Saturday, 3 December 2011

Long time, no speak.

Sorry its been a while, I was kidnapped again. For weeks, I've been kept prisoner in a dark, squalid dungeon, allowed out only occasionally to judge village fêtes.
Day after day, I could hear them outside, assembling the latest fête, setting up stalls and tents, preparing cheeses for my pallet, arranging gladiola for me to consider.
 Then, they would drag me out of the dungeon kicking and screaming, and when I acquiesced to their demands, pile assorted crap before me for my judgement. Without care, I would hand out ribbons and trophies, awards and cash prizes, always under the title of the 'Mayor of Funville'. But I was no elected official, nor was I fun.
 After God knows how many fêtes, I resolved to escape or die. Half starved; they dragged me out of the dungeon to judge a display of dioramas. Small town squares, with churches and little, Victorian shops, that sort of thing. After seeing three or four, I was dragged, in my Mayoral garb and handcuffs, before a rather stunning display. Lifelike, scale replicas of a Church and row of shops shined out at me, above a complex reconstruction of the London Underground, a reproduction as stunning as it was out-of-place. 
 I turned to the creator, a boy of 9 or 10.
 "How... How did you create this, surface dweller?" I asked slowly, words inconsiderate strangers in my mouth.
 He looked at me coldly, the level stare of a serial killer, and replied in the silky voice of an angel:
 I looked at the diorama again. In the forecourt, teams of mice in period clothing were going about their business like snouted midgets, selling tiny wax fruit and buying new suits.
  It was beautiful. For the first time since I had been captured, I cried. I dropped to my knees and sobbed, tears streaming through the filth on my face and spilling dirtily onto my Mayor's sash. 
 One of my captors stepped up to me in time, and dabbed my face dry. 
 "You want your freedom?"
 I nodded, tears still trickling downwards.
 "You may have it. Destroy this town, and it is yours."
 I shook my head.
 "No. I will not do as you ask. The mice are innocent."
 "They are not innocent. No-one is innocent. These mice are guilty of sins before God and their fellow man. Strike them down. Take this sickle."
 His hand extended towards me, offering a small frying-pan that was, amongst other things, not a sickle.
 "No! I cannot!" I said. Not least because my hands were still tied behind my back.
 "Then you are not fit to be the Mayor of Funville!" The man shrieked.
 I shrugged. "I never wanted to be Mayor." I said at length.
 "Really? Oh, cool. Right, on your way then." He said, untying my hands and stripping me of my mayor's gownage.
 I got to my feet slowly. The mice, having gathered to watch me decide their fate, applauded and cheered. One offered me a shoe, but I didn't take it because it wouldn't go with my dungeon rags and was very small. Flexing my arms, I stretched out and left.
 The mice watched me go. Then, after I was out of site, they turned on my captors and devoured them. Such are the wages of sin.

No comments:

Related Posts with Thumbnails