T is for Time

by Paul Vayro

  Chapter Thirteen

  In Brick’s mind, life contained an injustice the world needed to address: being woken up before the body deemed itself ready. Who decided the world had to wake up at dawn? If dawn couldn’t be bothered to stick to a consistent time he didn’t see why he should. He continued ranting within the confines of his own head as he drifted back towards full consciousness. His nap was coming to a close, but not without a fight.

  Reality slowly defeated dreams, winning the battle for Brick’s focus. It had been helped by Spiritwind’s repeated mischief. The bald one had once more adorned his peer with the required yoghurt bucket paraphernalia. Spiritwind believed his friend would not suspect lightning could strike twice in such a short space of time.

  The hungry man crouched patiently around eight feet away from his prey; bucket firmly on head, spoon in yoghurt, and all senses awaiting any signs of his friend waking. This time Brick wouldn’t be given such an easy chance of escape. What Spiritwind didn’t realise was Brick was fully awake and had worked out exactly what his friend was up to. The seemingly dozing man lay motionless, plotting his response, fully aware his nemesis sat only a few feet hence.

  The foetal position Brick had fallen asleep in had slowly unfurled. His limbs were now stretched beyond the boundaries of the armchair leaving him draped on his back across both arms and the seat. It would make any instant evasion manoeuvres difficult, but not impossible.

  Brick ran through a series of dives and rolls in his head before alerting his body to the sequence he would require very soon. The body wondered who he was talking to because there was no way it could do such things without some form of training. Meanwhile Spiritwind debated sitting back on the sofa. His ankle had started tingling. He could either give up or poke Brick in the ribs to get things moving. As the ankle considered using severe pain to sway the decision a deep breath emanated from the Brick, quickly followed by an attempted somersault.

  The acrobatics hadn’t gone well. A somersault isn’t usually defined as convulsing an inch into the air before landing face first on the floor, but in Brick’s bucket covered mind it had been spectacular. Spiritwind had pieced together enough clues, without the aid of vision, to know Brick was lay prone in front of him, slightly winded. Without mercy Spiritwind released his entire pot in four swift strikes. Brick could only roll around and take the pummelling. Believing his evasive manoeuvres to be dodging the missiles with unerring grace, Brick retaliated with three strikes of his own. Every shot from both combatants had been a direct hit.

  Assuming the victory to be his, Spiritwind stood and raised his arms in a victory salute, turning his back on his friend to bask in the imaginary crowds glow. Brick knew nothing of the presumed defeat and launched his final overloaded spoonful of yoghurt with every winded ounce of energy he had. It struck his opponents bucket at an angle, sending it spinning wildly. Spiritwind yelped in response.

  The bald misfit clasped at the bucket and doubled over in agony just as the room began to shake. The disruption wasn’t enough to dislodge any precariously placed items, but would make you wonder where the previous stillness had gone. It was accompanied by a sound so deep it could only be felt. The Jefferians had fired their Time Displacement Beam; however Brick was only interested in the game.

  “Do I detect the yelp of a man who has forgotten to protect his scalp from bucket burn?” Brick interpreted his opponent’s misfortune to perfection. Spiritwind would usually wear a protective wig to avoid direct contact between his bald head and the metal bucket. Spiritwind believed his victory would be swift and simple and had left the wig in the cupboard.

  “Oooh. Maybe, maybe not. Have you got any ammo left?” The pain seeped through Spiritwind’s words like syrup through a cheap cloth.

  “Did complacency lead to a lack of preparation?” Spiritwind gripped his bucket in pain as Brick teased.

  “Maybe we should call it a draw until we find out what this strange rumbling and shaking is.” Spiritwind gritted his teeth as he negotiated.

  “What shaking and, oh yeah I hadn’t noticed that.”

  “How could you not notice it? I’m struggling to stand.” Spiritwind wobbled without vision to stabilise himself.

  “That’s why my lay down position is so ingenious.”

  “You fell off the chair.” Spiritwind’s fists clenched, along with his face, to release the agony. The urge to rub the top of his head grew unbearable.

  “I think you’ll find I dismounted from the chair.” The rumbling stopped. “Has it stopped or have I gone deaf? Actually I heard myself say that. Or did I just hear myself think it?” Brick lost himself as Spiritwind’s need grew.

  “I’m going to call a halt to the game due to a natural disaster. I’m removing my helmet to check for damage.” Spiritwind removed his helmet and rubbed his head furiously.

  “I think we need to consult the rule book on this one.” Brick removed his bucket and laughed at his friend. He stopped giggling as he sat up and inspected his own helmet. “You’ve covered every inch of it. How could that be? I was evading you like a dodge master.” He moved closer to the bucket before jerking his head back. “More importantly what have you covered it with? That is foul.”

  “What?” Spiritwind picked up his bucket while resting the cold side of his hand on the growing red patch on top of his head. “I’d say mine’s pretty much covered too….woah. That is a smell.” Spiritwind put the improvised helmet back down. “It was the live stuff from the back of the cupboard. It went off last week so I thought we’d better use it.”

  “So how do we decide who’s won?” Brick kept one hand on his nose, more to accentuate the odour than to prevent it.

  “Perhaps we should investigate the rumbling and come back to the buckets?” Spiritwind checked his hand for blood. He was disappointed to find nothing. A heroic trickle is always good for the image.

  “Okay, but we will find out who won. Two unresolved games in two days will not look good in the official records.” Brick spoke defiantly. No defiance was required.

  “We both agreed the first game was a draw.”

  “Did we? Did we really?” Brick still yearned for his sock to be cleaned.

  “Let’s not get in to that again. Should we go outside and investigate this disturbance?”

  “Why outside?” Remnants of Brick’s defiance remained in his tone.

  “Because we’re inside and we don’t know what’s going on, so we may as well go outside and see if that helps. Plus there’s no yoghurt making me feel a little sick outside.” Spiritwind’s logic seemed watertight.

  “I’ll agree, but only because I can’t think of a reason to disagree.” Brick wanted his reason made clear.

  “We’re agreed then.”

  The duo headed to the front door. Brick grabbed the handle with one hand and the lock with the other, neither moved. He tried again, still nothing.

  “The door’s playing up.” Brick turned for assistance.

  “In what sense?” Spiritwind believed specifics may help.

  “In the sense it won’t open. How many ways can a door play up?”

  “Might not close properly?”

  “It is closed though.” Brick had a point.

  Spiritwind took over the handle and found the same problem. He looked at the door from several angles and scratched his chin. The throbbing red patch on his head stole all sense of credibility from his efforts to look like an authority on the matter.

  “What do you think?” Brick tired of the charade.

  “Maybe there’s a big, strong man on the other side holding it shut.” It wasn’t the reply of a professional.

  “Maybe there’s a really small guy wedged beneath it?” A counter diagnosis emerged.

  “Maybe a really big man has wedged a really small man underneath it?” Spiritwind offered a compromise. The two giggled for a few moments before congratulating each other. Brick wiped his eye and sighed before speaking.

  “Shall we go outside then?�
� He turned to the door, oblivious to their previous efforts.

  “After you.” Spiritwind awaited his friend’s realisation.

  Brick encountered the problem again. He looked knowingly, shrugged with his eyes and pointed at the door. Spiritwind offered a solution.

  “We need to check nothing’s in the way. Have a look through the letterbox.”

  “Not after last time. I told you I’m never putting my face near that thing again. We’ll go upstairs and look out the window. Check for men of mismatched sizes playing tricks on the neighbourhood.” Brick turned triumphantly and marched up the stairs. “To the upper floor.” Spiritwind followed, towards his friend’s room.

  Brick strode purposefully into his room and straight to the curtains. Peering through the window behind them would confirm or deny their theory. He intended to fling the cloth barrier open with a well practised flourish. He put all his effort in to the display. It wasn’t often his flings had an audience to appreciate them, even if it was only Spiritwind.

  Jabbing his fingers at the point the curtains overlapped, Brick quickly discovered their new static nature. Without time objects had no dimension to achieve motion. Falling to his knees, Brick mouthed his pain without sound. His hands stayed firmly in front of his face, afraid to move in case it was the last thing they did. Spiritwind ignored his friend’s plight and investigated the curtains. An exploratory poke confirmed they were rigid.

  “Your curtains are like stone. Why would you have such firm curtains?” Spiritwind looked down at his friend, popping a cherry bomb in his mouth while enquiring.

  “I don’t know.” The reply came in the form of a prolonged whimper.

  Spiritwind left his friend to recover and further investigated the oddness. Poking various objects quickly revealed a theme to the room. While Spiritwind worked on his thesis the feeling returned to Brick’s fingers. He could think of nothing but vengeance against the curtains that had wronged him. Jumping up, Brick searched for his hammer. He felt owning such a thing allowed him to claim he had a tool kit, an essential part of any mans' journey to adulthood. Spotting the handle beneath a pile of clothes, Brick stormed across the room to retrieve it. Taking a firm grasp of the bludgeoning device his mind turned and began the journey back to the offending house ware, unfortunately his body stayed attached to the hammer, and the hammer stayed attached to the floor. Brick’s refusal to release his grip saw him join it on the carpet. Spiritwind peered over his friend and revealed his conclusion.

  “Everything’s stuck. Nothing will move.”

  “You tell me this now.” Brick struggled back to his feet. “Seen as you know everything why do I keep ending up on the floor?”

  “It’s because you’re tall. Tall people are clumsy; something to do with limbs and not knowing where they are.” Spiritwind turned and left the room. Brick closed his eyes and tried to locate all his limbs. He briefly lost his left elbow before Spiritwind interrupted.

  “Did you close the kitchen window last night?”

  “Of course; I take our security incredibly seriously.” Brick couldn’t remember.

  “I was just thinking it would be quite useful if you hadn’t, could be the only way out.” Brick shot past Spiritwind. The blur was followed a few moments later by a smug whoop. The window was open.

  “Feel free to thank me and my incompetence whenever you’re ready.” Brick cried back from the kitchen as Spiritwind approached it. By the time he entered, Brick was dancing outside.

  “Join me and breathe raw freedom. I’d forgotten how fresh, air could be.”

  Spiritwind clambered on to the draining board to reach the window. “You don’t think you’re exaggerating a little.”

  “Of course I am. Where’s the fun in depicting a situation realistically?”

  “Fair point.” Spiritwind placed one foot on the tap and pushed himself through the window. Landing without any hassle he straightened his clothes, dislodging a fizzy chew from his pocket in the process. “Shall we go and investigate then?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “I’d always ask. I’m polite like that.”

  “You’re never polite.”

  “Politeness is subjective to culture…….”

  The bickering continued as the adventure began. Where it would end was of greater concern to humanity and all its fans.

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