text: Since my last story fared quite well. Here is the spiritual successor &#x200B; # The eternal battle and Mr. Tibbles The sound of a blaring horn woke me up. I stumbled to my feet, still half sleeping. There was sand under my feet. I was in my pajamas, the ones with Ninja Turtles on and I had my toothbrush in my hand with toothpaste still in my mouth. Seconds before, I had been brushing my teeth and was about to feed my cat, Mr. Tibbles Utterly confused I looked around and could hardly believe what I saw or where I was. An arena. A classical Colosseum-like arena. With what seemed like thousands of fans in the rafters. All of them screaming and shouting like football fans. I was not alone. In this huge arena hundreds of other seemingly bewildered people, animals and aliens just stood around. No one looked like they intended to be there, and everyone was looking around for someone to explain anything. I saw an old lady with a frying pan in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Bacon still sizzling in the pan. A young dude, not more than 17 years old, smoking a joint. He was the only one not fazed by this experience. And middle-aged man with a baby-stroller. Thankfully without the baby although he was screaming the child’s name. On and on the crowd went. Not just people, cats, dogs, snakes, goldfish, elephants and a rather upset looking macaw. I was about to ask the old lady, if she knew what was going on, when another horn tooted. From above a platform descended. Upon it stood a man-sized beaver, wearing a snazzy suit, a cane, top hat and a microphone. The beaver tapped it twice and spoke with a deep and reassuring voice: “Greetings lowly earthling and welcome to the Megadome Megaslam of Beaverville. You are our honored sacrifice for our entertainment. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but they are sadly and surely irrelevant.” The crowd went mad. It was only then I realized that the crowd was made up of beavers snacking on different types of wood. The ones sitting in ring-side seats were snacking on oak while to the ones further up only had plywood. “Now without further ado, here are the rules: Fight or die. Last creature standing, wins” And with that, the top-hatted beaver ascended, and a giant countdown clock appeared. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 And nothing happened. No seemed to move or fully comprehend what was going on. However a twitching paranoia filled my mind. What if this is not a dream, what if this is real? Even if this is a dream, I want to win. I started looking around and people, bears dogs seemed to be intensely looking around at each other. Waiting for who would make the first move. An elderly gentleman stepped forward and with a loud and proud voice bellowed: “We will not be your entertainment. We are free people...and animals. We cannot be subject....” And \*slam\* he went down. Behind him stood the old woman with the frying pan. Now soaked in blood, still dripping with bacon grease. She looked at everyone menacingly and shouted: “BRING IT ON, PUSSIES!” Chaos erupted and all the sudden everyone fought. Cats flew into the faces of dogs in what seemed like a thousand-year-old revenge. The man with the stroller was flailing it around. He nicked a bear by the chin, and somehow climbed on the back of it and bore the stroller into the skull of bear. In that second, I beheld the anger of a middle-aged middle-class white man. Blood sprayed everywhere, people and animals fought and died, and I suddenly remembered that I was not a bystander but in the middle of this fight, armed with a toothbrush. A giraffe caught my eye and galloped towards me, intent on trampling me. I readied myself. All I remember of the next four hours is just pure rage, blood, screaming and despair. At the end of it all, I found myself staring at the old lady. Her frying pan still held like an axe in her deadly grip. Murder in her eyes and the cigarette still lit in her mouth. I had lost my toothbrush, but held aloft the tusk of an elephant. Draped on my shoulders were the skin of the tiger I had disemboweled with my teeth. Only the two of us remained. Gladiators. Warriors. The immovable object against the unstoppable force. The eternal war. I charged, but as I rampaged and she readied herself, out of the corner of my eye I saw my nemesis. “Mr. Tibbles?!?” With the rage of a cat unfed he lunged at me. And in a flurry of teeth, whiskers and a hate of kibble I died.