Written by Skoob1999
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Wednesday, 20 July 2011

image for Miserable (Not To Be Confused With Stephen King's 'Misery') Part 2 On The Whole, He'd Have Preferred Cornflakes

My first morning of being nursed by a raving lunatic.

Blodwyn brought me breakfast in bed - not that I had the option of getting up. I had great difficulty moving my lips, let alone my legs.

"Here you are Bach. I've brought yew yewer breakfast is nit," she cheerfully chirruped.

She thrust a plate at me. I was in no position to refuse her 'hospitality.'

"What is it?" I asked.

I couldn't work it out. There seemed to be a fried egg in there, some skin, a portion of something lumpen, some pellet like things, and what appeared to be sausages in a red sauce.

"It's a full Glendowr," she said. The mole on her cheek appeared to be crawling across her face like some hairy bug. I was quite alarmed, but tried not to show it.

"And...what, exactly goes into a full Glendowr, Blodwyn?" I asked.

"Is yew thick or what Bach, isnit? It's a full Glendowr - self explanatory yew nob head. What it is, right, is a fried albatross egg, pan fried rat skin, microwaved frog spawn, deep fried compacted cockroaches and boiled pigeon guts in pulverised fox brain sauce. It's the only way to start the day. Isnit."

I pushed the plate away.

"Something wrong, Bach?" Blodwyn asked.

"I can't eat this," I said.

"What? Are yew taking the piss or what?" Blodwyn raged. "Yew wouldn't get grub of this quality on the ferking NHS matey me laddo isnit."

Her face hardened, to the point where she looked like a young Mike Tyson at a pre-fight weigh in.

"Yewl eat that Bach - or I won't be shooting yew up with smack today isnit!"

Smack?

It all became clear.

I could only gawp at the full Glendowr.

"Yew daft bastard!" Blodwyn hissed. "It's a full Glendowr. It's not really all that horrible shite I just said. It's just egg, bacon, black pudd'n, sausage and ketchup."

Smack?

"Blodwyn," I ventured. "What do you mean by 'smack'?"

The beast stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips, fixing me in the full glare of her lazy eye.

"What do yew mean, what do I mean by 'smack'?" she snarled. "Apart from stating the bleeding obvious. By smack, I mean smack. The bleedin' brown stuff what I gets from Dai the Dealer, down in the village Bach is nit."

My mind reeled. I felt like somebody had hit me over the head with a brick.

"You've been giving me heroin?" I croaked.

She pursed her lips before responding.

"Course not heroin, yew silly bugger. It's just smack. Won't hurt yew Bach. Everybody in the village is on it. We all gets it off Dai the Dealer. Does wonders for pain, it does. Is nit."

I was dumbfounded. Convinced I was going crazy - the car, the snow, the rolling over and over, the pain, and then the fugue. Somehow, things started to snap into place. The accident. I'd been found by this mad mental beast of a woman, and...kidnapped?

I should have been in the hospital, not taken to some nutter's bedroom and cranked full of heroin. I looked up and saw Blodwyn, still scowling, face like a piranha...

"Eat your full Glendowr, or there'll be no smacky smacky for you today boyo."

I looked at the plate. The stuff floating on it was beyond description, but I was ravenous. Blodwyn just stood there glaring at me, the ghost of a smile hovering on her lips.

I knew I shouldn't have, but I got stuck in. But I won't gild the lily here - it was slimy,nauseating garbage, and to this day I have no idea what the hell was in those sausages, but it didn't taste like any meat I ever tasted.

It surprised me, no less than anybody else, but somehow I got through it. When I finished I laid back against the pillows, feeling like somebody had let a giant octopus loose in my belly.

I closed my eyes in a bid to fight off rising waves of nausea. I gagged a little, but eventually things seemed to settle down.

"Look what I got, Bach," I heard Blodwyn say. "Got it mail order isnit. I love yewer Martin Shuttlecock novels Bach. He's a birrov a pranny hisself, burriz Missus seems really nice. I loves the Shuttlecock books I does."

She was holding a copy of the penultimate Shuttlecock novel, the last one to be released by the publisher.

That was a nice thing for her to say.

"I hope you like it," I said.

"Oh, I'm shewer I will. I loves the Shuttlecocks, me. Dunno what I'd do without the Shuttlecock books to brighten up the day. He's a right tool mind, burriz wife is a right cool half back. No matter what he does, she doesn't get fazed. Not even when he's bein' a proper twat."

She held the book aloft like a trophy.

It was then that the reality of the situation hit me.

This was life imitating art. Oh for fuck's sake...I'd been involved in a horrific accident, and hauled away from the scene by a lunatic who just happens to be my number one fan. Exactly like the Stephen King novel.

My mind reeled.

Blodwyn, in the short time I'd known her, gave off the impression of being completely and utterly mad. And just like in the King book, she was a big fan, if not the number one fan...

How would she take it if she found the attache case with the combination lock containing the manuscript of the final novel in the Shuttlecock series? The one where I killed off Martin and Anne in a horrific accident...and the first draft of my new novel, a serious tome about a Cumbrian beekeeper and his burgeoning romance with a Sherlock Holmes loving librarian...

She'd probably kill me.

Of that I was reasonably certain.

I realised somewhat sickly, that even if I survived this ordeal and wrote about it, I'd have Kings lawyers breaking my door down with charges of plagiarism...

But I never really got the chance to think things out. Before I could react, Blodwyn had stuck a syringe into my arm, and was shooting me full of dreams.

My head spun with the rush, then there was the calm, dreamy interlude...broken only when I saw Blodwyn brandishing the attache case, and her lips twisted as she said something about getting into it.

"I don't know the combination..." I sighed.

"Then I shall Manchester it!" she announced. "Break the bugger open with a hammer and chisel, is nit!"

My heart sank and I drifted off into dreamland again...

More as he gets it...

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

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