Well, it's been a bit of a bonkers couple of weeks. The responses I've received for both Green Fingers and Bleeding have been very heartwarming and encouraging. From a personal POV I'd have to say I felt writing Bleeding more satisfying, not to say GF wasn't a blast, but I just liked the main character more.
I'm not getting struck by any huge bouts of inspiration at the moment, mainly because I'm busy adapting Bleeding into a screenplay. Padding 1400-something words out to a 45-minute run time is.. tricky. Looks like it's flashback-time...
I'll keep you posted
29 June 2006
25 June 2006
Green Fingers - Digitally re-mastered
I want to thank Mike for the opportunity, and to Jenn for the inspiration. It's been a while since words flowed this easily, and that's pretty much why I started this blog - to start writing again. I wrote this one before 'Bleeding', but didn't want to post it until Mike had posted the 500-word version.
Anyway, I've just done a small re-edit (again). Hope you like this one as much as I got a buzz out of completing a story again
GREEN FINGERS - DIRECTOR’S CUT
The car pulled up outside, its tyres crunching the gravel as it came to a stop. She just had to pull in after seeing that sign. She needed some new flowers for the entrance hall anyway, so the sign had certainly done its job and piqued her interest. As she approached the entrance doors they opened automatically. The immediate aroma of a thousand blossoming flowers hit her full in the face, inviting her in further. A handsome man wearing a leather apron appeared from a side door.
“Can I help you Madam?”
“Um.. Hi. I’m just looking for a new arrangement for the entrance hall of Grovesenor House..” He smiled, showing a little of his perfect teeth.
“Yes, I know the place, I stayed there a while back during a florist’s conference, in the Mersham suite” his slightly upper class accent was quite captivating, she brushed her hair over her ear with her left hand, she could see him looking at the absence of a ring on her fingers. ‘Oh god, I must be coming across as a terrible flirt’ she thought to herself. She’d read enough magazine articles about body language to realise she was giving off enough signals to fill a 4-page spread. She forced her hands together behind her back as they discussed various bouquets and posies. After a short while she remembered the reason she‘d been attracted to this place.
“Actually, I couldn’t help but notice the sign outside, something about a ‘Corpse Flower’? His smile faltered slightly, but returned swiftly.
“Ah, the Titan Arum” He nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve been lucky enough to have had the privilege of cultivating one and it’s successfully beginning to bloom. We’re all very proud. Would you like to see it?
Nodding slightly, she followed him through the door he had appeared through earlier. She entered a large room filled with brushed metal tables. The ceiling contained wired glass panels, letting the natural light in, however many warm lights hung from the rafters. A short and stocky figure was busying himself in the shadows, removing small potted plants from a large table and placing them in a small shelved alcove. A small sniff alerted her back to the florist, who was beckoning her to one side. He led her to a large wooden planter, long but narrow, but contained only one large, and very pungent flower. She placed her hand to her face, covering her nose.
“Oh, God. That really stinks!” She smiled while grimacing, but noticed he didn’t cover his own nose.
“It’s a small price to pay for something so beautiful”, He picked up some secateurs and moved to the other side of the crate. “This is one of the rarest flowers on the planet, they date back to prehistoric times, you know. Normally they can take up to 20 years of cultivation before they flower, and when they do, they only bloom for 3 or 4 days”. He was gazing at the flower with an almost fatherly affection, carefully clipping and preening the plant. She scoffed slightly.
“Seems like a lot of effort for something like that” He looked up sharply
“Like what?” He looked quite stern. She faltered, even daring to take her hand from her face.
“Well… I mean.. 20 years of cultivation, to make something that doesn’t really do anything except stink like.. Well… death”. He straightened up and placed his sharp gardening shears on the moist soil beside the plant and removed his gloves.
“It makes that smell to attract carrion flies, and blow flies, who pollinate the plant. It’s quite ingenious, actually” His voice carried a note of bitterness. She was starting to feel a little embarrassed. This guy really cared for his plants. He seemed to notice her unease, and brightened up slightly. “Actually, we’ve developed a new cultivation method, and we’ve managed to reproduce several shoots, which are coming along nicely”. He walked over to another set of doors, made of flexible plastic. There was an identical set of doors just beyond. In the room she could see several more large crates, each filled with the same moist soil, each containing a small, young version of the plant that had assailed her senses earlier. The man she saw in the shadows earlier was in the room, wearing what looked like a bee-keepers suit, flies buzzing around his head. “Blowflies. Wonderful for the flowers but hell if they bite you - which they will…”
“Um.. Look.. Sorry if I offended you earlier, it’s just I’m obviously a bit 'green' when it come to flowers”. The charming smile was back
“Not to worry, I suppose I do dedicate quite a lot of my own time to these plants, we’re hoping it’ll save this place. We’re only just keeping our heads above water, but these plants will go for at least a thousand each. we’re always looking for an extra body around the place to help out, as it were”. She looked at him, was he offering her a job? Job? Oh crap! Work! She was about 20 minutes late on her lunch break, she looked at her watch. 25 minutes late.
“Oh damn. I‘m late back to work. Thanks for your time, but I think I should get some flowers and head off”. As she turned back to the doors that entered back into the main display area, she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck. She moved to turn around but crumpled in a heap on the floor.
~
Her eyes opened. She couldn’t feel anything, no sensation of any part of her body, She tried to call out but neither her lungs, mouth nor vocal cords complied. The lights strung from beams across the ceiling shone brightly upon her, but she felt no heat. She was lying down, she could move her eyes, but not her head, she frantically looked around, but couldn’t see anything within her field of vision except the lights and glass panels in the roof.
A drop of red liquid fell onto her eye, turning the lights orange, she blinked it away. A conversational voice broke the silence.
“Hmm. looks like we need some more phycotoxin, Greg. This one’s conscious. I’ll have to find a better way of cultivating the algae later… Hand me that trowel, will you?”
What the hell was going on? Although her entire body was numb, she had the sensation that her head was moving slightly from side to side. The movement increased and her head fell to one side. Slowly she realised she was looking at a glazed cabinet, but with the brightly lit room it acted as a mirror. She could see the florist, wearing a bee-keepers suit. She looked at herself. Her clothes had been removed, but she had hessian sheets draped over her body, only her midriff exposed. The florist put down his shears and picked up a small shoot, similar to the ones she had seen earlier, god knows how long ago that was. She strained her eyes to see what he was doing when she focused on the shears. They were covered in blood. Her blood. She started to breathe heavier as he placed a gloved hand on her abdomen. Before she could comprehend what he was doing, he removed the section of skin and flesh he had cut, exposing the intestines below. She screamed without making a sound. Her eyes wide with horror as he calmly inserted the plant into her body.
Without saying a word, he calmly started throwing soil around her, until it was quite thick. He picked up his shears and swiftly sliced open her lower arms, the blood pumping freely into the soil, which quickly soaked it up.
The florist grabbed her head in both hands and moved it gently to look at her, as tears flowed from her eyes like streams.
“We’re all very proud of you, thanks for your help, we really appreciate it.”
Her head fell back down to the cabinet and she saw the many crates around her, all with shoots sprouting from them.
“we’ve developed a new cultivation method”
He lifted the sides of the crate around her, nailing the pieces into place. Smiling that charming smile, he emptied more soil over her body. Just before he completely covered her head, the last thing her fading consciousness heard was the sound of tyres on gravel outside.
“Greg, another customer…!”
Anyway, I've just done a small re-edit (again). Hope you like this one as much as I got a buzz out of completing a story again
GREEN FINGERS - DIRECTOR’S CUT
The car pulled up outside, its tyres crunching the gravel as it came to a stop. She just had to pull in after seeing that sign. She needed some new flowers for the entrance hall anyway, so the sign had certainly done its job and piqued her interest. As she approached the entrance doors they opened automatically. The immediate aroma of a thousand blossoming flowers hit her full in the face, inviting her in further. A handsome man wearing a leather apron appeared from a side door.
“Can I help you Madam?”
“Um.. Hi. I’m just looking for a new arrangement for the entrance hall of Grovesenor House..” He smiled, showing a little of his perfect teeth.
“Yes, I know the place, I stayed there a while back during a florist’s conference, in the Mersham suite” his slightly upper class accent was quite captivating, she brushed her hair over her ear with her left hand, she could see him looking at the absence of a ring on her fingers. ‘Oh god, I must be coming across as a terrible flirt’ she thought to herself. She’d read enough magazine articles about body language to realise she was giving off enough signals to fill a 4-page spread. She forced her hands together behind her back as they discussed various bouquets and posies. After a short while she remembered the reason she‘d been attracted to this place.
“Actually, I couldn’t help but notice the sign outside, something about a ‘Corpse Flower’? His smile faltered slightly, but returned swiftly.
“Ah, the Titan Arum” He nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve been lucky enough to have had the privilege of cultivating one and it’s successfully beginning to bloom. We’re all very proud. Would you like to see it?
Nodding slightly, she followed him through the door he had appeared through earlier. She entered a large room filled with brushed metal tables. The ceiling contained wired glass panels, letting the natural light in, however many warm lights hung from the rafters. A short and stocky figure was busying himself in the shadows, removing small potted plants from a large table and placing them in a small shelved alcove. A small sniff alerted her back to the florist, who was beckoning her to one side. He led her to a large wooden planter, long but narrow, but contained only one large, and very pungent flower. She placed her hand to her face, covering her nose.
“Oh, God. That really stinks!” She smiled while grimacing, but noticed he didn’t cover his own nose.
“It’s a small price to pay for something so beautiful”, He picked up some secateurs and moved to the other side of the crate. “This is one of the rarest flowers on the planet, they date back to prehistoric times, you know. Normally they can take up to 20 years of cultivation before they flower, and when they do, they only bloom for 3 or 4 days”. He was gazing at the flower with an almost fatherly affection, carefully clipping and preening the plant. She scoffed slightly.
“Seems like a lot of effort for something like that” He looked up sharply
“Like what?” He looked quite stern. She faltered, even daring to take her hand from her face.
“Well… I mean.. 20 years of cultivation, to make something that doesn’t really do anything except stink like.. Well… death”. He straightened up and placed his sharp gardening shears on the moist soil beside the plant and removed his gloves.
“It makes that smell to attract carrion flies, and blow flies, who pollinate the plant. It’s quite ingenious, actually” His voice carried a note of bitterness. She was starting to feel a little embarrassed. This guy really cared for his plants. He seemed to notice her unease, and brightened up slightly. “Actually, we’ve developed a new cultivation method, and we’ve managed to reproduce several shoots, which are coming along nicely”. He walked over to another set of doors, made of flexible plastic. There was an identical set of doors just beyond. In the room she could see several more large crates, each filled with the same moist soil, each containing a small, young version of the plant that had assailed her senses earlier. The man she saw in the shadows earlier was in the room, wearing what looked like a bee-keepers suit, flies buzzing around his head. “Blowflies. Wonderful for the flowers but hell if they bite you - which they will…”
“Um.. Look.. Sorry if I offended you earlier, it’s just I’m obviously a bit 'green' when it come to flowers”. The charming smile was back
“Not to worry, I suppose I do dedicate quite a lot of my own time to these plants, we’re hoping it’ll save this place. We’re only just keeping our heads above water, but these plants will go for at least a thousand each. we’re always looking for an extra body around the place to help out, as it were”. She looked at him, was he offering her a job? Job? Oh crap! Work! She was about 20 minutes late on her lunch break, she looked at her watch. 25 minutes late.
“Oh damn. I‘m late back to work. Thanks for your time, but I think I should get some flowers and head off”. As she turned back to the doors that entered back into the main display area, she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck. She moved to turn around but crumpled in a heap on the floor.
~
Her eyes opened. She couldn’t feel anything, no sensation of any part of her body, She tried to call out but neither her lungs, mouth nor vocal cords complied. The lights strung from beams across the ceiling shone brightly upon her, but she felt no heat. She was lying down, she could move her eyes, but not her head, she frantically looked around, but couldn’t see anything within her field of vision except the lights and glass panels in the roof.
A drop of red liquid fell onto her eye, turning the lights orange, she blinked it away. A conversational voice broke the silence.
“Hmm. looks like we need some more phycotoxin, Greg. This one’s conscious. I’ll have to find a better way of cultivating the algae later… Hand me that trowel, will you?”
What the hell was going on? Although her entire body was numb, she had the sensation that her head was moving slightly from side to side. The movement increased and her head fell to one side. Slowly she realised she was looking at a glazed cabinet, but with the brightly lit room it acted as a mirror. She could see the florist, wearing a bee-keepers suit. She looked at herself. Her clothes had been removed, but she had hessian sheets draped over her body, only her midriff exposed. The florist put down his shears and picked up a small shoot, similar to the ones she had seen earlier, god knows how long ago that was. She strained her eyes to see what he was doing when she focused on the shears. They were covered in blood. Her blood. She started to breathe heavier as he placed a gloved hand on her abdomen. Before she could comprehend what he was doing, he removed the section of skin and flesh he had cut, exposing the intestines below. She screamed without making a sound. Her eyes wide with horror as he calmly inserted the plant into her body.
Without saying a word, he calmly started throwing soil around her, until it was quite thick. He picked up his shears and swiftly sliced open her lower arms, the blood pumping freely into the soil, which quickly soaked it up.
The florist grabbed her head in both hands and moved it gently to look at her, as tears flowed from her eyes like streams.
“We’re all very proud of you, thanks for your help, we really appreciate it.”
Her head fell back down to the cabinet and she saw the many crates around her, all with shoots sprouting from them.
“we’ve developed a new cultivation method”
He lifted the sides of the crate around her, nailing the pieces into place. Smiling that charming smile, he emptied more soil over her body. Just before he completely covered her head, the last thing her fading consciousness heard was the sound of tyres on gravel outside.
“Greg, another customer…!”
22 June 2006
Bleeding - Short Story
Hope you like it
He sat in the chair, the wrist of the hand holding the gun draped over his blood-stained leg. All he could hear was sobbing and small squeals, hurriedly stifled. He supposed the sobs were either from fear of death or fear of his appearance. He stood up, leaving the soaked stool behind. He wiped the blood from his watch and squinted at the time. Fifteen minutes and nothing.
Holy fuck, they were quicker than this in the movies.
He stepped back towards the cashiers desks, the people huddled together on the floor shuffled away from his feet. He looked at the stuffed cash bags on the counter. He could take them. There were no cops yet. Nah shit, they’d catch him in a second. He kinda stood out in a crowd. He picked up a bag anyway and returned to the chair, the cushion squelched as he collapsed into it.
‘This had better fucking work’.
An hour ago he’d been sat in an alleyway, the same gun pressed against his forehead, the tension in his finger reflected in the strain in his eyes as he tried and tried again to completely fail to kill himself. He was succeeding at failing quite spectacularly. He’d tried slashing his wrists. Laid in the bath naked, sliced open his forearms and waited to die. He’d had to let the plug out before he fucked up the carpet in the bathroom. Luckily the university laid on a shrink for him to cry to. Didn’t help.
He was just fucking sick of it. Johnsonium nimium cruor they called it. If he could leave one mark on the planet it would be the name of a fucking blood disorder. It literally means ‘too much blood’. He’d been fine up until puberty, then the shit started. Nosebleeds once a week, then anal leakage. Then the ears started to bleed, eye sockets. If it was a doorway to the outside world, blood leaked from it. He offered to donate, be an everlasting supply, but the disease was in the blood.
Ed Norton once said you could drink a pint of blood before you started to get sick. Try 36 a day fuckwad. What the fuck did Chuck Palahnuik know about ingesting haemoglobin? The flipside was he was never hungry, the downside was he never knew when he was pissing or just bleeding again.
35 years old wearing a fucking diaper. They tried him with every kind of drug at the medical university with varying degrees of success. One drug levelled out the level of blood in his body, but only by thinning it out and accelerating the leaking. That was a fun day.
They’d found another drug. It was a hybrid of an experimental drug they were giving haemophiliacs. Stopped the blood a treat. But no drinking. No physical exertion. Try to keep UV exposure to a minimum. No spicy food. No sex. No life. He had his movie collection, but there’s only so many times you can watch a movie.
Then came the headaches, possibly a side effect of the drug, but the morons at the university wouldn’t own up to that. A small, dull ache he could manage. But this fucker pulsed through his cerebral cortex every time his heart pumped.
Another sob aroused his senses. He could hear tyres stopping outside, but no sirens. He turned to the cashier, cowering behind her desk.
“Did you press the emergency button?” She shook her head feverishly. He sighed in exasperation. “I’m not pissed off you with you, I just want to know if you’ve called the cops yet.” She looked at him, puzzled. He smiled at her, but the effect was probably spoiled by the blood pumping from his face. She nodded.
“Thank you”
He returned to the window and pulled aside the vertical blinds. One overweight black cop, standing by his car, looking up at the building.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Al” He pointed his gun up and behind him and fired. Screams. The cop ducked for cover behind his car. He saw him reaching for his shotgun and walkie-talkie. He smiled and turned. Everyone flinched.
“Ah, sorry about that. Look, this’ll all be over soon” The cashier peered over the desk.
“Why don’t you just take the money and go? I’ll show you the back door” A possibility? She seemed nice, invite her along…a pulse, the stabbing behind his eyeballs woke him up. He waved her to sit back down.
Minutes passed. He heard more tyres outside. Chancing a look outside, he could see blue barricades at the ends of the street. Nearly time. Should be getting the phone call soon.
The phone rang. He smiled, beckoning the cashier to answer it. She placed the receiver to her ear.
“Hello?… No, My name’s Naomi. I’m a teller here. He’s standing in the lobby… No.. no-one… he, he fired into the ceiling.” It made for interesting listening. He waved to attract her attention, as she looked at him he indicated the copious amounts of blood about his body. “He’s covered in blood… no, I think it’s his, it’s everywhere, it’s been dripping off him ever since he got here…. “ She proffered the phone to him. “They want to talk to you”.
The activity outside the window seemed to increase slightly. Sounds like the concept of someone dripping blood has got the trigger fingers itchy. Perfect.
He walked to the counter and the teller handed him the phone.
“Yup?”
“Hi, this is Dwayne Robinson of the New York Police department..” No fucking way.
“Hang on, Dwayne Robinson?” That threw him
“Um… yeah, why?”
“You ever seen Die Hard?” A pause, muffled voices through a palm-covered receiver.
“Um, no, but my lieutenant has. Yes, this is my real name, but we’re here to talk to you. Is anyone harmed?”
“Didn’t you just ask Naomi that?”
“Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you”
“Why, are you calling Naomi a fucking liar?” he smiled at her as he heard more muffled voices. Swearing helped. The pulsing continued unabated
“No, no, not at all, we just like to have all the facts before we start making decisions”
“Have you got google?
“Sorry?”
“Google, you’ve heard of it? Do you have it?” He could hear the questions being shouted.
“Uh, yes, we have it”
“Johnsonium nimium cruor - look it up, then meet me out front in 5 minutes”. He hung up.
Everyone in the bank was looking at him. Dripping, he picked up the money bag from the counter.
“Look, sorry everyone. I’m not a bad person, I just needed a way to end it” An elderly black woman looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“End what, child?”
He looked at her and chuckled, looking down at his clothes.
“It’s a long story”.
He walked to the door and peered outside. ‘Dwayne’ was standing in the street opposite the doors, flanked by at least 4 heavily armed and armoured.. SWAT guys? He hoped so.
He strode through the doors, money bag at one side, gun at the other, both leaving a thick trail of blood as he walked. The TV crews filming the blood-caked man walking down the steps. Dwayne looked exactly like his namesake. Tweed suit, slight quiff.
“How are you doing Nathan?”
“You found me then?”
“Over two-hundred thousand hits, yeah, we found you. What is it you want?”
This was it. The glib one-liner, the blaze of glory, and the crews were there to capture it all.
“I want it to end..”
He raised the gun quickly.
This work is copyright 2006 Peter Morris-Kelso. All characters and incidents are fictional.
He sat in the chair, the wrist of the hand holding the gun draped over his blood-stained leg. All he could hear was sobbing and small squeals, hurriedly stifled. He supposed the sobs were either from fear of death or fear of his appearance. He stood up, leaving the soaked stool behind. He wiped the blood from his watch and squinted at the time. Fifteen minutes and nothing.
Holy fuck, they were quicker than this in the movies.
He stepped back towards the cashiers desks, the people huddled together on the floor shuffled away from his feet. He looked at the stuffed cash bags on the counter. He could take them. There were no cops yet. Nah shit, they’d catch him in a second. He kinda stood out in a crowd. He picked up a bag anyway and returned to the chair, the cushion squelched as he collapsed into it.
‘This had better fucking work’.
An hour ago he’d been sat in an alleyway, the same gun pressed against his forehead, the tension in his finger reflected in the strain in his eyes as he tried and tried again to completely fail to kill himself. He was succeeding at failing quite spectacularly. He’d tried slashing his wrists. Laid in the bath naked, sliced open his forearms and waited to die. He’d had to let the plug out before he fucked up the carpet in the bathroom. Luckily the university laid on a shrink for him to cry to. Didn’t help.
He was just fucking sick of it. Johnsonium nimium cruor they called it. If he could leave one mark on the planet it would be the name of a fucking blood disorder. It literally means ‘too much blood’. He’d been fine up until puberty, then the shit started. Nosebleeds once a week, then anal leakage. Then the ears started to bleed, eye sockets. If it was a doorway to the outside world, blood leaked from it. He offered to donate, be an everlasting supply, but the disease was in the blood.
Ed Norton once said you could drink a pint of blood before you started to get sick. Try 36 a day fuckwad. What the fuck did Chuck Palahnuik know about ingesting haemoglobin? The flipside was he was never hungry, the downside was he never knew when he was pissing or just bleeding again.
35 years old wearing a fucking diaper. They tried him with every kind of drug at the medical university with varying degrees of success. One drug levelled out the level of blood in his body, but only by thinning it out and accelerating the leaking. That was a fun day.
They’d found another drug. It was a hybrid of an experimental drug they were giving haemophiliacs. Stopped the blood a treat. But no drinking. No physical exertion. Try to keep UV exposure to a minimum. No spicy food. No sex. No life. He had his movie collection, but there’s only so many times you can watch a movie.
Then came the headaches, possibly a side effect of the drug, but the morons at the university wouldn’t own up to that. A small, dull ache he could manage. But this fucker pulsed through his cerebral cortex every time his heart pumped.
Another sob aroused his senses. He could hear tyres stopping outside, but no sirens. He turned to the cashier, cowering behind her desk.
“Did you press the emergency button?” She shook her head feverishly. He sighed in exasperation. “I’m not pissed off you with you, I just want to know if you’ve called the cops yet.” She looked at him, puzzled. He smiled at her, but the effect was probably spoiled by the blood pumping from his face. She nodded.
“Thank you”
He returned to the window and pulled aside the vertical blinds. One overweight black cop, standing by his car, looking up at the building.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Al” He pointed his gun up and behind him and fired. Screams. The cop ducked for cover behind his car. He saw him reaching for his shotgun and walkie-talkie. He smiled and turned. Everyone flinched.
“Ah, sorry about that. Look, this’ll all be over soon” The cashier peered over the desk.
“Why don’t you just take the money and go? I’ll show you the back door” A possibility? She seemed nice, invite her along…a pulse, the stabbing behind his eyeballs woke him up. He waved her to sit back down.
Minutes passed. He heard more tyres outside. Chancing a look outside, he could see blue barricades at the ends of the street. Nearly time. Should be getting the phone call soon.
The phone rang. He smiled, beckoning the cashier to answer it. She placed the receiver to her ear.
“Hello?… No, My name’s Naomi. I’m a teller here. He’s standing in the lobby… No.. no-one… he, he fired into the ceiling.” It made for interesting listening. He waved to attract her attention, as she looked at him he indicated the copious amounts of blood about his body. “He’s covered in blood… no, I think it’s his, it’s everywhere, it’s been dripping off him ever since he got here…. “ She proffered the phone to him. “They want to talk to you”.
The activity outside the window seemed to increase slightly. Sounds like the concept of someone dripping blood has got the trigger fingers itchy. Perfect.
He walked to the counter and the teller handed him the phone.
“Yup?”
“Hi, this is Dwayne Robinson of the New York Police department..” No fucking way.
“Hang on, Dwayne Robinson?” That threw him
“Um… yeah, why?”
“You ever seen Die Hard?” A pause, muffled voices through a palm-covered receiver.
“Um, no, but my lieutenant has. Yes, this is my real name, but we’re here to talk to you. Is anyone harmed?”
“Didn’t you just ask Naomi that?”
“Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you”
“Why, are you calling Naomi a fucking liar?” he smiled at her as he heard more muffled voices. Swearing helped. The pulsing continued unabated
“No, no, not at all, we just like to have all the facts before we start making decisions”
“Have you got google?
“Sorry?”
“Google, you’ve heard of it? Do you have it?” He could hear the questions being shouted.
“Uh, yes, we have it”
“Johnsonium nimium cruor - look it up, then meet me out front in 5 minutes”. He hung up.
Everyone in the bank was looking at him. Dripping, he picked up the money bag from the counter.
“Look, sorry everyone. I’m not a bad person, I just needed a way to end it” An elderly black woman looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“End what, child?”
He looked at her and chuckled, looking down at his clothes.
“It’s a long story”.
He walked to the door and peered outside. ‘Dwayne’ was standing in the street opposite the doors, flanked by at least 4 heavily armed and armoured.. SWAT guys? He hoped so.
He strode through the doors, money bag at one side, gun at the other, both leaving a thick trail of blood as he walked. The TV crews filming the blood-caked man walking down the steps. Dwayne looked exactly like his namesake. Tweed suit, slight quiff.
“How are you doing Nathan?”
“You found me then?”
“Over two-hundred thousand hits, yeah, we found you. What is it you want?”
This was it. The glib one-liner, the blaze of glory, and the crews were there to capture it all.
“I want it to end..”
He raised the gun quickly.
This work is copyright 2006 Peter Morris-Kelso. All characters and incidents are fictional.
19 June 2006
It's coming.. honestly
I do have some updates coming, I promise. I'm just a little tied up right now with half my family catching Gastro-Enteritis from Luke. Or 'Typhoid Luke' as he's now called. You know, to look at him you'd never know the pain and suffering he could cause if you really piss him off.
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