he was still holding it against me.

Considering the circumstances, I held it against myself.

What was I thinking? What in the world was I thinking? The thought spread like a flame on an oilslick, till it was all I could think. Matchstick's monologue, the beach and its goers around me, and all of reality faded to white noise in the background. The thought took over the inside of my head till it was all that was inside it, practically. Not like it had much up there to compete with. My stupid brain wasn't even sizable enough to realize how bad I'd wronged my one and only pet.

Hell, it was probably even smaller than that. So small I thought, seriously for a minute there thought, that I could really make any of this up to Matchstick.

What in the heck was I even thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Back when I saw all those other pets surfing? And felt all inspired? With a soft, fuzzy glow lightbulbing on inside me, filling me with a whole sticky pile of good intentions so sweet they were sickly?

Well, I was seriously full of something alright.

Shit.

Not to mention myself.

Because if what Matchstick said was how he really felt — and I had every reason to believe it was — then I had no right to try to make a u-turn at this point. No right to try and do right by him after I had done so much wrong.

No right at all.

"... and that's why I came here today, uninvited and unwelcome but here nonetheless," Matchstick said as I tuned back in to reality. A sorry reality that my stupid missteps had created.

"All of you — yes you pets — were brought here by your owners for a day of friendly competition, surfing, and fun in the sun. Meanwhile, I was left home, alone, in a dark empty house full of nothing but sad memories."

I let the picture, the one of me and Matchstick, fall back into the pocket of my trunks. I hadn't even realized how hard I'd been gripping it until it started to crumple.

"That's my reality," Matchstick said in his loud voice. "And frankly, I wouldn't care if it went up in flames around me. Which is why I've brought this."

The crowd gasped in unison. Matchstick was brandishing a shiny black bottle. The label on it read: "A billion gallons of crude oil – caution SUPER flammable!!! 🔥🔥🔥 ^⍵^"

"And…" — Matchstick reached behind his back with the other hand, errr, paw, err, whatever — "wait for it… pause for dramatic effect… this!"

An even bigger and more unanimous gasp rang out.

It was a book of matches.

One flick of the wrist on Matchstick's part later, and one was out of the pack and lit.

"Say goodbye to your fun little beach, you dumb stupid idiots! And, oh yeah. Owner of mine?"

While my surroundings broke into panic, people running every which way, tripping over themselves, tripping over others, bailing on the beach as quick as they could, Matchstick looked right at me. I looked right at him. There was something in his eyes. Something that told me he would never forgive me — not even if I gave him the world.

"Goodbye. And good riddance."

To be continued!