There is a school of thought that postulates that there is little of no difference between religious fundamentalists and Star Trek fans. That both suffer from a narrow tunnel vision that doesn’t allow them to see the benefit of anyone elses point of view, that keeps them isolated from the rest of society and heaps scorn upon them from the uninitiated. Although Heather was now standing outside the lads flat, getting increasingly damp, waiting in severe vigil for Loz to ablute so she could exorcise the vileness as it passed from his body, it wasn’t her presence that Loz would have been worried about, not if he had seen her bedroom.
Heather had never quite managed to make if off of campus. Nobody was quite willing to share a house with her so she had ended up back in halls of residence not too long after leaving them. Resembling part of the set design for Prisoner Cell Block H, Heathers room consisted of a bed (with graffiti proudly proclaiming “Darren’s sperm marathon ’92” just above it), a small sink a a wardrobe. Every other available space, including the window, was covered in phtographs or drawings of Loz and pieces of scripture written in a meticulously neat script. Comparatively, she had already done the equivilent of learning Klingon and building her own replica of the ENterprises bridge. This did not bode well for the Ginger Warrior.
By the time the lads reached the flat the light but persistent drizzle had turned into a damp and clinging fog. Beads of mist hung in the lads hair and also in a pair of beards. Harry pocketed his wrappers for future examination whilst the other two disposed of their meal leftovers in the wheelie […]
“There appears to be a pigeon attempting to get in through the window. Shame its shut.” observed Alex, making a brief return to lucidity. The pigeon hurled itself at the window again, determined to gain entry at all costs. “That demented homing pigeon desperately wants to get in here doesn’t it?” asked Loz, observing the […]
The cemetery was behaving itself. It was midnight, the witching hour, and precisely nothing was happening. There was no ethereal mist, no unearthly glows, no furtive scurrying figures and definitely no stirring from the dead who currently resided there. All in all it was a pretty normal state of affairs. The cemetery was an old […]
“De de de deee, de de de deee, dede, dedededeeeeeeeeeeee!” wailed the electric guitar in a close approximation of Guns N Roses Sweet Child O Mine. Jim stood in a magnificent rock pose, legs akimbo and guitar hung low in a proper Rock God manner. The effect was only slightly spoilt by the garden fence […]
Thought I’d have a stab Josies writing workshop this week. A bit of fiction based on the trigger word “Escape”. Since it was International Towel Day earlier this week, the last line is a Douglas Adams tribute in case you were wondering. Comments welcome please. The echo of feet slapping on stone cannoned ahead of […]