Written by Nick Hobbs
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Tags: The Spoof

Tuesday, 2 November 2010

image for Chapter 27: The Awakening thud....eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

"What do we do now, do now, do now?" Charpa's voice faded from thought as conciousness dawned.

It always rains in Wales.

The rain was nothing, if not persistent.

Drumming down hard on the white porcelain, each droplet creating it's own micro-storm, within itself.

It was unrelenting, never changing tempo, never letting up. The hungry gurgle of a drain, lapping up the pools of water created by this biblical onslaught, as they rushed to it's parched mouth.

'Hang on--- porcelain?' he thought, puzzled.

Through blurred vision, Jean Le Fete blinked like a new born baby seeing light for the first time, trying hard to clear the sting of water from his eyes.

A dull pounding ache began to make itself known at the back of his head, like an impatient dog wanting to be let in. "What the f-?" he began to say, then he saw the blood.

It stained the running water crimson beneath him, as he hoisted himself on to all fours.

He surveyed the area and quickly realised he was in a shower cubicle. A large egg sized lump on his crown, coupled with a rather unpleasant smear of blood on the wall, told him that he would be feeling this dull pounding for a while to come.

He pressed the control button on the shower and the water stopped instantly, suddenly bathing the room in silence. Apart from that 'thump, thump, thump' in his head. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel from the rail.

Wrapping himself, he moved to the bathroom door and gently, stealthily, he opened it ajar, and peered out.

Nothing.

Well, I say nothing, what I mean to say is, nothing but the room, with a bed. Complimentary chocolates still on the pillow.

'That's right,' he thought, 'I'm staying here, on business, I remember now, I was reading Spoofs last night and decided to have a 'wake-me-up' shower!'

As fragments began flooding back, he realised the evenings events. He remembered the several glasses of wine, he remembered a film (was it 'Pirates of the Wherever'? Or 'The Matrix'? Couldn't tell, doesn't matter), he remembered reading a few rather funny spoofs from his friends, that motley bunch of renegade spoofers from accross the globe, and that one from Birbee about Dr. Who! That was a good one.

Then, feeling groggy, he'd gone for the shower. Next thing he remembered was reaching for the 'Oracle' shower gel. He'd stupidly left it by the hand basin, it was a bit of a stretch, and then....

Oh.

That was it. He remembered the tell tale squeak of wet foot on porcelain. Then the resultant dull thud, immediately followed by a high pitch whine in his ears.

And then blackness.

Dark, comforting blackness.

'What an idiot,' he thought to himself.

After finding the cabinet, and the first aid kit, he cleaned and dressed his wound. Then he made himself a cup of tea.

After dressing, he walked, steadily, into the sofa area of the room. Everything was still a little wobbly. If he turned his head too fast, it put him in mind of a fruit machine. His head would stop, but the world would keep spinning around him for a while afterwards.

His laptop was sat, where he'd left it, still on The Spoof home page. A small symbol flashed, warning him of an awaiting message, within the wires and circuits of the electronic brain. His copy of Dante's 'Divine Comedy', dog eared and much read, lay beside it.

He gently shook the half-memories of the previous evening from his mind. Attempting to loosen up. Still that 'thud, thud, thud' of pain in his head persisted.

He sipped his tea, and moved towards the window.

It was dusk, and the street lamps were blinking into life. From his vantage point, looking down at the street, Jean Le Fete pondered on why it was so quiet.

Not a car in sight, other than those parked along the street. And parked badly, if truth be told.

Infact, and accepting that he was no detective, he'd almost say they were not parked at all. More, abandoned! Left where they had rolled to a halt.

Surveying the scene, his dented brain processing what he was seeing with what he was telling himself, he suddenly noticed it.

It was at the end of the street.

It had been motionless up til now, but it was on the move. Oh, it was most certainly moving now. Towards the hotel. Rolling, bouncing, picking up speed.

A huge, 8 ft spherical, orange ball with the words 'Property Of Mark Lowton' stencilled on it...

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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