Michel was naturally speechless.

“Hello? Another moronic alien, I fear,” the dog said.

Michel rubbed his eyes. The dog was still there and he was still in this corridor. He re-examined his head again. Was he dead? Was this some kind of afterworld? No. It was not possible. Michel touched the white, concrete walls; they were cold. He bent down and felt the floor. It was all so real.

“I say, it is quite rude not to answer when one’s being spoken to. Even ruder not to answer to your cultural superior.”

Michel stared at the dog.

“Deaf as well as imbecilic.”

Michel reached out and touched the Basset Hound.

“Hold on there one second! Are you clean? Get your hands off me at once or I shall report you!”

The dog felt real. But a talking dog? Maybe he was hallucinating?

“I must be dreaming or something.” Michel held his head. He was dizzy and sat down against a wall.

“I can bite you if you’d like? I’ve had my tetanus shot.”

Michel’s eyes widened and he quickly moved away as the dog inched his mouth towards Michel.

“Stay away! I don’t know who or what you are or what’s going on but just stay away. Mum? Dad? Someone!”

Michel got up and ran a little down the corridor.

“That’s it, leave me here,” the dog moaned, still sprawled on the white tiled floor. “You just drop on me from out of nowhere, don’t even ask how I am and then run away when I could’ve suffered any number of injuries.”

Michel spun around this way and that. On each side of the corridor there were doors, illustrated with images and with signs on them. This was insane.

‘Toilet World’, ‘Granny Planet’, ‘Spaghetti Universe’. Each door was about 10 feet apart and illustrated and labelled with the most peculiar names and images. Toilet World had a door covered in pictures of happy-looking toilets, Granny Planet had a door covered in pictures of angry, old biddies walking with the aid of walkers and threatening people with walking sticks, and Spaghetti… well you get the idea. Michel began to sweat profusely. He felt ill. He was ill.

“Spaghetti Universe?” Michel paced back towards the dog.

“Everything made out of spaghetti, I hear.”

“Mum! Dad!”

“Where are you from, Scruffy?”

“Please stop talking to me. I don’t wanna get any crazier than I already am.”

Michel put his hand to his forehead. He was burning up. All this couldn’t be happening. He steadied himself against the wall then turned to the dog. Suddenly, everything went blurry and he collapsed to the floor, next to the dog.

“Hello? Hello…” the dog’s voice trailed off.