On the Subject of Pie - Part Three
Created | Updated Oct 5, 2006
Primary Phase - Part Three
John was on his third cup of tea now. The second hadn't tasted any better than the first and the third one was just downright dull, but as long as he was sitting here he wouldn't have to do anything about his life, which had become a lot harder to cope with since the introduction of see-through swans and mad advertisers who thought John should make the move from failed student to private investigator. He threw a couple of bits of broken biscuit to the swan that wasn't really there and then continued to sulk. Happy with the knowledge that John really needed some time to himself right now, the phone decided to start chirping away, cheerfully announcing an incoming call. John groaned and considered just sticking his fingers up at the phone, but then realised that it wasn't the phone's fault and went to answer it.
Hello? Hello. Am I speaking to John Dvorak? If you want... Ah. Quite. Well, we've had a spot of trouble, I... er... see... If you're interested, we'd like you to come over Erm... ok, sure. Out of curiosity, how much do you charge? Oh... the usual amount. Indeed. See you in half an hour, shall we say? |
There was a click and the line went dead, leaving John wondering if he should be happy that he had bluffed his way through, or confused as to what on earth was going on. He considered having another cup of tea, but then realised he needed the loo after all that caffeine. Unfortunately, the toilet was busy and John had to wait patiently while his translucent swan finished having a drink.
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Lluchmoor wasn't very happy, but that was just life. He decided to scorch another one of Mrs Bewidigeldi's rock cakes, but then changed his mind and ate it. He always got the rubbish jobs — he would stay and guard the 'base' while the ridiculous Pyrodæmon got to go off and have fun poaching the spirits of the last remaining descendants of some famous religious figure. It just wasn't fair. Still, the rock cake was nice.
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The owl watched from its favourite perch as the tow truck arrived to remove the burnt-out Vauxhall Astra. It was about time, really — he was fed up with looking at it and he felt nothing but disdain for those two idiots who had left it to go for a swim and never came back.
'So how much can I get for part exchange?'
'Hah! How about I tows it away for free, then I charges ya fifty for the pleasure of doin' business with me...'
'Or I could just burn you to a crisp and steal your tow truck.'
'Look, Mr "Pyrodæmon", if that is your real name, I don't listen to threats, I just make 'em.'
'Oh really? Did I forget to say please?'
The owl was getting rather upset by this whole turn of events. Not only had the burnt-out wreck remained in place the whole time, but now yet another nice pretty orange thing was on its way over for a quick dip in the lake. Bloody tourists.
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John had made his mind up. His life was dull, pointless and all those other words people usually reserve for describing people they really didn't like, and he was getting really fed up with being a nobody. Now he was going to use the fact that nobody ever paid attention to him to his advantage and maybe have a bit of fun in the meantime. He would have to be incognito, unrecognisable, part of the background. Grabbing the keys to his bicycle shed, he took a deep breath and stepped outside. Yes, he could do it.
'Hey, mate! Get a pair of trousers! Oh, and some underwear wouldn't hurt, would it?'
John swore and rushed back inside. So much for going unnoticed — he was wearing nothing but the black t-shirt he had unwrapped earlier, and had been just a little over-keen in getting to his brand-new mysterious assignment. He went and got dressed properly, then remembered to brush his teeth, comb his hair, pick up his mobile and all those other simple things that he had somehow forgotten. Just as he went to leave once more, John decided to put out some milk for the swan, then realised that it probably didn't like milk, especially after its traumatic experience with a bowl of cornflakes. Instead, he put some breadcrumbs and a bowl of water on the kitchen floor and hoped sincerely that ghost swans don't crap as much as live ones. Finally, he rushed out the front door and retrieved his bicycle from the shed, cycled a short way, rushed back to lock the front door and then began his long journey to 31 Basildon Road.
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Pyrodæmon swerved out onto the main road, hitting the kerb as he did so. He'd never driven a tow truck before and while it was actually quite fun, it was also bloody difficult. No wonder that bloke he'd just poached had been so surly about getting paid for his job. Never mind — Pyrodæmon didn't have a soft spot for overweight middle-aged mechanics, or if he did, he was having quite a bit of fun ignoring it. Now all he had to do was get this thing back to Mrs Bewidigeldi's house, and then he could sit down and have a nice bite to eat.
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Far away, this ship is taking me far away
Far away from the memories of the people who care if I live or die
Emily sighed. She wondered if the whole world was feeling like this, or whether it was just her. She started to stare up at the sky, wondering what life was all about and whether there was any real purpose to the whole thing. The whole problem was so important that she didn't notice the mini roundabout ahead until it was too late. Although she slammed on the brakes, she couldn't help but take out the rear wheel of a bicycle that had been steadily working its way across the junction until that point.
'Oh crap! Are you all right?' she called as she jumped out of her Mini and ran over to the concussed cyclist. The cyclist simply moaned something about swans and advertising agencies and then passed out, and Emily noticed that he had a little cartoon alien on his back. He seemed ok — Emily had only been doing about fifteen miles per hour and she suspected he'd already been having a hard day. She put him in the recovery position and called the local doctor.