Daisy Donnie: Random Access Memories » Donnie

Elvis has left the building

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:59:18 +0000

Green hills rolled beneath as the helicopter flew a little lower, its destination near. Trees were dotted here and there on the grassy plain and small patches of colour emerged periodically.

* * *

A white jeweled belt was folded by two men. The silver buckle was folded last and ended up on top.

The Elvis impersonator, captain of The King’s Guard, carried the belt slowly over to Prime and Marcus and handed it to them.

‘Glory, glory, ‘ sang one of the impersonators, performing a splendid rendition of American Trilogy. Three backup singers harmonized with him as the rest of the guard strummed acoustic guitars, providing the musical accompaniment.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, nodding to Prime and then to Marcus, said, ‘Sir.’

He turned on his heel and walked carefully back to his regiment.

Above them all, a helicopter circled and came into land.

Prime glanced up at the cherry tree, in full blossom, still damp from the previous nights rain.

The honour guard slowly moved away, leaving Marcus and Prime standing alone.

* *

A single person, dressed in black stepped from the helicopter, ducking the whirring blades. They began to walk up the hill, pausing as the honour guard approached. The captain of the guard, behind silver sunglasses, nodded to the newcomer as he walked solemnly past.

* * *

Marcus and Prime stood looking down at the grave where a white, hand-made wooden cross took the temporary place of something a bit more appropriate for The King of Rock and Roll.

On the horizontal, written in black paint were the words:

Elvis Aaron Presley

On the vertical, in the same black paint were the initials:

R I P

‘I can’t believe he’s really gone,’ murmured Prime, dressed in black with a warm overcoat over her shoulders. Steel crutches supported her weight enough for her to stand, and from her coherence it was obvious she was off the pain medication.

Marcus stood, pale trench coat covering black clothing, a scarf around his neck. He was remorseful, the shock and guilt filled him; no longer the confident British ex- super-spy.

‘I should have gone with him,’ he murmured, sadness and annoyance mingling.

Prime turned and grabbed him by his jacket with one hand, the crutch she was holding toppled to the ground.

‘Snap out of it. He pulled a gun on you,’ she said. ‘He told you what he wanted you to do.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘’Don’t but me, man’,’ quoted Prime, putting on an astonishingly bad accent. ‘That’s what he said. I was there. I heard.’

He stared at her, with the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Marcus,’ she added. ‘He went because he wanted to.’

‘’Two is better than one’,’ murmured Marcus, recalling his friend’s words. He blinked the tears away and smiled sadly. ‘He said to say “Hi” by the way.’

Prime glanced over as Daisy-Donnie reached the top of the hill.

Without realising why, Marcus glanced away suddenly.

Prime held out her hand and Daisy-Donnie walked slowly over.

* * *

DaisyDonnie dreamed…

They were walking; walking through wet, cold undergrowth.

Without stopping, they glanced around, trying to make sense of their surroundings.

A forest perhaps? Certainly there were a lot of trees around.

Although it appeared to be the middle of the night, they didn’t feel the cold. They were detached; a watcher wandering through a dreamscape.

They decided to settle in and enjoy the ride, ignoring a bizarre tug of familiarity. Deja-vu was a complete bitch at the best of times.

The treeline flowed into low scrub, then to a grassy clearing of perhaps an acre in size. Conical structures were dotted here and there, looking like hi-tech teepees.

The dream had revealed itself. They were walking through memories, dreaming of their first home. This was the village where they lived as children.

DaisyDonnie looked up into the sky with a sad smile, hoping to get a glance at the moon. Alas, it was the wrong time of the month.

Looking down once more, they surveyed the clearing, realising how small these homes really were. Everything looks big to an eight year old. Even bigger to two of them.

It was a pity it was the middle of the night, too. DaisyDonnie made a mental note to have a word with their subconscious to include some lights the next time they dreamed of home. And some people; some sound would have made this place a little less creepy.

A child began to cry; a fearful, scared sound which broke through the dark silence like nails on a blackboard, tapping straight into the right nerve. DaisyDonnie was now very frightened.

Note to self: ps, don’t be so bloody literal-minded.

Another child cried out in shock.

Without knowing why, DaisyDonnie ran toward the sound and found two children in one of the homes kneeling on the floor.

A moment of distraction hit DaisyDonnie; they’d run straight through a wall to find the children. This shock passed in a flash as they realised where they were, and the adrenaline of fear kicked-in properly.

The children looked up from the bodies with shock; a shock that was shared by DaisyDonnie… they knew what was coming.

‘You have to leave,’ said DaisyDonnie, voice rising to panic. ‘You have to leave now!’

The door behind DaisyDonnie opened with a theatrical creak of rusty hinges.

‘Hello there,’ said The Assassin.

BZORNT!

Cue theme music and titles…

Daisy and Donnie will return

in

And Dream of Home

Click to read the epilogue

The Grand Adventures of Daisy Donnie by Lisa Jane Sinclair is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.daisydonnie.com/contact/. 9ae3f9335452f165d38cf62b412d20be (38.107.179.213)

Pornography (part 4)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:56:27 +0000

Elvis wrenched the shackles free of Daisy-Donnie and helped them down.

‘You look…’ he glanced down at Daisy-Donnie’s chest. ‘Different?’

Daisy-Donnie grinned at Elvis, but was distracted by the sphere of energy high in the air.

‘What are they doing to him?’ they asked, looking upwards.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu leaned forward and kissed each other once on each cheek. Then they stepped back and stood at predefined positions.

Two isolation spheres exploded energy around them. They too screamed in agony, as the spheres lifted from the ground and moved towards that of The Assassin.

They rotated and tilted in the air until they were either-side of The Assassin, still imprisoned.

* * *

‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Elvis, shocked. ‘What are they doing?’

The three spheres merged into one.

‘No! Please NO!’ screamed The Assassin in a moment of clarity. ‘You don’t know what you’re unleashing!’

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu reached out for The Assassin and he jerked unnaturally. Gasping, blood now running from his mouth, he opened his mouth and from it escaped an awful sound of pure torment. The blood ran down his body and dripped from his feet, fizzling as it struck the blue.

‘No,’ he gurgled, choking.

His body distorted and twisted.

Then, in a moment of desperation and with the last of his energy, he looked down at Elvis, eyes pleading.

Elvis lifted the President’s gun.

The Assassin’s head snapped back suddenly, the single projectile releasing him from the torture.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu screamed, now in torment as well as agony. They were so close…

‘There!’ yelled Panix, leading his men into the room. ‘Fire!’

One of the better-armed but less circumspect members of Team Amber fired an appallingly large and destructive weapon.

The explosion took-out the power-supply and control-mechanism for the isolation spheres.

Three bodies fell to the floor.

* * *

Elvis dragged Daisy-Donnie out of the room. They tumbled forward, forced off their feet by the shock-wave.

‘You shot him. I don’t believe–’ said Daisy-Donnie, pushing up from the floor.

‘Better I did,’ said Elvis urgently. ‘You saw what they were doing to him.’

He grabbed Daisy-Donnie’s arm and pulled them upright. ‘Now come on!’

They ran. They ran from the explosions behind them, and the corpse of The Assassin.

‘If you know a way out of here, now’s the time, darlin’.’

‘The Monorail,’ murmured Daisy-Donnie. ‘This way!’

* * *

Colonel Panix stood over the corpse of The Assassin. He nudged the body twice with a foot.

‘Dead,’ he said, and nodded. He reached down and lifted a radio from his belt. ‘Close the net.’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie and Elvis tried desperately to put some distance between themselves and the BSD goons, but it was all getting too much.

The stairs slowed their pace substantially.

The four corridors just about did them in.

‘Jesus,’ gasped Elvis. ‘This is too much.’

‘It’s ahead. It’s just down there!’ said Daisy-Donnie as they emerged in the baggage-handling facility.

Daisy-Donnie slowed, letting the King catch up.

Their face was sprayed with blood.

‘Oh… shit,’ Elvis gasped, clutching his chest. Blood seeped past his hand. He collapsed to his knees.

* * *

‘Done,’ said Colonel Panix, lifting the gun, a satisfied grin on his face. He had a birds-eye view of the two below. He lifted his radio and spoke.

‘Move in.’

* * *

‘Elvis?’ said Daisy-Donnie crouching by their friend.

‘Go,’ wheezed Elvis. ‘You have to… go.’

BSD troops flooded into the room along the gantry above and through the doors.

They fired at anything and everything; Bullets whizzed through the air.

The smaller of the luggage machines spewed smoke.

‘I won’t leave you,’ said Daisy-Donnie.

‘Why does everything…’ Elvis gasped for air and sank to the floor, tense from the pain. ‘…have to be a… debate?’

Daisy-Donnie dragged their friend along the ground by one arm; he weighed a ton.

‘You’re next Penfolde!’ yelled Panix and fired a volley of shots through the smoke.

Elvis struggled free of Daisy-Donnie.

‘Go, goddamn it!’ yelled Elvis and with the last of his strength, he rolled so he was facing the right way and forced himself to kneel. He reached out and grasped the President’s gun.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie ran for the double-seat monorail car, leapt onto the drivers seat and threw the controls forward.

The machine leapt into motion.

* * *

‘Time to take care of business,’ Elvis wheezed, then steadied the gun in both hands, and fired his last bullet.

* * *

Colonel Panix fell, screaming, his knee gushing blood.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie looked back, as Elvis squeezed off the shot.

A flash-bang exploded near the entrance to the tunnel; Elvis was a momentary silhouette as the phosphorous blanketed everything in dazzling white.

Then there was darkness.

Click to see the next installment: Elvis has left the building

South Yarra, February-March 2006

Pornography (part 3)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:52:41 +0000

Elvis and The Assassin ran along the gantry from which Donnie had fallen some hours earlier. A size eight ladies shoe lay there, a stain of blood on it.

The skylights exploded with flashes of light and glass showered the two men and the surrounding area.

Dozens of white and black-clad people rappelled down like a French trapeze act. The white were rabid members of The Sisterhood; the black, BSD thugs.

‘Got any bullets? Mine’re gone.’ said Elvis as he ran beside The Assassin.

He caught the box of shells that The Assassin tossed him, and reloaded as he ran.

The Assassin fired two shots at the door at the end of the gantry and they pushed through into another section.

They turned and rushed down some metal stairs and once at the bottom they stood a moment, to allow the new arrivals to depart. As ordered, the white and black members of the opposing groups had other fish to fry.

* * *

‘This says that the path to enlightenment is to see the world through the eyes of a child.’ said Daisy-Donnie paraphrasing the book.

‘Yes,’ replied Madame Pink, her attention on the screens. She glanced down and pressed a red button on the console before her.

* * *

All around alarms screeched. An automated voice spoke over the PA.

‘This is an evacuation notice. Leave the facility by the nearest exit. This is not a drill.’

This suited Elvis down to the ground; it meant they could get in and out without too much unpleasantness.

They turned a corner and came to a screeching halt.

‘There you are.’ said Colonel Panix, standing at the end.

‘You should give yourself up,’ said Miss Rook. ‘This is no-longer your fight.’

‘Now what the hell do we do?’ Elvis hissed, directing the question at his compadre.

The Assassin stood calmly and didn’t respond.

Panix licked his lips and declared with a patronising grin. ‘Your time is past. The Church of Elvis is dead.’

Elvis took a deep breath, readying himself to throttle Panix once-and-for-all.

‘Colonel Panix,’ said The Assassin. ‘And Miss Rook. You are delaying us on a mission of great importance.’

‘And what would that be?’ asked Panix.

‘There is a central control-room for the weapons you have been advised of. We have approximately five minutes before they are detonated.’

Panix and Miss Rook stared.

‘You have heard the evacuation notice,’ he added. ‘Time is not on our side.’

He paused for effect before continuing.

‘Unless we stop the count-down,’ continued The Assassin. ‘This will become ground-zero of a thermonuclear explosion that will be remembered for as long as humans walk the Earth.’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie turned on the swivel chair, glanced over their shoulder and surreptitiously pocketed The Book of Cubes.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu remained focussed on the screens.

Daisy-Donnie stood and wandered over to peer at the screens. Several showed what looked like a black and white movie, people running around wearing matching clothing. Others showed empty corridors.

‘Oh. There’s Elvis,’ said Daisy-Donnie.

Elvis was indeed on the monitor, running along a corridor with three other people.

On one monitor he ran towards the camera. On a monitor beside it, the reverse angle, he and the others ran away.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu looked up at the screen, then turned to face each other.

‘Perfect,’ they said as one and stood.

Monsieur Bleu slid open a drawer and produced a taser. He aimed it at Daisy-Donnie.

‘Now wait just a minute,’ said Daisy-Donnie. ‘Aren’t we past all this nastiness?’

Kzarrrrpp!

Daisy-Donnie collapsed to the ground, the twin barbs catching them in their ample chest.

Madame Pink knelt and sliced Daisy-Donnie’s left wrist with a silver dagger. Blood trickled from the new wound, and pooled beneath the limp wrist.

They lifted Daisy-Donnie’s ankles and dragged the body unceremoniously out of the room.

* * *

I’m gonna give up exercise, thought Elvis as he ran down the corridor. I’ve fulfilled my quota for this lifetime.

Behind him were Colonel Panix and Miss Rook; the former on the brink of a coronary, wheezing heavily; the latter irritated with the situation at large, but amused her opposite number might not make it.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie awoke in familiar surroundings.

‘Haven’t we done this before?’ they asked. ‘I thought we were all friends now?’

Daisy-Donnie was once again strapped to the table, the laser was activated and cutting slowly towards their nether regions.

‘Look, what is all this?’ asked Daisy-Donnie. ‘I don’t get it? First you turn the laser on me and let me go, now you’re doing it again? I don’t understand!’

They yanked unsuccessfully at the bonds.

‘You are going to die,’ said Madame Pink.

‘Is this the point where you tell me your nefarious plans?’ asked Daisy-Donnie.

‘Certainly, if you desire it.’

‘We created the BSD and The Sisterhood,’ said Madame Pink, circling the table.

‘We created the factions and they created us,’ continued Monsieur Bleu, following on the opposite side.

‘How’s that then?’ asked Daisy-Donnie, disbelieving. ‘One has to come first.’

The smell of white-hot metal assaulted their nostrils; they glanced down at the slowly approaching laser with real fear on their face. Their heart-rate began to increase.

‘After some false-starts, we reasoned that in order to achieve our goals we had to nurture two distinct groups,’ she said with a creepy smile.

‘False starts?’

‘We dabbled with the music industry, experimented with the concepts of popular music in an attempt to determine intelligence and longevity.’

‘Universal Promotions,’ Daisy-Donnie gasped.

Madame Pink nodded, smiling acknowledgement. ‘The experiments were a failure, but they revealed we had to be more directed; male and female minds work at right-angles to one-another.’

‘So we separated them,’ continued Monsieur Bleu. ‘We guided and helped them to see the state of the world for what it is.’

‘And what’s that?’ asked Daisy-Donnie, looking down at the laser once more. It had moved a couple of inches. ‘We couldn’t possibly turn this off and have a chat in the nearest coffee shop could we?’

‘Humanity is stagnating,’ said Madame Pink, ignoring Daisy-Donnie’s coffee-shop crack; she’d tasted airport coffee and wanted no part of it. ‘In certain cases it is devolving.’

‘We save the weak,’ explained Monsieur Bleu. ‘We nurture the poor. We permit sub-standard genetic material to circulate.’

‘Oh my…’ breathed Daisy-Donnie.

‘Those that cannot reproduce through normal means are helped,’ said Madame Pink. ‘Desires are put before the good of the species.’

‘We decided to put humanity first.’ said Monsieur Bleu.

‘Survival of the whole is more important than any one of its individuals.’

* * *

The Assassin stood beside the door, back the the wall. He turned the doorknob and kicked the door with a heel.

Elvis took a quick peek around the corner.

‘Empty,’ he said. Then glanced in once more. A small child stared up at him.

They entered the room, observing the wall of screens before them. There was activity on most of them. Superimposed over all of the screens were numbers which were slowly descending.

The Assassin scanned the console and found the button. Beside it was a button marked ‘Abort’.

‘Better late than never,’ said Elvis.

The Assassin turned to face The King.

‘Now,’ said Elvis. ‘Now would be a good time. Oh goddamn it.’

He stepped forward and reached out for the button.

The Assassin grabbed his arm.

‘We don’t have time-’

The Assassin reached down with his free hand and flicked another switch.

‘Booby trap,’ he said, releasing The King.

Elvis stabbed the Abort button.

The numbers flashed on and off, holding at 01.

‘Shit that was close,’ he breathed.

Over on the other side of the room, Miss Rook stood watching the screens. Her people had been successful. The nukes were being wheeled out.

‘They’ve secured the nukes,’ she announced.

‘Remember our deal,’ said Panix in a sotto voice, stepping behind her.

She glanced in his direction. ‘Would you let me forget?’

The Assassin scanned the screens but none revealed what he was looking for. He stepped back and slipped slightly.

He crouched down and touched the floor and lifted his fingers to his eyes.

They were wet with blood. He stood and glanced downwards, following the drips to a door at the back of the room.

‘Come on,’ he said urgently.

The Assassin and Elvis ran the door.

Alone in the silence of the surveillance room, Colonel Panix and Miss Rook watched the last of the nukes removed from their storage room.

‘It’s done.’

‘Not quite,’ said Panix.

Miss Rook glanced up, an eyebrow raised.

‘I have some unfinished business,’ he said, turned and spoke into a radio. ‘Team Amber; Meet at this location…’

Rook lifted her radio from her belt. ‘Evacuate, now.’

* * *

Shit, thought Daisy-Donnie. Next it’ll be blonde hair and jack-boots.

‘The Tinwhistle equations were only the beginning,’ said Monsieur Bleu. ‘We examined them at length, but they were only circular arguments, everything pointed to itself. Something was missing, some link.’

‘Tinwhistle,’ asked Donnie.

‘And we found it: That link was you,’ said Madame Pink. ‘You could jump from reality to reality, you are the next level of human evolution.’

‘Once we found that out, we were determined to see it happen,’ Monsieur Bleu continued. ‘When The BSD and The Sisterhood had achieved with science what pure breeding could not, we allowed them to modify our DNA.’

Oh, god, thought Daisy-Donnie, shocked. That’s repulsive.

‘We will be the parents of future generations,’ they said as one, glancing upwards, ecstatic looks on their faces.

* * *

Miss Rook and Colonel Panix turned at the sound of a small child.

‘He’s a boy,’ said Panix, staring at the child.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Rook.

They stared at one-another.

‘If you take him, you’ll turn him into a mindless idiot,’ said Miss Rook.

‘And if you do, he’ll become a donor,’ said Colonel Panix.

The child giggled and pushed himself to his feet. He closed his eyes and disappeared.

* * *

‘You’re mad,’ said Daisy-Donnie, feeling an idiot for stating the bleedingly-obvious.

‘They gave us incredible intelligence and perception,’ said Madame Pink.

‘And now we have you, we can make the final connections,’ said Monsieur Bleu. ‘We can speak with the universe.’

‘And you will help us,’ said Madame Pink, a triumphant smile on her face.

‘How can I give it to you if I’m dissected?!’ pleaded Daisy-Donnie. These were by far and away the craziest people they’d ever met in their lives. No-one came close; not Panix’s psychosis, nor Rook’s obsessive intensity.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu smiled knowingly and withdrew into the shadows.

‘I’m not on speaking terms with the bloody universe!’ yelled Daisy-Donnie, struggling with the bonds. They were well secured this time. ‘It doesn’t like me! It’s been trying to kill me my whole life!’

‘Are you there?’

Silence.

‘Hello?’

* * *

The Assassin kicked the door open and burst into the room.

In the middle was a metal table, above which a laser cut slowly from one end to the other.

On the table was Daisy-Donnie.

‘There!’ yelled the Assassin. He ran forward to the table, then jerked to a stop, as if he’d run into a wall.

He screamed in agony.

A sphere of arcing blue electricity surrounded him and lifted him into the air, rotating on one axis and tilting on another. Soon he was perpendicular once more. The Assassin was frozen, yet aware, screaming with pain.

Elvis stood transfixed.

‘Would you mind helping please?’ called Daisy-Donnie, watching the laser cut the final centimeters toward their groin.

* * *

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu stepped calmly from the shadows to admire their handiwork.

‘At last,’ said Madame Pink

‘The Prophet,’ said Monsieur Bleu.

They looked upwards at The Assassin.

Click to see the next installment: Pornography (part 4)

Pornography (part 2)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:42:17 +0000

Daisy and Donnie wandered carefully and quietly through the dark and silent village.

‘This is a bad idea,’ said the voice again. ‘Bad things happened here.’

They ignored the voice. Donnie turned to Daisy, and nodded in the direction of their home.

* * *

The silence between Marcus and The Assassin was pronounced. Prime kept to herself, smiling and half giggling.

‘This stuff is great,’ she slurred to no-one in particular.

The Assassin puffed on the cigarette

‘It’s probably illegal smoking in here,’ commented Marcus, conversationally.

The Assassin offered Marcus the pack. Marcus accepted it and lit one, taking a puff.

‘So’s using nuclear weapons without a permit,’ murmured The Assassin.

‘Which means they’ll arrest us first.’

The Assassin smiled wryly at Marcus, who nodded in agreement.

‘Bored, bored, bored, bored,’ babbled Prime. ‘Bored, bored, bored.’

Marcus looked up at the access panel. ‘What’s keeping him?’

* * *

Donnie pushed the door to the house open.

‘Mummy,’ whispered Daisy.

‘Daddy,’ whispered Donnie.

Only silence answered them; it was as if they had spoken into a padded room. There was no echo, no depth to the sound; it was muffled and lifeless in there.

They stepped in and tripped over.

* * *

Alarms went off.

Elvis slid down the ladder. He rubbed his hands at the bottom to relieve the pain of the slide.

‘It’s done,’ he said.

‘This way.’ The Assassin led once more.

‘Brilliant,’ said Marcus, and began to run, his movement hampered by the wheelchair, catching himself before he tripped.

He stopped, spun the chair around and faced Prime.

‘Wassup?’ She grinned manically at him.

Marcus lifted the drip bag from the rack on the wheelchair and held it firmly in a hand. Then he hefted Prime up over his shoulders in a Fireman’s hold and kicked the wheelchair out of the way.

‘Wheee!’ she said, and laughed wildly, waving her arms around, throwing him off-balance.

He swung around, regaining his footing, and his heart skipped a beat.

A Cubist goon stood behind them, weapon drawn.

The Assassin turned and knelt, firing a single bullet past Marcus and Prime. The Cubist fell to his knees, choking, blood spewing from his throat.

Marcus, turned to face The Assassin, horror on his face.

The Assassin holstered his gun, a silver revolver with a pearl-handle and led the way.

* * *

‘Do we care?’ asked Madame Pink, standing in the control room. Each few minutes a screen that once showed a picture of the retreating quartet changed to static and snow.

‘Not particularly. I would be interested, however, to know what he transmitted up on the roof.’

* * *

Daisy pushed herself up. Whatever was on the floor was moist and squidgy.

She turned and looked into the lifeless eyes of her father. A stain of blood obscured one of his eyes.

Donnie yelped, terrified to find himself kneeling on the body of his mother.

They jumped backwards, banging each other’s heads together.

‘You have to leave!’ screamed the voice into their ears. ‘You have to leave. Now!’

They jerked upwards, as if on invisible wires just as the door opened once more.

‘Hello there,’ said The Assassin. He held a pearl-handled revolver in his hand.

* * *

The pilot looked up as people bundled into the plane behind him.

‘You ready?’ called Elvis from the other end of the plane.

Marcus put Prime as gently as he could into one of the seats and fastened her seat-belt. He put the drip bag on her lap and made sure there were no kinks in the tube.

‘You didn’t give me much time,’ said the pilot. ‘Engines are warm.’

‘Great,’ said Elvis. ‘I hereby grant you honourary rank of Priest of the Church of Elvis. Complete the paperwork back at HQ and you’ll also get the full collection of albums.’

‘I’ve already done that,’ said Marcus with a grin. ‘How’d you think I got him to turn back in the first place?’

‘Get these two out of here,’ said Elvis, addressing the newly anointed priest.

‘What?’ demanded Marcus.

Elvis had already turned and jumped from the plane to the tarmac below. Marcus gave chase, grabbing Elvis’s shoulder and pulled him around.

He stepped back suddenly.

A pearl-handled, Presidential-issue revolver was poked into his stomach, the business-end leaving an indentation in his skin.

‘I’m not arguing, Marcus,’ yelled Elvis above the din of the engines and with a determined look in his eyes. ‘Either you go with her or I shoot you and you’ll both go anyway.’

Marcus stood dumbfounded, staring at his friend.

* * *

Prime woke, roused by the discussion and found herself unclipping her harness. She fell to the floor and followed the noise. She stopped briefly to retrieve the drip bag and continued to the door.

* * *

‘I mean it!’ yelled Elvis. ‘Someone has to carry on the fight. Two is better than one!’

‘But where are you going?’

‘They’re still in there,’ said The Assassin. ‘And we have to get them out before it’s too late.’

‘I can help,’ said Marcus, disbelieving.

‘No,’ Elvis’s statement was final. ‘Go with Prime.’

‘But-’

‘Don’t but me, man,’ Elvis’s voice cracked with emotion. ‘There’s not enough time to argue.’

‘He’s right,’ said the pilot, standing by the door. He had helped Prime up and her head lolled forwards, then upwards as she snapped herself awake through sheer willpower.

Elvis and Marcus stared at one-another.

‘If we miss this launch window, we’ll be stuck here for the next two hours,’ said the pilot.

‘And that means The BSD and Sisterhood will be all over you both.’ said Elvis. ‘And Prime’s on their hit-list. You know what they’ll do–’

‘I know,’ said Marcus quickly, knowing he had no way out.

‘I have to trust you to get her, to get you both to safety,’ said Elvis. ‘You have to continue the fight.’

Marcus glanced at the tarmac, then up to his friend with a shocked expression.

‘You’re…’ he began.

‘We have to leave,’ insisted The Assassin. ‘Now.’

Elvis lowered then holstered the gun and hugged his friend.

‘Keep going. We’ll be fine,’ he said and looked up as Prime passed-out once again.

Elvis gave Marcus a trademark grin.

‘Say ‘Hi’ to Prime for me.’

Marcus nodded, a frown of concern on his face.

‘Now, go!’

* * *

‘Run!’ screamed the voice.

The Assassin was enveloped in a blue mist. He screamed heartrendingly.

Daisy and Donnie ran through the house and through to the back door.

Outside now, the children ran, terrified, back into the forest, the main path the easiest route to use and by far the quietest.

Of course, it also meant it was also easier for their pursuer.

They took a detour.

* * *

Marcus helped the pilot return Prime to her seat, then returned to the door.

The engines screamed, the volume increasing as the plane slowly moved away.

Marcus stood in the doorway and watched.

‘I hope we meet again,’ he said, expecting the worst.

He closed the door.

* * *

Elvis and The Assassin stood and watched the plane moving slowly away

‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Elvis and turned to the Assassin. He extended a hand.

The Assassin took it and they shook once, like old enemies forced to work together, like two old friends on either side of a war.

‘It’s been a while,’ said Elvis.

‘It has at that,’ said The Assassin with the ghost of a smile. ‘Just like the old days.’ They turned and strode back to the doors.

Pinpricks of light appeared in the distance; they weren’t stars.

* * *

Daisy and Donnie ran blindly into the darkness, the voice no-longer in their heads.

They emerged in a clearing, one they had not come across before.

In the centre was a blue haze, which became clearer as they grew closer.

‘You have to be hidden,’ said a beautiful creature that stood before them. Androgynous, neither male nor female; ethereal. The being had astonishing flawless skin which shone with an inner light. The creature was every cosmetic company’s dream model.

It spoke with the voice that had always helped them.

‘I wish I could make your lives what they should be,’ said the creature with a sad smile.

‘Help us,’ pleaded Daisy.

‘Please help us,’ begged Donnie.

The creature nodded, tears in its eyes.

‘Take my hands…’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie awoke with a start.

They glanced up at their shoulder. A hand was there that wasn’t theirs.

Monsieur Bleu, attached to the hand by way of his arm, spoke. ‘Your enemies approach.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Daisy-Donnie. ‘Which ones particularly?’

‘All of them,’ said Madame Pink.

* * *

‘Target ahead,’ said the helicopter co-pilot.

Panix and Miss Rook stood behind the pilot and co-pilot, hands steadying themselves against the aircraft ceiling.

Below them, the jet slowly took off, climbing almost as if in slow-motion. The pilot was well aware of the danger from above, but any attempts to avoid it would have simply ripped the wings off.

‘We have a lock.’ The co-pilot flicked off the safety on the weapons console. The systems were ready. Visual displays showed the target and a red flashing cross-hair superimposed across it.

The plane continued on its course. Slowly it climbed, the engine roar audible from the helicopter’s cabin.

‘Ignore it,’ said Panix at last.

The jet pulled away, heading east.

‘Panix to wave one,’ he spoke into his mouthpiece as the helicopter came in to land. ‘Secure the area. Wave two, join your opposite numbers and find the targets.’

‘Sisters, enter from the East and West,’ said Miss Rook, her radio held close to her mouth. ‘Secure the devices by any means necessary. Ignore anything and everything between you and the weapons.’

* * *

Elvis and The Assassin stormed into the facility once again.

‘Goddamn it, if the junk food doesn’t kill me,’ gasped Elvis, ‘it’ll be the exercise exploding my heart.’

The Assassin said nothing, but came to a stop beside a door with which Donnie would have been familiar.

And like before, it opened, and the hapless Harold stepped out.

‘Oh my god!’ he prostrated himself before Elvis. ‘I tried to deliver the message, I really did.’

‘You seem to have an effect on people,’ said The Assassin, looking over at Elvis with a sarcastic smile.

‘Uh-huh.’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie was hustled along to the Control Room and offered a chair next to a small table.

The room was a carbon-copy of the one which Donnie and Prime had become entangled several jumps earlier. A wall of screens on one side of the room, and another wall opposite.

They glanced over at the table and noticed a small black book sitting there.

‘The Book of Cubes,’ said Daisy-Donnie. Now that was odd; they were sure they’d heard of this publication. Maybe it was one of those book-into-movie debacles they had heard so much about, probably one starring an ex-comedian with a script which removed all the good bits.

In the absence of anything else to do, Daisy-Donnie flicked through the book. It contained lots of bizarre illustrations that Picasso had either drawn, tried to imitate, or had dreamed of; lots of eyeballs looking up their own noses.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu studied the screens for activity, ignoring Daisy-Donnie for the moment.

‘There,’ said Madame Pink, pointing.

Two figures ran along a gantry…

Click to see the next installment: pornography (part 3)

Pornography (part 1)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:42:05 +0000

Elvis opened one eye. The sound of a lock being buzzed open gained his attention as quickly as a deep-fried mars-bar had back in the old days.

He sat up and looked over at the door to the cell, which had swung slightly open.

A trap? Surely not. They already had him, what would be the point of doing anything funky now?

Of course, those damn Cubists were capable of almost anything; belief was a bitch to circumvent sometimes.

He stood, grabbed his jacket and turned to leave. He turned back and picked-up the sunglasses sitting on the table by the bed.

He slowly pushed the cell door open. It creaked on elderly hinges and he took a quick glance outside.

He crept from the cell, observing the usual things you’d find where cells were involved: a pile of telephone books against one wall and several fire hoses in a disorganised mess in the corner.

Now at the control desk he noted the the lever to his cell had been pulled down, which had resulted in his fortunate escape. He pulled down on the other three levers and glanced over. As each door opened there was an accompanying buzzing sound.

Elvis walked back down to see if there was anyone in the other cells.

‘What took you so long?’ asked Marcus from cell number three. He stepped out.

‘I’ll explain on the way,’ replied Elvis and opened the door of the next cell.

Prime lay sleeping on the bed. Her legs were heavily bandaged and she was clad in an out-of-character white gown. A tube from a blood-filled bag terminated in a ball of bandage on her left hand.

‘Hi darlin’,’ said Elvis as she stirred on the bed.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she replied with a disappointed tone. ‘Where’s Johnny Depp when you need him?’

‘Who?’

* * *

‘You know, I don’t feel too well,’ said Daisy-Donnie.

The surroundings blurred and Daisy-Donnie found the perspectives shifting wildly. They realised what was happening far too late to react.

Daisy-Donnie slowly collapsed to the shiny obsidian floor.

* * *

‘I just want to know where the hell my guns are,’ muttered Elvis, rifling through the storage cabinets and drawers. ‘Nixon gave them to me, for crying out loud. They’re Presidential issue revolvers, man.’

‘I’m sure they’ll turn up,’ said Marcus. ‘Ah, there’s one.’

Elvis had opened a drawer and inside was a pair of handcuffs and one of his guns.

‘Damn,’ he said, irritated to have lost the other gun. He stood and looked at Marcus while checking the gun for bullets. ‘Turn your collar up.’

‘What? Fashion tips from you?’

‘Just do it,’ He twisted the gun in the air and the magazine slammed shut. Then he turned his collar up.

‘I’m back,’ said Elvis.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie opened their eyes. The walls were moving upwards. No, not the walls, the ceiling.

‘Hmmm?’ they said, still unused to the voice. ‘Wassgoin… on?’

They looked up and saw an unfamiliar face. He stared straight ahead.

The trolley bumped through a pair of swinging doors just as Daisy-Donnie fell into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

Elvis, Prime and Marcus carefully and quickly made their way through the facilities, trying to to find a way out.

‘Where’s Donnie?’ asked Prime, still groggy from the anesthetic, sitting in the wheelchair from her cell.

‘Don’t know,’ said Elvis honestly. ‘We’re getting you out of here then we’ll go lookin’.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. Just give me something to defend myself and I’ll be… fine,’ she lulled forwards, then raised her head again. ‘ooo. That felt thing… um.. funny…’

Elvis nodded. ‘Graceland’ll be wondering where the hell we are by now.’

They turned a corner and stopped dead. A man was standing there, dressed in black.

‘You took your time,’ said The Assassin, looking pointedly at his watch.

‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Marcus.

‘Who the hell is who?’ asked Prime. ‘Hey, if I go cross-eyed I have… one… two…three hands.’

She giggled happily.

Elvis stared, then his shoulders dropped.

‘Wait here,’ he said.

‘You know this guy?’ asked Marcus.

Elvis glanced at Marcus then strode over to The Assassin. They stood and conversed in whispers for a few moments. A nod from Elvis and he gestured for Marcus to wheel Prime forward.

‘I haven’t had the pleasure,’ said Marcus brightly and somewhat sarcastically.

‘Be glad that you haven’t,’ The Assassin replied.

‘He’s a friend,’ interjected Elvis. ‘He released us. And now we’ve got to get the hell out of here.’

The Assassin turned and began to walk.

‘This way,’ he said.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie dreamed.

They dreamed of their childhood, spent in the forests of home, playing in amongst the trees and on the grass.

They remembered the first word they said; a child’s hand pointing forwards and two tiny little voices.

‘Look Mummy,’ said Donnie, beginning the sentence.

‘There’s a cloud up in the sky,’ said Daisy, finishing it.

Daisy and Donnie remembered growing up together. Sister and brother born moments apart.

Everything had been new then; the only running was from their friends, both imaginary and real.

The light bouncy memories faded into darkness, and Daisy-Donnie were drawn back to a dark, wet night; a memory like a nightmare, a nightmare that was a memory.

With tears rolling down their cheeks, Daisy and Donnie crouched in the bushes that formed the border between their village and the rest of the forest, they heard harsh whip-cracks of sound, the screams all deadened by the oppressive, wet darkness.

Daisy and Donnie hid. Their friend kept them safe.

* * *

Marcus and Elvis stood just inside the room. Prime sat, but that was okay.

The walls of the huge room were lined floor-to-ceiling with metal boxes, each with strong handles and warnings printed in various languages.

Each had a particular yellow and black symbol printed prominently on its side.

‘Oh my,’ said Marcus with shock.

‘Indeed,’ said The Assassin, turning to face them from the centre of the vault. ‘I thought you’d appreciate this for what it was.’

‘How many of them are there,’ asked Marcus.

‘Enough.’ The Assassin turned to address Marcus.

‘Enough for what?’ asked Marcus.

‘I heard the test-firing went like a dream,’ said The Assassin ignoring Marcus’s question.

Grim realisation hit Elvis and Marcus at once. If it hit Prime she didn’t acknowledge it, but that was okay seeing as she was unconscious and drugged to the eyeballs with pain medication.

‘Tasmania,’ said Elvis.

‘But it was a French nuke,’ said Marcus.

‘The Cubists are French,’ said The Assassin. ‘Not that it matters of course; they have no links to government; other than being the managers of their most deadly weapons.’

Marcus glanced up. ‘It was them?’

‘Oh, man,’ said Elvis, leaning against a wall with one hand flat against it.

‘The bomb that was used in Tasmania was delivered on a cargo plane that flew out of this airport twenty hours ago. It was crash-landed and exploded by remote-control.’

‘Why?’ asked Elvis, still leaning against the wall.

‘Cubists,’ said The Assassin, with an expression of patient frustration. ‘How better to see people at their best and worst, to see things from every angle.’

Elvis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Damn,’ he murmured.

‘Then why did the French say it was one of theirs,’ asked Marcus.

‘It was one of theirs,’ said The Assassin with a shrug. ‘They didn’t order the bombing of course, but they were truthful when they said one of their weapons had been used to blow up a small island in the middle of nowhere. They omitted, of course, that the nuke had been used improperly.’

Marcus gave him a confused look.

‘The worlds weapons are managed privately,’ explained The Assassin. ‘Like everything else.’

Marcus stared, open-mouthed.

‘The French would have suffered politically if they’d admitted the truth, that the Cubists had taken one of their bombs and used it for their own ends,’ The Assassin explained. ‘And besides, they all knew the government would just roll-over.’

‘Which is why we’ve been pulled into it,’ said Elvis, putting the pieces together.

‘Easier to blame a group that won’t bend to their will than to tell the truth.’

‘Politics,’ spat Marcus.

‘Plausible Deniability,’ agreed The Assassin. ‘It looks good in the press if they have someone to blame.’

‘And they knew they couldn’t touch the ones really behind it,’ said Elvis. ‘Even if they knew it was the Cubists.’

Elvis stood straight now and walked further into the room, turning on his heel to observe the horror that filled it. Box upon box filled the shelves. They seemed to go on forever. It was like walking between two mirrors,

‘And now they’ve got nukes as far as the eye can see,’ he said.

Prime opened her eyes. ‘Wheeee! What’re they darls?’

‘Pain medication’s obviously good,’ commented Marcus. ‘Nasty things, sweetie.

‘Very Nasty Things.’ said Elvis.

* * *

Daisy and Donnie hid in the undergrowth as the stranger approached, knowing he would not find them. It was the game they were best at – for so-long as they remained calm, no-one could find them if they didn’t want them to.

‘Come out,’ he said simply, quietly and without demand.

Daisy and Donnie stayed put, watching as the stranger walked slowly past.

‘He’s a bad man,’ whispered the voice of their friend. ‘You have to always remember that.’

Daisy and Donnie nodded and slowly, carefully rose. The stranger had gone deep enough into the brush for them to avoid detection.

They stood carefully and walked slowly back into the clearing using their secret track. A few minutes later they emerged in the clearing. A giant oak tree stood in the middle of the glade.

All was silent, and the darkness enveloped everything; the environment of every nightmare made real.

* * *

‘We need to get somewhere I can get a clear signal,’ said Elvis, addressing The Assassin.

The Assassin nodded and led them from the room to another corridor.

‘How do you know your way around,’ asked Marcus.

‘It’s a talent,’ said The Assassin bluntly.

He stopped by a ladder which led up to to the roof.

‘Right,’ said Elvis, beginning to climb.

‘Calling in the cavalry?’ asked Marcus.

‘Kind-of,’ replied Elvis, who turned and gave Marcus a worried look. He dropped back to the ground.

‘You’re not fucking serious,’ snapped Marcus, reacting as if stung.

‘We’re stuck, Marcus,’ said Elvis, turning to face him properly. ‘We don’t have the manpower to secure them all.’

‘But… what about–’

‘None of our people can move now. If they do they’ll be held and thrown into

detention,’ said Elvis. ‘You know this.’

Marcus stared furiously.

‘Calling in the BSD and The Sisterhood is the only way left to handle this.’

Marcus stood, mouth open. ‘This isn’t a serious option. You can’t… There has to be someone else.’

‘You’d rather see them in the hands of the Cubists? Or the Government?’ Elvis was annoyed now, but not at Marcus.

Marcus broke the gaze, shoulders dropping.

‘There’s got to be another way,’ he murmured.

‘We’ve already seen what they’ll do,’ said Elvis now referring to the Cubists. ‘They’ll nuke something just to see what’ll happen. That’s what they are.’

‘And no-one will stop them,’ said The Assassin. ‘No-one can.’

‘See the world from every way possible,’ murmured Marcus. ‘They’re forces of Chaos.’

‘No, chaos is nature,’ said The Assassin cooly. ‘The Cubists are forces of destruction. This is only the beginning.’

Marcus glanced up and took a deep breath. He knew he was beaten.

‘The BSD and The Sisterhood are nuts,’ Elvis continued. ‘But they’re our kind of nuts. Manageable nuts. The Cubists have to be disarmed somehow.’

‘We are running out of time,’ said The Assassin.

‘Shut up,’ Elvis rounded angrily on The Assassin.

The Assassin raised his right eyebrow and took a quiet yet deep breath. He stepped back a little and reached into a pocket, retrieving a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

‘Mutually Assured Destruction, Marcus.’ said Elvis, now addressing his Cardinal. ‘They’ll both have the nukes and they’ll both be balanced. It’ll be like it always was.’

Marcus didn’t have an answer.

‘You know it’s the only way,’ insisted Elvis.

The Assassin lit a cigarette and the lighter closed with a flick of his wrist.

The lighter had a design of an Eagle on it.

The Middle Child of the Secret of the Lost Gavel

Lisa Sinclair — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 08:32:50 +0000

A tinny funeral dirge began to play.

‘Doesn’t look good Donnie,’ said Freddy.

Donnie’s hand hovered over his groin, then he heard a high pitched whirring. It sounded like a drill.

‘Guards,’ yelled Freddy. ‘Security breach! Shoot that bastard!’

The doors toppled inwards, the result of a good kick, and there stood Donnie’s rescuer.

‘Achtung!!’ screamed Fritz the German, dressed unexpectedly in a wrestling leotard, a blue-black mask and cape. He hurled a stick-grenade down the corridor.

Donnie was bathed in the glow of the explosion, shading his eyes.

‘Get out of here,’ screamed the German, hefting a big machine-gun up. He fired quick bursts from the machine gun, the sound accompanied by a faintly pleasant metallic tinkling of spent cartridges raining down on the concrete.

Donnie had knelt down and had his head covered by his hands; he looked like an ostrich with its head stuck in the sand.

‘La la la…’ Donnie murmured in desperate terror. ‘I’m not listening…’

‘Get out,’ screamed the German and back-kicked, catching Donnie’s backside. ‘SCHNELL!!!’

Donnie jumped up like a hundred meter sprinter and ran for the nearest safe thing: a perfectly maintained 1963 Volkswagen Beetle.

Meanwhile, the German tipped one of the barrels on its side and rolled it down the corridor.

He hurled another hand-grenade after it for good measure and ran for the car.

The explosion and resulting fire successfully cremated the guards.

Within moments Donnie and the German were roaring out of the car-park (As far as you could roar in a VW Beetle) and into the side-streets around the studio, slowing only for Donnie to stand out of the sunroof with a stick grenade which was lobbed into the guard’s booth at the main gate. Beside the gate was a poster for the fight of the century, Rambozo’s Roarers versus McWarickson’s Trio of Terrifying Terrorists.

* * *

Donnie started breathing again — another near-death experience under his belt. Maybe when he had the full set he’d be allowed to stop all this running around?

‘Thanks for that,’ said Donnie to his rescuer.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Fritz.

‘Um,’ Donnie pondered how to ask about the man’s get-up. ‘What’s with–’

The German turned to face Donnie.

Donnie’s eyes widened in realisation.

‘Raznou the Magnificent?’ exclaimed Donnie, a boyhood dream coming true: his wrestling hero had rescued him from certain death.

‘Yes,’ said Raznou. ‘It is I.’

‘You rescued me,’ said Donnie. ‘Why?’

Raznou turned pensively to watch the road ahead. ‘It was what you said… the Lost Gavel.’

‘Oh, that,’ said Donnie, disappointed.

‘Freddy has been searching for it,’ said Raznou, gearing down as they had reached an intersection. ‘And when you asked about it, I knew what I had to do.’

‘Where’s Maria,’ asked Donnie.

‘Maria,’ murmured Raznou, heartbroken. ‘Maria left me, left the team, for a job in the entertainment industry. One that didn’t involve tight lycra and Thrush once a month.’

‘Penfolde!’

Donnie looked up through the windscreen as a huge helicopter zoomed overhead, turned in the air and hovered over the intersection before them.

Raznou hit the brakes and they stopped in a cloud of burning rubber.

The secret of the lost gavel

Lisa Sinclair — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 07:49:31 +0000

He woke with a killer headache and groaned slowly while checking his genitalia for evidence of alteration.

Ah, there they were, right where he’d left them.

A sharp and loud beeping assaulted his ears leaving him feeling as if he’d been aurally mugged.

An eye slowly opened and focussed on a mobile telephone not far from his face.

A message on its face flashed on and off.

Sixteen

missed

Messages

Donnie attempted to move but found he couldn’t. His face appeared stuck to whatever he was resting against.

He moved a little, experimentally pulling at the surface and slowly his face came away with a rip of paper. He peeled his eyes open and cracked his jaw.

There was a newspaper on the desk, coated in red stickiness; some had ripped off and was still stuck to his face. The headline, on the newsprint that remained, screamed:

Advertising Triumph!

A picture of a pyramid accompanied the statement, though the rest of the report was obscured by haemoglobin.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said, dabbing at the top of his head where the scab of a wound was clear evidence of being belted by something fairly unpleasant. The caked blood acted as a macabre hair-gel.

Below the report was another, equally unbelievable, this one had an image of triangular mirrors against a starry backdrop.

‘Solar Mirrors launched,’ read Donnie. ‘Global Warming to be finally controllable.’

He snorted derision.

‘Wankers.’

Donnie glanced around the depressingly dull office. Dark wood-panelling insinuated itself upwards from the grotty wooden floor, stopping partway up the walls in much the same way as rising damp. Beyond this was nasty-looking peeling wallpaper terminating in a cracked and probably asbestos-infested ceiling.

In the middle of the ceiling a fan slowly rotated, like a bored fast-food service assistant. It seemed to be saying, ‘Do you want air with that?’.

Donnie decided to help the asbestosis along a little, and reached into the top drawer where he found a packet of Gauloises and a silver zippo lighter with an amusing aeronautical motif. A practiced flip and click resulted in a lit cigarette landing between his lips.

He flipped the newspaper open onto page 39 to his horoscope while slowly flexing his face, trying to get back some feeling and to crack the sticky red varnish over it.

Christmas Crackers

Lisa Sinclair — Sun, 18 Dec 2005 11:20:19 +0000

(the first DaisyDonnie Christmas Special)

She woke with a killer headache and instinctively felt between her legs.

Daisy stiffened slightly as she realised there was someone sitting on her lap.

‘An I wanna x-box, anna zap gun anna–’

‘Who’s Anna?’ she asked with Donnie’s voice. Well, that sorted the gender thing out. ‘And who are you?’

‘I tol’ you. Jason is my name. Except it’s spelled with a K instead of a J and a Y instead of an O. And it’s got a U and an M instead of an N. An I want a whole bucket of chocolate an–’

Donnie zoned out momentarily, trying to work out how the child’s name was spelled and how to actually pronounce it. The child continued to talk, going off like a junkie on speed.

‘You listening Santa?!’ screamed Kasyum (pronounced Jason).

Santa?!

Oh sweet prophet of choice!

He glanced past the child and his shoulders dropped

‘Oh no.’

There were forty or more children waiting in line, and it wasn’t even close to closing time.

The midday rush was in its third hour and counting. The signs screamed:

One day til Xmas!!!

Open 24 hours!!!!

Donnie rapidly examined the parts of his body that hadn’t fallen asleep from the pressure of a junk-food addicted child sitting on them. Padded belly, fluffy beard, fizzy-drink red jacket and matching pants.

Jesus.

Standing beside him was a scantily-clad young woman, pushing all of sixteen, grinning like a maniac.

Perhaps, mused Donnie, she’d been forced to superglue her lips back and use the remainder to stick her teeth together as a condition of employment.

Her smile was like a searchlight across the faces of the thirty and forty-something fathers. They beamed back, presumably wishing they could sit on her knee, or that she could sit on their –

‘I think Santa sucks,’ screeched the dyslexically named child and jumped off Donnie’s knee, not before the one bony part of his body collided with Donnie’s nethers.

Donnie gasped and screwed his eyes up while his legs instinctively pushed together.

The child ran over to his parents, who handed him a container full of fizzy-drink and a toffee-apple.

‘Happy Christmas,’ he wheezed, and glanced up at his assistant. ‘Does that hurt?’

Wine, Women and War

Lisa Sinclair — Tue, 16 Aug 2005 08:35:48 +0000

She opened her eyes and winced from an eye-watering, skull-splitting headache. She felt instinctively between her legs and found something different.

Donnie looked down and saw an empty plate. On a table.

He looked up with a frown.

‘Would sir like to see the wine list,’ asked the waiter.

Donnie fell sideways from his chair, pain the only thing registering through the violent headache exploding through his brain.

‘Ahem,’ said the waiter. To Donnie he sounded like he was yelling through a 6000 watt PA system with the volume set to 11.

‘Please don’t speak so loudly,’ hissed Donnie as he clawed his way upwards again.

‘Terribly sorry sir,’ whispered the waiter, playing along. ‘Would sir wish to see the wine list?’

‘Ooo,’ said Donnie, a grin on his face. He winced from additional movement and while his conscious mind tried desperately to work out which muscles should stop moving, his unconscious formed a rather useful algorithm:

Begin

Repeat

If MyHeadHurts = true

and

Booze = true

then

Drink Booze

Until MyHeadHurts =False or LiverGivesOut=True

End

Donnie blinked a couple of times, and the logic made sense. He looked up and smiled some more, though not without further pain.

‘I would love to see the list,’ he said in an agonised whisper.

The waiter handed him the document with considerable distaste; it wasn’t becoming to lust after alcohol.

‘Hmm, old and dusty, old and dusty… ‘murmured Donnie. He looked up and addressed the man in another whisper.

‘I’ll have the Chateau Neuf ’35.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said the waiter. ‘And something to eat? Sir.’

Donnie gave him a blank stare.

The waiter coughed an ‘A-hem’; politely pointing out that he was making some kind of point which had hitherto not been noticed by Donnie.

‘Just the booze,’ whispered Donnie, now sure his brain was being pushed out of his ears like mince through a mincer.

‘The Armenian salad is particularly good tonight,’ insisted the waiter.

‘Does it have alcohol in it?’ whispered Donnie, checking his ears. No blood; of course, all that proved was that he was fundamentally brainless.

The waiter looked uncomfortable.

‘I am not aware of this possibility, sir.’ He coughed another ‘a-hem’.

‘Right, off you go then,’ said Donnie, fingering his ears; there had to be something coming out, surely? Other than earwax of course. ‘And bring my plonk forthwith.’

The waiter turned on his heel and stalked off.

Donnie closed his eyes in an effort to reduce the pounding agony he was experiencing, slowly letting the pain migrate from hemisphere to hemisphere and finally coalesce in his upper neck.

A can rattled loudly beside his left ear.

Donnie screamed and fell sideways from the chair, holding his head in his hands in an effort to stop the agony.

‘Would you like to make a donation,’ asked the young man standing beside the now vacant chair. ‘It’s to save endangered sea life.’

‘Only if you stop shouting,’ hissed Donnie. With white spots popping in front of his eyes and the pain back in his cranium, he crawled back onto the chair.

The waiter placed the requested bottle on the table and, in a most contemptuous way, paced off once more without even so much as pouring a sample for Donnie to try.

Not that it mattered of course. Donnie focussed on the bottle while murmuring to himself.

‘MyHeadHurts is true, Booze is true.’ He nodded with a smile. ‘Repeat…’

One of Donnie’s great unsung talents was a total lack of a gag reflex. He synchronised his breathing and guzzled the contents of the bottle in one go.

The man with the can winced slightly at the sound of the last of the expensive wine being sucked from the bottle.

Donnie pulled the empty receptacle away from his mouth. He gasped and sniffed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Oh,’ he said after another moment, and noticed the pain had dulled substantially; the nuclear bomb tests going on in his skull had been successfully disrupted by a protest flotilla of nearly a liter of a good quality French red.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Donnie with a grin. ‘That feels better.’

Harem Scare ‘em

Lisa Sinclair — Fri, 05 Nov 2004 16:22:08 +0000

image by FroggyFrog

He woke with a killer headache and instinctively felt between his legs. He found something familiar, but something was missing …

His eyes flew open and he quickly sat up, ignoring the painful drumming in his head.

He was totally naked and sitting on an opulent four-poster bed in an equally opulent room. But his surroundings were of secondary importance right now.

With a grim sense of irony, he glared at his mutilated crotch and ran his fingers through his hair. His thick, luxurious hair …

“Oh bugger”, he piped, in a soprano that brought tears to his eyes.

This could cause problems …

He reached across the bed for the robe that lay on its edge and draped it over his shoulders. Then he stood up and looked around.

The room would not have been out of place in the court of King Louis. Opulent had been his first impression, and it remained accurate.

Maybe he’d turned up in Graceland? He’d always wanted to meet The King.

Donnie wandered around the room, picking things up and putting them down. He stopped at the dresser and examined the photographs. They featured Donnie in various poses with another man. He peered closer, trying to make out the face.

Colonel Panix.