Writer's Block

"Good morning, sir. How may i help you?"
"At last! I've been trying to ring this number for a week!"
"I'm sorry about that sir, we're very busy at this time of year. The rush season, you know."
"In April?"
"Er, yes...er, lots of Easter Eggs sent through the mail in April."
"But Easter was in March this year."
"That's right, sir."
"But, you're saying that...no, i'm not getting into that now, not on my phone bill. I'm trying to find what happened to a parcel. It was supposed to arrive a week ago."
"Do you have a reference number for it, sir?"
"Yes, it's ED155786619GB."
"Just a moment, sir."

Some tapping on a keyboard is heard.

"Yes, sir, it's out for delivery."
"I know it's out for delivery. It's been saying that every day for 10 days. Well, where is it?"
"I'm sorry, sir, i don't have that information available."
"Look, i'm only half a mile from the depot. The depot where it arrived two weeks ago!"
"Well, according to the records we couldn't deliver because you weren't at home."
"Not at home? Not at home?! I've not left the house once! Your alleged delivery person never even came near the house!"
"Perhaps you were in the bathroom when he called sir."
"Ten days in a row? I don't live on the toilet, you know!"
"It is possible, sir."
"Fine, ok, it's possible. And i suppose my wife and eldest son were on the toilet too, right? After all, what better family occasion is there than a trip to the bathroom?!"
"There's no need to shout, sir."
"Well, perhaps if you were actually helpful rather than make stupid comments i'd be a little calmer."
"I'm just speculating, sir."
"Well, how about i try that for a change. Let's see...my theory is that your parcel delivery company is so unbelievably useless that they can't find a house on the main road leading to their own depot after ten days of 'trying'."
"I assure you, sir-"
"Or perhaps so unbelievably pissed. I'm sure we're both aware of the presence of The Dog and Trumpet a scant three doors away from your establishment."
"I've no idea what you're talking about."
"I bet you're the only one left behind, manning the phones while the others go and deliver beer to their bellies."
"Er...about your parcel..."
"Suddenly want to change the subject? Ok, i'll bite. Where is my parcel?"
"Well, i need you to confirm the address matching the reference earlier."
"I see, so after ten 'attempts' at delivery, suddenly you think maybe you've been looking for the wrong house?"
"Er...yes."
"I'll tell you what the problem is. Your fellow muppets should have been looking for 6 Charter Street, as opposed to suddenly losing their way at 122 Charter Street and needing to ask the landlord for directions."
"I really can't comment on our route-finding methods, sir - company secrets."
"That's not a problem, i have my own. It's strange, but i just walked out the door, turned left, walked for a couple of minutes, and...there i am, outside the depot."
"You're outside? Now?!"
"Yes, i want my parcel. This way is much more efficient. Now, if you'll just open the door i'm sure we can find it together."
"I can't do that, sir - postal employees only."
"I had a feeling you'd say that. Well, no matter."

CLANG!

"Er...what was that, sir?"
"Just me and my little crowbar."
"Crowbar?!!"
"Yes, were you under the impression i was willing to wait anymore?"
"But...er...you can't do this! It's against the Postal Code! We'll stop you!"
"We? Your colleagues are currently in the pub heaving up their guts. Having a routine makes you vulnerable, you know."
"Eek! Stop that, you can't come in!"
"You should have delivered my parcel."
"Stay out!"
"Too late for that now...i'm inside and i can SEE you."

Gibbering.

"GIVE ME MY PARCEL!"
"It's over there...behind the TV!!"
"What's it doing there? Wait...are those beer stains on the wrapping paper?!"
"It was an accident!! Please...we didn't mean any harm, we just-"

CRUNCH!

"At last, some peace and quiet. Now, let's open this parcel."

Noises of paper being torn.

"Ah, there you are."

Sounds of turning pages.

"'add a drop of lavender to your bath, and soon you'll soak yourself calm.' Hey, that sounds good."

The owner of the teeth enters the cave a moment later, and i...recognize them. It's one of the vagrants they...we...experimented on, one of the few that survived the earliest tests - now turned got something monstrous. More memories explode into my mind, and reluctantly i push them back...for now. Better to deal with the threat first - he looks mad, in every sense of the word. I strain for one particular memory, and find it.
"Pete!"
He stops his slow advance, and looks at me quizzically. The huge mis-shapen jaw opens a little, and something struggles out.
"Pe-te? I-i-i'm Pete. Who you?"
As his only memory of me would have been when i helped strap him to the operating table, it's perhaps best not to answer truthfully.
"The name's Bobby - but you won't remember me. I saw them take you, before you were like this. They got me too, later."
He's still looking at me suspiciously. Suddenly he gives a loud sniff, and glares at me.
"You smell of THEM."
Them? That's not a good thing to smell of when trapped in a cave with a madman.
"Them? Er..."
"All guns and smoke and blood and rage...another one sent to find me. Another one sent to die."
This really isn't going right, and...is he salivating? Time to get out of here, somehow.
I back into the cave a little way, and pick up a large bone. He laughs and leaps towards me, arms outstretched. Taking advantage of my small size, i dive under his legs and jab upwards with the bone. He howls, and i run hurriedly out of the cave as he collapses. Not for long...i hear his feet pounding behind me, gaining ground by the second. I look back and he's only a dozen feet away. There's a cliff nearby...maybe i can trick him...if i can reach it. Just a little further...
And there it is. I run full pelt towards the edge, him close behind, then suddenly slam on the brakes and duck down. He falls over me, and the momentum carries him over the edge screaming.
Sadly the impact takes me over too. It's a long way down...far too much time to think.

The snarling's getting louder - sounds like it's coming back here. Quickly, i hide myself behind a row of boxes and keep still.
There's a scrabbling at the side of the truck, then a heavy thud as something lands inside. Silence reigns for a moment, then there's a bellow of rage. Next thing i know, the bearded man's head goes flying over my head and hits the wall with a sickening crunch. As my eyes inadvertently track its landing, i hear a growl. I wrench my eyes to the left, and see a blood-covered version of myself looking down on me. I barely have time to catch my breath before it attacks. A fist comes flying at me, and i instinctively raise my arm.
There's an almighty clang, and next thing i know i'm covering my ears with my hands. A few feet away, i see my assailant trying to do the same while nursing a badly-broken hand. I look at the dented plate on my left arm, then back. Its eyes stare at me, filled with hate and pain. Something stirs within me, and i leap towards my protagonist. My spiked tail lashes out, crushing its face beyond recognition, then the mist descends on me again and i remember no more...

I come to on a small hill. A few hundred yards away i can see the plane and truck, with a few faint figures moving around. A short distance away, a new truck lies idle. Suddenly there's a bang, and the first truck explodes in a giant ball of flame. The light illuminates the area briefly, silhouetting me against the hill. I hear a yell, and spot a group of men only fifty feet away pointing at me. One of them yammers into a mouthpiece, while the others drop down and point their guns at me. Reflex takes over, and a moment too late their bullets spatter where i stood.
I find myself running down the other side of the hill at a terrifying rate, and a minute later bounding out into the countryside, as far from the men as i can get.
It feels like i run for hours, all the while the sun slowly moving overhead. As it finally begins to set, i look for somewhere to rest. Curling up in a rather small cave behind a large bush, i settle uneasily to sleep, alert for the smallest noise of pursuit.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring...

just a small intermission. Check in the foyer for ice creams and drinks

1) 'escape chastity belt' (this one came from Princeton University )
2) 'gruesome rude games' (for when rude just isn't enough)
3) 'master "please stop" throat' (Er...)
4) 'where can i be brainwashed'
5) 'strap-on boobs' (from Norway?)
6) 'midget gun' (ammo might be hard to come by)
7) 'rude do not disturb signs' (pffft! Canadians )
8) 'darth vader's chat up lines'
9) 'names for evil wolves'
10) 'one something' (I've no idea what people are looking for, but this search has appeared on my Hitslink every day since I started my little series and it's coming from everywhere)

It's stopped.
I can't feel the motion anymore. Have we arrived? Is there a 'we'? It's just dark and quiet now...wait, what was that noise? A bang not too far away...sounded like metal on metal, somewhere above me. It bangs again, and again, filling my prison with sound and making me wish to somehow cover my ears.
Now there's a screeching, scraping sound which makes me clench my teeth, and then suddenly voices.
"Is this all of them?"
"It had better be. Gustavo won't be pleased if we missed another truck."
"Better get in there and count them."
"Lights on first. You remember what happened to Yuri."
"Poor bastard. Ok, they're on."
They are? I still can't see a thing. I squint and blink a few times, but still not even a glimmer.
"48...49...50, ok, we got the lot. Let's get them into the plane."
A few minutes pass, then suddenly light appears in front of me as one of them lifts the box that unbeknownst to me was blocking my sight. I blink furiously, trying to see. As things come into focus, i find an enormous bearded face looking right at me.
"Holy shit, this one's alive!"

I lie there in my bed, waiting for sleep to come. It's hot, and the fan is broken. I shift uncomfortable under the duvet, then try on top of it for a while. No luck....still too warm. Of course, the light is still on, adding its own heat to the room.
But I'm not too keen on turning the light out again. Not after the last time. What had it been doing - lurking, waiting for the darkness? The light can't have been off for five seconds before I heard the buzzing right by my ear, putting me on edge and waking me up in a moment.
Hence the light still being on. But I've got to sleep soon - it's past 3 in the morning and the alarm is set for 8am. Dare I turn the light off again?
I scan the room intently, looking for the little buzzing bugger. As expected, it's nowhere to be seen. Hard to spot them when they're not moving. Maybe it's gone. I've got to risk it, anyway - can't sleep like this.

(click)

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

Aaaaaaaargh!

I leap out of bed again and turn the lights on. Where is it? Come on - show yourself, you little bastard! I pick up a slipper in each hand, and stand motionless, trying to spot my prey. This time it's not getting away.
A movement by the light - it's there! I swing furiously with my slipper, but the damn thing's already moved away. But I see it now - it won't get away for long. The walls echo to the sound of slipper blows as I try desperately to flatten the bug. It flies near the light, and a slipper accidentally escapes from my hand and loosens the fitting a little.
Then it vanishes behind the wardrobe. As if that's going to stop me in this mood. CRASH!
And the chase is on again, as I leap in a frenzy around the room slippers in hand. Then suddenly the bug stops, and lands delicately on top of the PC monitor. Maybe it thinks it's safe there. Hmmmm....

Splat!

Ok, the screen is a little crooked now. But the bug is dead, DEAD! I quickly clean the bug away with a tissue, then return to my bed and try to calm down enough to sleep. I'll clean up the mess in the morning.

(click)

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz!




it's been a while

Thanks, Cois, for this delightful tag . Yes, I know I ignored it for over a week .

The rules :

1. Link to the person who tagged you and curse their name
   
2. Post this list of rules
   
3. Name 5 people, alive or dead, with whom you would like a dinner party with.
   
4. Name your favourite artist or sculptor.
   
5. List 2 things you'd like to change about yourself.
   
6. List 2 things you like about yourself.
   
7. List 2 things you're looking forward to in the future.
   
8. Tag 3 people to do the same.
   

Let's see, five people...

1. Robert Heinlein. One of the big three sci-fi authors, and in my view the best.
   
2. Charles Berlitz. This guy has intrigued me ever since I read this book about fifteen years ago. He'd also help with the next guy.
   
3. Mohammed. I'm just a little bit curious about what people who start religions might think of their modern day followers. I could easily have picked Jesus, but Mohammed is currently more...topical. I wonder how many of the hadith he'd look at and go "NO! That's not what I meant at all, you morons!"
   
4. An unusual choice, Robert Mugabe. I'd put knock-out pills in his wine, then mail him to his best friend Peter Tatchell .
   
5. For my final pick I'm going to bend the rules and choose Sherlock Holmes. Given that 58% of Brits apparently think he really existed , he stays .
   

Favourite artist or sculptor : M C Escher

Two things I'd like to change about me : I wish I was braver and that I procrastinated less.

Two things I like about me : I'm very honest and I'm quite glad that I'm very clever

Two things I'm looking forward to : A holiday, and the chocolate bar I'm going to buy after I've posted this

Three people to tag : maybe later...

Here's something a little different - an OLD story of mine. I wrote this in 2001, and I'm posting it unchanged . The last paragraph is a bit odd.

I look over at the crowd. Some happy, some sad, they are united, it seems, in their desire to be part of that crowd. The attention seekers, the hangers-on, they all have their role. I see the pretty woman, slightly the worse for wear, surrounded by fawning morons on the prowl. In another corner I can see a trio of well-dressed men having a joke at a co-worker's expense. A little further away that same co-worker is visible, attempting vainly to chat up the girl he's liked for months and doing spectacularly badly. She is mostly silent, nodding occasionally, and looking around her in a silent plea for someone to rescue her.

Over by the bar a girl is making goggle-eyes at one of the barmen. She is ordering drink after drink from him to get attention, and it seems finally to be working. The barman is gay, but she doesn't know that and assumes his smiles are just flirting. For his part, he finds it all very amusing; this is not the first time this has happened. Next to her, a fat bespectacled gent is drinking himself into a stupor. His wife left him today, and he is starting to resent the happy people around him.

At the centre of the crowd I can see the obligatory loudmouth, proclaiming his skill at whatever takes his fancy to whoever catches his eye. His current victim is a small, attractive brunette, currently being subjected to a summary of his last skiing holiday. She'd always thought he was kind of cute, but now she's up close she just wishes she were anywhere else. For his part, his beer-addled brain is mistaking, not for the first or last time in his life, her glassy stare for that of being mesmerized by his charm. At some point in the evening, someone will stick a sign on his back with a rude word on.

In one corner, a young couple are giggling happily. Months of mutual attraction have finally been revealed, as their shyness is at last overcome by a mixture of alcohol and a private joke. A year from now they are married. A couple of her friends look on in triumph - they have been trying to get them together for the past four months.

The music changes - on comes Nirvana with Smells Like Teen Spirit. Right on cue, some of the younger men begin jumping around madly playing imaginary guitars and annoying the hell out of those around them. The fat gent attempts to glare at them angrily, but this is too much effort and he finally passes out on the bar.

The loudmouth has decided now to move on to his gym stories. The brunette stirs briefly, and utters a silent scream of despair at missing her chance to escape. Now she must listen to tales of bench-pressing and weight-lifting, as well as tolerate his increasingly powerful breath.

The co-worker finally makes his target laugh. It is a triumph, the high point of his evening. Then she walks off, and his heart sinks as he realises it was a laugh of disdain. Another dream falls to earth. Depressed, he heads for the bar. She joins the three well-dressed men, and he hears more laughing as he leaves.

The barman has had enough of teasing the girl at the bar, and now departs without a word to serve his other customers. She is dumbstruck for a moment, then her face sinks and she takes another sip of her Baileys, then gulps the rest down tearfully. Next to her the bespectacled gent starts to snore.

The inebriated, pretty woman has reached the point of being unable to stand up unassisted, something which her followers are more than willing to do for her. Their faces blur together in her eyes and she can't make a coherent noise. Any one of them would be a terrible mistake, but she is saved by two of her friends who drag her protesting form away. One of the morons follows, but is halted by a seemingly accidental kick in the crotch.

By the bar, the girl and co-worker have got talking. Both have tried and failed once this evening, and are reluctant to do so again. This leads to them spending the night together, as well as the next two years. They are not meant for each other, but they are happy for a while.

The brunette finally escapes the loudmouth, who looks lost for a minute without an audience. He heads for the bar and is soon boring the barman. The girl and co-worker have already left and are spared further torture.

The place finally closes for the night and the crowd goes its separate ways. The fat gent is taken home in a taxi by one of his colleagues and left collapsed on his settee. The loudmouth goes home alone again, but will come in on Monday raving about how great a night it was, and how he met these two women on the way home. Another evening has passed in a haze, but two more hearts are happy, and two more are content for a while.

And I? The crowd is meaningless unless there are those outside it. I am that which makes the rest real. Without me there is no purpose to the mob. The horde has no reason without me. When a scapegoat is sought, it will be me or one like me. Divided we stand, for others unite and we are not like the others. When the Inquisition hunted, we were its prey. We are not like the rest, we will not be like the rest.

I am the Outsider.