So, this is Mr Chatable's Short Short stories blog and, as much as it's a way for me to engage with my book buying audience and make them feel that that I will offer other intellectual delectations for free, it also allows me to write shorter fiction for my many fans and give my mind the chance to explore things that would be too small for a book BUT are to big to explain in just a Facebook status update.

SO you can imagine my absolute horror when I created Mr Chatable's 12 days of Christmas and discovered that I'd only posted FIVE,  yes, FIVE short stories on my website, which I think we can all agree is really shocking.  Even I could not believe how few short stories I had posted.  So in order to make up for such a shockingly few amount of short stories I will be re-posting all 4 short stories from my sister's blog PLUS the additional excellent ALONE:  A comic fable.

So from me, Mister Chatable, I hope you all had a delightful Christmas time and go on to have a tremendous new year.

Adieu!

Alone (a comic fable)

“I’m standing on the bridge,

I’m waiting in the dark, 

I thought that you’d be here, by now,

There’s nothing but the rain,

No footsteps on the ground,

I’m listening but there’s no sound,”

  So started the alarm as it did every morning.  Avril from his i-tunes singing softly about how not-isolated she was.  Bradley Thoroughgood loved that tune and usually let him gently coax him into the day, at first occupying his dreams and then placing him smoothly into the conscious realm.  But this morning was different, this morning something was wrong.  He could hear it outside and it was rather unsettling in it’s obviousness.  The birds were too loud.  Bradley didn’t know why it should be that way but their volume was way off.

  The sun was bursting into the room behind the gaps between the curtains demanding he get his arse out of bed and head into work the same as always.  How he wanted to avoid that and just play the day away; but at thirty-two he was no longer in a position were he could.  He needed to work to pay the bills, to make sure he had money for nights out and to impress the ladies.  Ah, the ladies.  His one weakness.  Still at least that meant that his “Facebook” and “Twitter” pages were loaded with female friends and followers.  However before he left for work it was his tradition to listen to some radio toons while making his breakfast.

  Walking downstairs in his zombie state and yawning at exactly the same point as he did every morning, Bradley started to find the birds cheery volume slightly creepy.  Beautiful day it may be but the sound out there was like they were having a party or something.  He got to the kitchen flicked the kettle and radio on.  One gave out exactly the right noise, the other ...Just gave out static.  Bradley looked at the radio, a befuddled look on his face.  He staggered back and flicked at the tuner gently almost like he was coming to the final stages of cracking a safe as he listened intently for any tune ...But the station wasn’t there.  Now he moved the button more intensely, but no stations were there.  Bradley picked up the radio and shook it gently as if trying to wake it up but that helped even less.  He continued to move the dial but as the kettle clicked off, in a ploppingly boiling hurry, the radio refused to present a single tune or station.  Bradley stepped back to look at the device and try and think of a solution as to why the north of England seemed to have systematically fallen off the grid.  

  It was old.  That was it.  He’d had the radio years!  The internal aerial thing inside it must have been faulty or something.  Of course that was it.  Bradley smiled and made himself a coffee.  This morning he was just going to have to put up with the banality of music video television.  He switched on the TV and sat down, sucking on the Kenco extra smooth that slunk down his throat exactly the way it said it would.

...But nothing came on.  No ITV2, no BBC3, no Living, VIVA or Gold.  Television’s global reach had somehow been restricted exactly the same as the radio’s.  What the fuck was going on?  The birds noise was getting so loud at there, but it was that moment that Bradley realised something else even more unsettling.  The rest of the outside world had fallen silent.  Cars, lorries, and even cycles were all missing from the cacophony of every day existence with all sounds of human life Extinguished from the world.  

  Bradley went from his front room and into the street.  There was nobody around.  All the cars had gone.  The people had simply vanished from the face of the planet.  No.  That was too limited, I mean for Christ sake he only lived in Chorley, this may well just be a problem limited to the immediate vicinity with all the folks in the area needing to be evacuated for some reason, but somehow he’d been left behind amid the confusion.

  He headed back inside and picked up his i-phone.  There’d be someone on there on the wi-fi’d world wide web who would assure him that things were okay and he wasn’t going crazy.  He quickly punched the keys to try and make sense of his situation.  “HEY GUYS.  IT’S ME BRADLEY.  WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT. WAS THERE SOME KIND OF EMERGENCY?  WHERE DID EVERYONE GO?  TEXT ME BACK AS I COULD DO TO CATCH UP.  He selected his Mum, Dad, Sister, all his friends, colleagues, former colleagues, old school friends, acquaintances and even his dentist (who he hated) and sent the message out there.  As he watched the messages send out he felt like he was on an island.  Of course the UK was an island, but now it felt like a desert island, or at least a deserted island.  He decided to finish making some breakfast and wait for the messages to roll back in telling him exactly where everyone was, that everything would be okay and not to worry.  He sat down and expected that he’d feel relaxed as he went through people’s return messages, but nothing came.  By now Bradley was getting twitchy ...twitchy ...TWITTER!  There was bound to be something on Twitter or Facebook to say what had happened.  These days people commented on the most banal shit all the time.  There was no way that anything like this wouldn’t attract some kind of mention.  He logged onto the network ...There’d been no new comments on the entire web since midnight.  In fact the further he went afield into all the other message boards the less traffic there seemed to be.  Even on Twitter no new comments had been recorded, no friends, no acquaintances and not even any Z-list celebrities.  The world was telling him that no-one was home.  At the sidebar it announced that the number of people logged in was ...1.

  Bradley’s heart was pounding furiously.  He had seen the network as his window to the world but the lack of any view that came back had disturbed him.  Something had happened, something seemingly catastrophic.  He didn’t know why but for some reason he’d been left behind like some kind of apocalyptic survivor.  He didn’t know what had caused the devastation; 

disease, war, aliens, maybe even vampires, but he wasn’t going to hang around long enough to find out.  Instead he was going to seek out survivors; logic dictated that if he’d survived someone else must have.  He want downstairs opened up his car and headed to the nearest town.

  Usually, like most people, Bradley attempted to make his journey as swift as possible, but this was no ordinary day.  Instead he found himself slowing down, looking own every drive, every road, every turning, just in the the hope of seeing a friendly face, finding another soul who had escaped the rapture.  But all he saw were empty streets.  He drove into town and the same story applied.  The streets were deserted, half-price sales and closing down bargains having no pull to either shoppers or staff.  He stopped at traffic lights not because he needed to, but simply because it gave him an excuse to look around.  Everyone that Bradley knew was gone, the world had changed so dramatically and Bradley knew that he would now have to change with it.  That morning he may have wished to be young and play out and avoid work but this was serious.  He now had to become something new, a survivor in this newly harsh land.  He decided to stay in town and arm himself with supplies.  He loaded the car with food from the supermarket where the doors were strangely left open and all the electrics were still on (Brad assumed that this must be some kind of automated system.) he then went to Millets and snagged a raincoat, penknife, backpack and finally headed off to WHSmiths and took three jotters, a supply of ball point pens (in order to keep a journal) and a selection of books and DVD’s (he had to have something to do, and also a marker and a football in order to create Geoffrey (He figured if it worked for Tom Hanks it could work for him.)  After stops outside his immediate family’s home (again all the doors left open.  They must have left pretty damn quickly!) and calls to their mobiles gave no answers (But they were ringing out so must still be with them?) he set off into the world to find out exactly what the hell had happened?

Bradley Thoroughgood’s Journal

Day 3

Currently staying in York after coming back down from Edinburgh.  The story is repeated wherever I go.  Towns deserted and no sign of people anywhere.  As I’ve travelled the UK over the last few days I’ve already started to notice some significant changes.  Foxes have started to be seen around towns more; I guess as the rodent population get more confident about appearing on public so do their predators.  Deer now move more freely on the roads after figuring out through scent or sound that mankind has left the building.  In spite of their certainty however I search on, in the vain hope that all the evidence to the contrary is somehow wrong.

Day 7

I DROVE A TRAIN YESTERDAY!  I can’t frigging believe it.  One of the smart, superfast trains through the channel tunnel.  Admittedly I was so nervous I only dared to go at fifteen miles an hour for the entire journey.  Took a fucking age of course but at least I can cross it off the list of things to do before I die, although I have to admit, number thirty-one: taking part in a threesome is looking decidedly remote.  I’m in Paris now standing on the balcony of the Hôtel Plaza Athénée, and it’s a weird feeling.  I’m in one of the most luxurious suites in Paris where one can get a glorious view of the eiffel tower and yet it’s just not that enjoyable.  It is amazing how much our mood relies on the company of others.

Day 15

Well that’s France done.  Still no sign of anyone.  Travelled down from Paris through the agricultural region and have spent two days in the Majestic Barriere.  The boats in the harbour bob merrily about, blissful in their idle state.  There was no mass evacuation here and no panicked leaving as if some natural catastrophe headed towards them.  Tsunamis did not break these shores and the isolation I feel is one of discomfort rather than panic.  It’s like there was a crack in the universe and I slipped through.  Not that I can really complain.  The lobster tonight was delicious and the vegetables with lemon herb, pepper and garlic were fantastic.  I was able to go to the local suit place and I dined like James Bond at the hotel’s sea-front restaurant watching the sea slowly change colour as the sun set.  Back home in my real life I could never have afforded a lifestyle like this, and the Aston Martin DB9 that sits down near one of the yachts has still got the keys sat neatly inside like it’s just waiting for me to come along and take it for a spin.  Practically speaking I can’t really afford to ditch the Land Rover I picked up in Paris, BUT, as time isn’t a factor I guess I can take her for a test drive round Spain and Portugal before returning here to re-commence my journey around the rest of continental Europe.

Day 21

The pool is nice here.  To be fair the pool is nice everywhere.  My holiday itinery through Portugal and Spain has been pretty much the same each day, grab some breakfast, drive down the coast, grab some dinner, have a swim for a few hours, grab a long shower, find somewhere to eat, make some food, drive a little further on, find somewhere to stay and a bed for the night.  As times gone on I feel that my priorities have changed.  I left the UK to find someone else out here, now in the quiet of the planet and maybe with 

the expectation of being alone I find I can relax and enjoy the world.  No work keeps me restrained and the world is open for me to explore.  As I feel the water slip over my skin as I dive into the cool waters I wonder who else would ever get to enjoy this?  Rich oligarchs and e-commerce billionaires do have companies to run, things to do, places to be.  We have this incredible world at our fingertips and yet we see so little of it, instead occupying it all the time with busy work.  Before this I’d only visited five countries in my lifetime and thanks to the chance or misfortune of inheriting an entire world I find myself with only the limits of my imagination as to where I can go and who I can be.  As I emerge from the water and the sun hits my back I find myself strangely calm to be in this situation.  So far no vampires or zombies have troubled me; domesticated dogs and cats seem to have gone the same way as the humans who kept them.  While wolves and foxes and rats have become steadily braver over time (I see them practically every day) pets seem to have become extinct at the same time.

Day 50

Jesus Christ!  I have never driven more nervously in my life.  After finishing Spain off and switching from the Aston back to the Land Rover (Boo hoo!  Bye-bye, sweet auto!  I’ll miss you!) I then took into account Italy’s stunning vista’s built on empire, inspiration and conflict over the course of two millennia.  As it’s one of the places on my list of got to go to but never I decided to take my time there.  A drive in the morning, a stay and a stop before moving on again.  As countries go I cannot tell a lie ...it is simply stunning.  From where I sit in England I wonder whether the Italians feel some kind of sorrow knowing that there are no more beautiful places to go.  I spent 20 days there just taking it all in as much as continuing my search, before heading east to the Balkan states, driving through Zagreb and Sarajevo.  NOW, I was conscious during every mile that I was heading through countries and districts torn apart by war.  While I knew that chances were that every road had been cleared of any kind of explosive device ...I did find myself steering clear every time I saw something like roadwork damage on the surface.  Not being from round here I wondered how something that seems so insignificant like a leadership void can spark once peaceful neighbours into killing each other and turning into murderous treacherous enemies?  The buildings are like something from the Village in “The Prisoner”, but when you look closely you can see the points where bullets have left their mark.  While peace may have broken out and the normality returned the scars of such a conflict are still so visible, but not in the people now, at least, but in the landscape they left behind.

  As I left the Europe however I was struck by just how much the world has become just one place.  While some rural areas held true their agricultural heritage, big business and conglomerates had largely infected Europe and 

turned it into a one-size fits all type of continent.  Italy had managed, largely, to keep most of its beautiful buildings standing but the other places I’d seen, well, they were quite samey.  Turkey, thankfully, has proved to be quite different and the middle eastern flavour has crept into the landscape more with minarets and gloriously ornate windows creating a vista that’s right out of “Casablanca” for an old movie buff like me, and I find that I’m able to embrace that change.  Sadly years of hoiday development have somewhat spoiled it with numerous high rise hotels for western tourists adding an unwanted addition to the otherwise sumptuous backdrop, BUT, if you can bypass that you get a real sense of the different history that has taken place here.

  As I sit in a cafe and imagine that Sam and Rick are just about to walk out after collecting another shipment from the treacherous Sidney Greenstreet I ponder the quandary that I’m now faced with.  I could head down now through Africa, visiting all the countries there ...OR move east and roughly do the best I can to find any sign of life, moving ever slowly back home for, well, however long it takes.  If I miss out Africa I could probably make it around the globe in what? ...Maybe a hundred and fifty days?  Whereas if I was to visit every country I’d be gone for well over a year, probably nearer two.  Thinking practically as well, if I get bitten by a mosquito down there without proper treatment it could kill me.  If I am the last survivor on Earth then I guess it’s my responsibility to stay alive as long as I can.

Day 72

Is it a sea, is it a lake?  Well actually it’s both.  It’s called the Caspian sea but it is really just a big-ass lake and Jesus, what a lake?  Geoffrey couldn’t get over it.  There are some big-ass boats there as well.  I was half tempted to get in one of the more expensive one’s as I’d never piloted a boat before.  I decided against it though as my mission to find another living human being is infinitely more important.  So, up towards Minsk, Saint Petersburg and then to Moscow, and what a few days it has been.  Firstly ...It’s fucking freezing!  How the hell and why the hell humanity ever decided to move and settle here in the first place is simply beyond me.  But the other thing that gets me about this place is the fact that, in spite of the hostile environment and weather-hardened people who lived here this land still managed to breed a certain type of tyrant who, time and again, attempted to break the spirit of the people, be the Tsar’s or maniacs or communists or different mixes of the three, but in spite of all of them and their power, cruelty and ambition they were all deposed by a people who just wouldn’t be beat.  Maybe it is the harshness of wind that works its way through the warmest winter coat, or rain that seems to move with a mid of its own underneath the tightest of garments that generated this incredible indomitableness.  Whatever it is it seemed well reflected in the people who are sadly no longer here.

Day 111

CHINA!  

Fucking hell!  I guess in the west we think of Russia and the US (possibly Canada) as being the biggest countries, but China, well, it’s like a continent all on its own.  When I was consulting my maps I purposely hit it low as I didn’t fancy the idea of crossing the ever expanding Gobi desert, although there is a beauty to it, I imagine getting stuck there over night is far less appealing.  The strange thing about China is what I would class as the unseen side of it.  Everyone goes to the wall, but it’s the stuff behind that’s far more fascinating.  The mundane banality of housing and grey dwelling’s contradict the supposed grand view that China likes to cultivate, however, within these provinces of misery there are the occasional moments of beauty, buildings whose purpose or intent are simply unknown to me, yet you can’t help be moved by their quiet eloquence.  Every now and then a big city looms up and the size, scope and plain invention of the Chinese people is revealed as city scapes that threaten to overtake their Japanese counterparts in terms of ambition loom out of the ground like fresh mountain ranges.  Whatever force extracted them from this place has left no-one to tell the tale.  Wild animals now roam where once a proud race held sway.  This must be how the last of the dinosaurs felt, roaming the Earth looking for a companion or a mate that in truth was never going to turn up.

Day 123

BOLLOCKS!  I came all the way up through China, through the desolate country that bred the most successful conqueror who ever lived and all the way back to the edge of Russia.  I know Alaska is just over fifty miles away, but there isn’t a single fucking decent boat that I’d fancy getting me across the sea to America.  The best place to get a boat on this side of the Pacific will be back down in China, follow the coast all the way up to refuel and then make the journey across and then down through to Oregon.

Day 150

It’s been roughly six months and as I travel the globe looking for another soul to spend time with I look at the ball I named Geoffrey every now and then to remind myself I’m still sane.  I know it’s a ball and I am on my own, still looking to find another soul on this planet.  Sometimes, well actually often, it plays on my mind what happened here and what caused my fellow man to simply disappear off the face of the Earth without trace.  To be honest that’s the thing that gets me.  If disease, zombies or vampires had suddenly gained a stranglehold in wiping out the species I’d expect to see remains, corpses, blood drained husks or strewn body parts somewhere across the highways (and they are highways as I’m now in America.)  I travel down to California hoping that something or someone is there as more and more I crave the company of another human being before the thread that is attached to my sanity finally snaps.  Before now I looked on my little tour round the globe as an adventure.  I’m finally seeing as the quest it really is.

Day 189

I elected to avoid South America.  I know, I know it’s a risk, but the same disease risks that kept me out of the southern hemisphere on the continent of Asia has kept me out of here too.  I find myself afraid of dying far more than I ever was in the past.  If I am indeed the last man on Earth then I should do everything I can to survive.  I owe the species that much.  As I dine in the night diner made famous by Edward Hopper I worry about how the hell I am going to get home from here.  I could hijack, or rather borrow, a reasonable sized cruise ship and try and take it back across the atlantic.  There’ll probably be fuel and food enough in there to make the crossing, but at the same time I don’t want to find myself doing a Titanic in the middle of the ocean.  The choices I’m faced with now are stark.  I know there’s no way I’m going back the way I came as I’m not taking another hundred and eighty days or so to get back home.  I can tell you that much.

Day 196

Fucking hell this is shit scary.  I’m on the ship “Brethren of the Seas”.  It’s a cruise ship and after a day of pressing buttons and trying to work through the users manual I finally managed to make it go (Largely because someone had written the codes in the back page inside cover that unlocked the computer system ...Someone somewhere still likes me!)  I have been Captain of this vessel for four days and it’s fucking nerve-wracking!  I have to check the engines every hour.  When I want to slow the ship I send the instructions to the engine room from the bridge, take three lifts down to the engine room and make sure the order is successfully implemented and then hurry back to the bridge, likewise I do the same when I increase speed.  During the day I travel at the highest speed the ship will let me and at a snail’s pace at night.  I’m terrified of hearing the collision Klaxon sound but I have to risk it.  I want to get home and soon.  The ships empty decks make me feel a sense of isolation even more.  


In spite of all the people that once occupied this planet my Dad once told me that everyone in the world could actually fit on the isle of wight and there would still be standing room only.  Maybe that’s where they are?  I think I’ll take a look on my way back, after all there’s no harm.

Day 202

The boat came into view and everyone gave a cheer when they saw it.  A few minutes later Bradley heard the noise, burst into ecstatic tears and let out the ships horn which brought another cheer from the crowd.

  “No fucking way!” said Bradley as he attempted to steer the two hundred metre cruiser into port.  The sea of people made his heart skip and as he pulled into port he couldn’t disguise the relieved tears in his eyes.  After three attempts Bradley managed to get close enough so he could open a door and send over a gantry and make his way across.  The first people he saw were his Mum and Dad.

  “Well done, you found us,” said his Mum, Brenda.

  “This was just an elaborate game of hide and seek?” asked Bradley, incredulously.  “How on Earth did you manage to organise that?”

  “Well it was your Mum’s idea.  She posted it on Facebook and Twitter and before you knew it the idea spread like wildfire and the whole world got in on it,” replied his Dad, Bob.  “Anyway, you’ve found us now so it’s your turn to hide.”

  Bradley looked around at the seven billion people crammed on this tiny island and thought carefully before uttering his next words...

  “You guys!”

The end.

The first book FREE AT LAST: A NOVEL by MIKE LAMBERT & ZOE LAMBERT is still available on Amazon Kindle for £2.29.

Happy holidays to all my readers and a I hope you have a prosperous new year.

http://static3.depositphotos.com/1006011/204/i/450/dep_2046749-Empty-street.jpg

Kitchen Sink Drama

The powder in the back rooms floated in the air like unwanted magic as the brushes whisked just as much into the atmosphere as it did onto the actresses faces.  The make-up artists worked their craft with a fury, spreading all manner of potions and concoctions across the faces of the assorted talent so they would look “normal” in front of the cameras and under the fiery halogens that fried as much as it lit.  Their wardrobes had already been selected, both their characters and mood for the scene at hand. They knew their lines well having rehearsed the previous week and needed no prompting for what they had to say.  The only thing left to the actors was the interpretation, how they read the scene, but Letitia, Tradisha and Brett had been here so many times before that they all knew just how the game was played and how to make the cameras do their bidding ...mostly.

  “Hello, Angels.  How are we all today?” asked Antoine, the Director, mincing his way into the room.

  “Fine,” “Hi,” replied the girls as they managed to fake a smile while still keeping their heads completely still.  Brett ignored Antoine and instead chose to work on his glower while the make-up women moved seductively round him.

  “Okay, people.  Now we are doing episode 3, scene 24 today, okay?” asked Antoine, although it wasn’t really a question.  Antoine wiggled off to today’s set and began barking orders, getting marks laid on the floor so the actors knew where to stand and lighting crew knew how to light the scene.  The start time of today’s scene was 10am and so the crew had been on set from 7am to prepare.  The actor’s turned up an hour later and the uncalm nature of the set became even less calm as Antoine started shouting even more fiercely than he had before.  Eventually however, at around 10:20am a hush came upon the set and that seemed to act as a silent acknowledgement that the first shot of the day was about to take place.

  “Okay, places, people,” whispered Antoine as loudly as he could while Letitia and Brett stood patiently on their marks. “And ACTION!”

LETITIA:  SO, BRETT.  THIS BOY’S HOLIDAY YOU’RE GOING ON ...WHO ELSE IS GOING?

BRETT:  (WHILE PACKING HIS CASE) JUST ME AND THE GUYS.  THAT’S ALL, BABE.

LETITIA:  WHO ELSE IS GOING, BABE?

BRETT: WHAT DO YOU MEAN?  (BRETT BEGINS TO LOOK SHIFTY)

LETITIA:  THAT SLUT, TRADISHA IS GOING, ISN’T SHE BRETT?

BRETT:  LETITIA, HONEY, IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK.

(DOOR OPENS.  TRADISHA ENTERS)

TRADISHA:  WHO YOU CALLING A SLUT, YOU F****** SLUT?”

LETITIA:  IF YOU THINK YOU’RE GETTING YOUR HANDS ON MY MAN YOU CAN THINK AGAIN YOU F****** B****!

TRADISHA:  HE CAN DO WHATEVER AND WHOEVER HE LIKES, B****!  YOU’RE NOT MARRIED TO HIM!

LETITIA:  YOU F******, C******, B****!  I’LL F****** KILL YOU!

(THE TWO GIRLS BEGIN TO FIGHT AND SCREAM WHILE YANKING THE HELL OUT OF EACH OTHER’S HAIR)

  “And CUT!” shouted Antoine.

   “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!” said Letitia, wincing in pain.  “Your rings are caught in my extensions, babe.”

  “Oh I’m sorry, Hon,” said Tradisha as she carefully removed her fingers from Letitia’s hair.  “You okay, Sweet?”

  “Fine,” said Letitia as she straightened up and fluffed her hair out.  Letitia and Tradisha began to chat while Brett merely looked in the mirror and admired his naked torso.

 “Okay, okay, very good,” Antoine began, whilst not raising his eye’s from today’s script.  “Brett, darling, you were divine ...ladies you fell out of shot during the fight so we’ll need to go again.”

  Both women could not hide their looks of disappointment knowing the most potentially painful part of their scene had to be re-shot.

  “Also ladies remember, Tradisha has to be seen to winning the fight first, and then, Letitia, you come back and win, okay?” asked Antoine with a wink.  The make-up women came back on set to add more blusher and lacquer down the hair again whilst the crew tested the light levels.

  “God, I hate working on TV,” said Letitia as everyone fussed around her, attempting to do 15 minutes work in 30 seconds.

  “At least you don’t have to kiss Brett today,” said Tradisha with a smirk.  They both looked back at the “hunk” as he flexed himself in front of a full length wall mirror.

  “God, look at the state of him,” Letitia whispered.  “He looks like they selotaped some pumpkins, mangoes and satsuma’s into a man shape and then sprayed it with even more orange fake tan!”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” chuckled Tradisha with her hand over her mouth.  “It’s even worse kissing him you know.  He’s so Mister body-beautiful that all he eats is Tuna, and his breath ...stinks!”

  “I know.  I left some tic-tacs in his room one time.  He came on set and said he’d got them for ME as a gift!” replied Letitia.

  “Cheeky shit!” said Tradisha.

  “Do you know he’s gay?” asked Letitia.

  “Brett?  No!” replied Tradisha, before being shushed by Letitia.

  “Uh-Huh!  Apparently that’s why he’s Antoine’s favourite because he and Brett are...” said Letitia raising her eyebrows.

  “You serious?” said Tradisha.

  “Mmmm,” replied Letitia.  “They also like to play Priest and Choirboy together.  But that isn’t the worst of it here.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Tradisha.

  “Well, you know the Producer, Greg?” asked Letitia, but even before Tradisha started to nod she had carried on talking. “Well it’s got out that outside of here the Producer is one of those execs that attends certain special adult baby clubs, shitting in nappies and having his arse wiped and stuff.  Yeah, someone saw footage of this on his phone and so that’s why he doesn’t show his face round here anymore.  He’s gay too!”

  “When were you gonna tell me all this?” whispered Tradisha.

  “Well, to be honest it completely went out of mind,” said Letitia.

  “Jesus, Letitia, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this.  When did you find all this out?” demanded Tradisha.

  “Only before.  I found out from the make-up woman,” said Letitia.

  “Really?” asked Tradisha.

  “Honest,” said Letitia.  “Okay?”

  “Okay,” replied Tradisha, uncertainly, before turning back to look at Antoine fawning over the shirtless, Brett.  “Dirty bastards!”

  “Yeah.  Just glad I like girls really,” said Letitia.

  “Not as glad as I am!” giggled Tradisha, mischievously.  They both smiled secretively at each other as Antoine screamed positions and they went back to their initial marks.

  “And ACTION!” 

  The rest of the day passed with one scene after another, commentaries, bloopers and DVD extras all being filmed for the UNCUT release that would eventually litter shelves of charity shops across the country.  Afterwards all Letitia wanted to do was get the grease off her face, slip into her PJ’s and drink red wine while watching “Casualty” but that lifestyle was no longer her choice, instead she hustled over to E4 to be interviewed by some gormless music journalist.  Yet more make-up was plastered on and she was squeezed into an even more ridiculous, supposedly-glamourous outfit.

  “So, Letitia,” began Froydon Ratchet, with a come-on grin that she wanted to punch off his face.  “You’re in the hit reality TV show “Sex In Man City”.  What do you think is the key to its success?”

  “I think it’s because it’s just so real,” replied Letitia, her fake triangular smile flashing perfectly.

Fin


The first book FREE AT LAST: A NOVEL by MIKE LAMBERT & ZOE LAMBERT is still available on Amazon Kindle for £2.29.

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More Christmas treats.  Darn tooting!

Black Night

  As spring warmed the land, winter faded from the memory like recollections of an illness once normal health had resumed.  Longer evenings blessed warmth and sunlight on the days and a once uninviting landscape had been replaced, by a welcoming climate and gamey hospitality to tempt all-comers to take to the streets.  On those streets wandered Michael Howarth and his girlfriend Ellen enjoying the new sensation of freedom from the oppression of winter months.  They could already feel the potential promise that summer was already starting to bring.  

  They were at what was arguably the sweet spot of any burgeoning relationship, which was the four month stage; the time when the excitement is still running through you, making you giddy every day, but long enough to feel safe within the confines of said relationship; although you’re learning new things all the time you also know enough to feel comfortable with each other.

  Ellen held on to Michael’s arm tight and he looked down at her head pressing firmly against his shoulder, her brown ringlets cascading sexily over his shirt.  Just the feeling of her head rubbing against him was making him aroused.  Michael smiled involuntarily. 

  “You look gorgeous tonight,” Michael said to Ellen, feeling her smile before he saw it.

  “You’re just saying that,” she replied.

  “Yeah, because it’s true,” responded Michael, falling for the trap of repeating the compliment so she could hear it again.  In reality women usually got twice as many compliments as men as they always pretend-argued to have it repeated. It was a subtle trick that most men still hadn’t picked up on.  Besides, Michael still had one eye on getting some tonight.  Until he appeared.

  He seemed to come from nowhere...in reality he came from the traffic lights at the junction between Streatham Road and Dorchester street, a black knight that wouldn’t have looked out of place 6 centuries ago.  The stallion was 20 hands high (and trust me, it was a stallion!) but unlike most beasts of that height this was no shire horse.  It had the muscularity of a race horse but everything about it was amplified.  The huge rider on its back caused it no trouble as it strode majestically through the city street.  The horses black coat seemed to repel light, the only trace at all was around its outline, the rest of it showed nothing, but you could almost feel it in the air, where each muscle and sinew was pulling and pushing effortlessly.  As it turned to face Michael it snorted, sounding almost like a growl.

  “What the fuck,” muttered Michael under his breath.  The horse neighed and shimmied it’s head clearly indicating directionality to the immense rider on it’s back.  The rider was covered in a black armour that shined about as well as his horse repelled light, every surface seeming to pick up and reflect every street, car, office window and the last remaining embers of sunlight and exaggerate them.  On his head was an equally resplendent helmet with a slit across the front that presumably was were it’s owner was looking out, straight at Michael.  The knight leant forward continuing to look at him in an eery silence.

  “WE MEET AGAIN, MICHAEL!” yelled the knight.

  “You know this guy?” asked Ellen, fear evident in her voice.

  “Did we go to school together?” asked Michael attempting to try and place the figure.

  “GIVE ME THE TREASURE, MICHAEL!” the knight shouted.

  “What treasure?” asked Ellen, half-scared, half-thinking he’d been holding out on her.

  “I don’t have any treasure,” said Michael.

  “GIVE ME THE TREASURE, MICHAEL!” the knight continued.  “GIVE ME THE TREASURE OR DIE.”

  At that the knight stretched his left arm behind him and unsheathed a sword at least four and a half feet long.  The horse snorted aggressively at Michael again.  Michael tried desperately to rack his mind for the answer as to what treasure the knight was referring to but he had no idea.  Michael was only a computer tech from Bury.  He had no inkling or desire to find treasure and after seeing the knight brandishing his sword at him he had even less inkling than before.  

  “I don’t have any treasure,” Michael stammered.

  “LIES!” screamed the knight, and as he did his horse reared up, it’s front legs pounding the air fiercely in front of it.  Michael turned to Ellen.  Whatever was happening it was not looking good for him, but if he only lived for another few minutes the least he could do was protect her.

  “Ellen, run!” said Michael turning her to face him to make sure the instruction was understood.  Ellen just nodded and ran.  Michael turned back to the knight whose horse had now regained it’s hoofing.  As Ellen darted down a backstreet full of smoking waiters and vents from steaming kitchens, Michael darted in the opposite direction searching out an alleyway with sufficient obstacles as to slow down the gargantuan animal.

  “Shit, shit shit!” spat Michael as he ran through a narrow alleyway zigzagging through a maze of plastic bins containing a mixture of recycling and refuse.  He allowed himself the quick luxury of a look back and saw the knight and the horse stop as it reached the mouth of the alleyway.  Michael allowed his run to slow as the knight halted for a second, the knight then geed up the horse and headed through the alley leaping over the bins, hurtling them in all directions, as the thought of the treasure bypassed any consideration for safety.

  “GIVE ME MY TREASURE, MICHAEL!” the knight fumed as he and his horse made short shrift of the flimsy plastic obstacles.  

  “Why do these things alway happen to me?’ asked Michael as he ran across the street searching out a place where the horse could not go, each alley he went down the horse stopped briefly but then stepped it up a gear down the straight.  Every time he heard the horse’s hooves get closer his heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest, it was then that he noticed it...the suspension bridge. 

  The bridge was designed so two people could pass across it but the weight and power of the horse would make it impossible for the horse to travel across it.  Michael pushed himself to the limit, his legs feeling like they were filling with lead but somehow he had to keep going.  He was fifteen feet away.

  CLA-CLACK, CLA-CLACK, CLA-CLACK!

  Ten feet away.

  CLA-CLACK, CLA-CLACK, CLA-CLACK!

  Five feet away.

  CLA-CLACK, CLA-CLACK, CLA-CLACK!

  He made it.  Behind him, Michael heard the horse’s hooves screech to a halt against the pavement.  Michael breathed a sigh of relief.  There was no way that the horse could make it across such a narrow bridge without risk of falling into the river below. And there was no way that the horse and rider would get out if they fell in.  Michael allowed himself to go from a balls-hard sprint to a light jog as now the need for speed had definitely diminished.  

  CLER-CLANK!

  Michael stopped at the hard metal sound behind him.  There, off his horse and sword in hand, stood the black knight.  Sword outstretched pointing directly at Michael.  Michael shook his head.  This all felt like some cosmic nightmare but he knew it was not a dream.  The knight, six foot five in his black lacquered metal suit began to jog, then to a canter and finally to a sprint towards Michael.  Michael turned and ran.  He didn’t know where he knew the knight from or how, but he didn’t care.  All he wanted was to get away.  He ran over the bridge past startled pedestrians who looked like they offered no support, only sympathy.  None of them would stop the black knight.  Would you?  

  “THE TREASURE, MICHAEL!  THE TREASURE!” the knight yelled again.  Michael darted over Lancaster Road and headed back into the city centre, he had to lose the knight through a combination of knowledge of the centre and awkwardness of terrain.  He was going to lose the knight through the car park, jump from the third floor, onto the elevated walkway and jump down on the split level roofs down to ground level, it was his only chance.

  He ran through the town square and up the main road to the multi-story car park above the bus station.  The fast paced clanking behind him showing no signs of abating.  “This guy’s got muscles like Captain America!” thought Michael as his own breath started to come in shorter bursts.  He ran across the bus lanes and into the station making the steps in seconds, but only after three flights of stairs he heard the same door fling open and that merciless pounding of metal on concrete.  Michael pushed his body as far as it would go.  The third floor beckoned, and Michael dived through the door and onto the ledge.

  In his mind the drop didn’t seem so bad, till he looked at how thin the walkway was and that he would probably fall and break his legs, hips and spine if he missed.  

  “Still, probably hurt less than a sword through the guts,” he countered as he closed his eyes for a second, then jumped!

  His legs connected solidly with the walkway and he rolled like they do in the movies, unfortunately he’d not taken time to take his surroundings into account and rolled straight off the walkway.  

  “AAAAGGHHH!” Michael screamed before his backside hit the first roof that he had hoped to land on.  “Oh!” he said, as he realised he was still intact but merely bruised.  Michael jumped to the next roof and the next before jumping and hitting terra firma.  He turned and could see the knight looking out still from the third level.  Maybe the knight didn’t fancy his chances, maybe he didn’t want to jump, in reality Michael cared little why he was still standing there, merely feeling relief that he was.  Michael turned to head for home and then out of town but then...

  In front of him was the black knight’s stallion.  Holding Michael with his stare.

  CLER-CLANK!

  Michael moved to head down the street to freedom, but the horse darted in front of him and snorted into his face.  

  CLER-CLANK!

  The horse moved closer to Michael and butted him over with his nose

  CLER-CLANK!

  Finally as Michael made a move to get up the horse held him down with it’s left hoof.

  CLER-CLANK!

  “SO, MICHAEL,” began the knight.  “THE CHASE IS OVER!  GIVE ME THE TREASURE AND I WILL SPARE YOUR LIFE.  DENY ME ONCE MORE AND YOU WILL DIE!”

  “I don’t have any treasure, I swear.  I...I don’t know what you’re talking about!” stammered Michael nervously.

  “IF YOU WILL NOT HELP ME, THEN YOU WILL DIE, MICHAEL BANNERMAN!” screamed the knight.

  “Michael Bannerman?” repeated Michael.  “I’m not Michael Bannerman.  I’m Michael Howarth!”

  “A WELL THOUGHT RUSE, MR BANNERMAN, BUT I AM NO FOOL!” shouted the knight as he drew his sword back.

  “What do you mean a ruse?” asked Ellen as she appeared, out of breath, at the street Michael was trying to escape down.  “Michael’s name is Michael Howarth!”

  The knight removed his helmet, revealing a crop of black wavy hair and beard almost as dark as his horse.  Down his left eye ran a scar that had destroyed the pigment in one eye.  He took a closer look at Michael, holding his face in his hand.  Studying every bone structure, every hair, every blemish and every ounce of skin.

  “MMMM, WELL THIS IS AWKWARD!” began the knight.  “YOU ARE NOT MICHAEL BANNERMAN!”

  Michael let out a sigh of relief as Ellen flung her arms around him.  The knight re-sheathed his sword and scratched his beard.

  “ERM ...SORRY ABOUT THAT!’ said the knight.  “YOU REALLY LOOK A LOT LIKE HIM!”

  “I’m always getting mistaken for other people,” replied Michael.  “I tell you if I did have a pound for every time this had happened I would have some treasure.”

  The knight laughed a hearty laugh as Ellen and Michael joined in.  The tension that their chase had built up finally cracking in that moment.

  “OH DEAR.  SO DO YOU GUYS HAVE ANY PLANS FOR TONIGHT?” asked the knight.

  “Well...” began Michael, when a young couple turned the corner.  The man was wearing a green jacket, just like Michael’s, his hair was similar, but slightly lighter in colour; his green eyes were a touch closer together and he was half an inch taller.  Michael and the doppelganger-ish pointed at each other.

  “You’re Michael Bannerman?” asked Michael as he looked at the slightly warped mirror version.

  “You’re Michael Howarth?” said the other Michael as he held onto a woman who looked just like Ellen, but with red hair.  “Wow!  You look just like me!”

  “MICHAEL BANNERMAN!” yelled the knight.  “GIVE ME MY TREASURE!” 

  “Eeep!” said Michael Bannerman as he ran off down Letcherman Street.  The knight, flung himself onto the horse and headed after him.

Fin.

Well dear reader, I know what you’re thinking now.

  “Tis but fiction”,  “No two people could look so alike in face and be of the same name!” I hear you cry.  But this story is based on a truth!

  I too was once stopped, not by a knight, but by two women who knew of a fellow Michael whose look, manner and voice were all a perfect match to myself.  They were as close to me as you are to this computer screen yet could see no difference in the looks of me or my same named doppelganger!  So beware dear readers your double is most definitely out there . . . In fact they may be more like you than you dare imagine!   

The first book FREE AT LAST: A NOVEL by MIKE LAMBERT & ZOE LAMBERT is still available on Amazon Kindle for £2.29.

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