But messiness creeps up on you. It starts with the occasional dropped item. Clothes maybe. The promise of I’ll do it in the morning. The cycle repeats.
At one end of Bobby’s room was a wide screen TV with a video game console underneath. The controller was wirelessly communicating to it from Bobby’s hands, and his hundred-yard stare was only broken by the occasional blink as he shot zombies by the second.
Bobby has wired up his TV to his stereo, and the effect within the game was stunning. Bombs would explode and shake the furniture, and howls of pain from his electronic victims would echo around the room with great effect.
He was doing well against the onslaught of the un-dead, until one particularly vile looking child managed to get a quick bite to the arm, and ended the killing spree with a crunch and a squelch.
Bobby gave a quiet grunt, and pushed reset on the level. This was now the fourth attempt at this particular section, and he was beginning to learn where the dangers were and how to deal with them.
But he was getting tired. He was still recovering from his hospital trip, and staring at the screen too long gave him a headache. Not a normal headache, but a kind of throbbing behind the temples. The kind you get when you have been driving on the motorway at night where there are no streetlights, and you get out of the car at the end of your journey to find your eyes have turned pink.
Time for a break. He flipped the controller out of his hand onto the bed, and lay back with his eyes closed.
He began to doze gently. As his thoughts drifted he sunk down into his duvet. His mind tracked back to the moment by the lake, and the moment he fell.
Something is here. Something is with me.
A sense of darkness enveloped him. He felt as though he was being pulled downwards into nothingness.
Down.
Down.
Fleeting images passed across his field of vision. Something moved in the corner of his eye, and then just as quickly, was gone.
Sounds penetrated the darkness, and let him know something was watching him. Waiting in the hidden world surrounding him.
He woke with a start.
Bobby sat up and rubbed his temples. He reached for the half drunk bottle of coke on his bedside and took a large gulp.
He saw the leaflet on head injuries and picked it up. Nausea, vomiting, loss of balance. Nothing on a deep sense of foreboding.
He threw the leaflet back on the bedside table.
Dusk was pushing the day aside beyond his window, and the light was retiring to give way to the night. Maybe that was it. He thought. Just getting dark outside.
He got up and pulled his curtains closed.
The video game was still on pause, so he picked up the controller once more.
The noise resumed, and he went back to concentrating hard at the screen. He was nearing the same point that he had failed on the last three attempts. The fat man in a suit with a missing arm and a hole for an eye socket was lurching towards him. Bobby quickly aimed and fired between the good eye and the empty socket, sending the zombies’ brains across the floor, the man following behind.
A run down the street at speed allowed him to make several more kills, some zombies barely showing their morbid faces before Bobby was able to blow them to pieces, he knowing where they were about to appear as he played.
He paused the game again. He stretched his neck and grabbed the bottle of coke. After he had mentally centred himself, he hit continue and carried on.
Now here comes the last part. A woman zombie is the first to be dispatched, quickly followed by two teenagers and a zombie dog. Now here she comes, a fast moving child. Bobby focused his eyes directly on the girl. She was weaving left and right, which made her hard to hit.
She was also obscured by a pillar and a phone booth. Timing was everything. You only get a glimpse and one chance to take your shot. Bobby focused hard and willed with all his might to hit the girl. Just as he squeezed his finger hard on the control pad, he felt a surge behind his eyes, not painful, but almost a release of tension leaving his head through his pupils – like a pressure valve being opened to let out the steam. He knew he had hit the zombie child even before he fired off his shot – the timing was perfect.
He felt his heartbeat surge as he watched the graphics move in front of him.
But as he pushed down on the button and mentally willed the bullet to fly from him to the screen, something unexpected happened.
Whuuuumm.
Bobby was sure that he heard a noise. It may have been just in his head, but it was a noise none the less.
The next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion, but in reality only took a few seconds.
Bobby’s eyes widened as the zombie girl’s head exploded, splattering the background with blood and gore.
The game faded to black, and ‘Mission completed’ started to morph onto the monitor.
But a split second later the image glowed white bright. So bright that Bobby had to turn his head to stop from being blinded.
Bobby thought that this was all part of the game. But just as his elation was building in triumph, the TV went off with a loud bang, which made Bobby jump and scream out loud. Sparks flew out from behind it, catching light to some of the comic books on the shelves behind.
He dropped the game controller and jumped to his feet, staring the burning mass, rooted to the spot.
“aaaaaaaAAAAAAA….” A noise that was a mix of panic and surprise came out of Bobby’s mouth, as his brain froze, unable to deal with the situation.
He turned and made for the door, looking for something to do to put out the fire, not having formulated any kind of plan.
As he reached out to grab the handle, in what seemed like and age, it suddenly and just as expectantly flew open.
Steve came bursting into the room. “What the hell was th... oh my God!” He said as he saw the TV and comics in flames. He ran back out of the room and was back moments later with a fire extinguisher. Steve sprayed the gas all over the screen, its white smoke engulfing the room, and quickly brought the fire under control, just as Maggie and Karen came running in to see what all the noise was about.
“Oh my – what happened? Bobby – are you OK?” said Karen.
“I don’t know – it just exploded.” Bobby had turned pale.
“Looks like an electrical fire” said Steve. “Cheap Japanese junk went up in flames. Everyone’s OK – I’ll get on the phone to the store in the morning – see if we can get a replacement. Sorry Bobby – guess you could do without any more scares at the moment huh?”
Karen went over and hugged him tight “I’m so sorry darling, are you OK?” She pulled away from the wrecked TV. Bobby was trembling slightly.
“Come on, let’s go downstairs for a moment. Let your Uncle check it is safe. That OK Stevie?”
“Hmm?” He said, studying the wreckage with a hand on his face.
“I say – I’ll take Bobby downstairs and fix some tea, if you can check it’s all safe for him to sleep here tonight.”
“Oh, yes, yes of course.”
As Karen guided him out of the room, Bobby made the appropriate comments of surprise and relief as they talked. But deep down he knew what he felt. He knew that he had done it. He was sure of that. He had felt it leave his body. He had felt the surge of power.
He didn’t know exactly how he had done it, or if he could do it again, but for that moment he knew he had tapped into something that was going to change the world.
And it felt good.
Nineteen
Maggie and Blake were walking hand in hand along the pier, taking in all of the sights and sounds on offer. They had been dating for about three weeks and it was hard to tell who was the most besotted with who. They stopped and looked at a coconut shy where a red faced man with an anchor and rope tattoo on his forearm was watching a young boy try his best to knock off the fruit from its perch. The boy managed to clip one of the hairy coconuts so that it wobbled and teetered, but did not fall. �
��Close my little man, but no cigar” said the red faced tattooed man. “But hey – You can pick anything from the bottom shelf, anything at all.” The boy looked around the bottom shelf, and pointed out a small furry puppy with sad droopy eyes and floppy ears. Blake was not too sure if it was meant to be a dog or a rabbit. The red faced man with the tattoo handed over the Pluto-Bugs hybrid and the small boy, who, satisfied with his achievement trotted back towards a group of adults standing by the railings, one of who ruffled his hair and gave him words of encouragement.
“Win something for your lady friend buddy?” said the tattooed coconut merchant. Blake realised that he was looking at him waiting for an answer, and that Maggie was doing the same.
This is one of the moments in a young man’s life when you are given a test of your manhood. In the days of cavemen and sabre-toothed tigers, one caveman might challenge another in front of his mate, to prove his dominance and claim the title of leader of the pack, and also claim the mate as his. The looser would be cast from the tribe and humiliated, forced to walk away with his head held low and his proverbial (or actual) tail between his legs. Once the outcast was on his own, it would be known that he had failed the test and other potential mates would snub him in the future, leaving him at the mercy of the sabre-tooth.
Now, here, on this pier, in front of the girl of his dreams and an on looking crowd, Blake was staring down his own Sabre-tooth. “Of course I will” he said with an air of confidence.
“OK – you can go for middle shelf for five dollars and knock one coconut down, or ten dollars but all three must fall. What’s it to be my man?” Another test of bravery.
Blake handed over ten dollars and picked up a ball. As soon as he held the missile in his hand he realised the scam – The ball was virtually made of foam or sponge, and not much heavier than a softball they give children under five to play with. Blake knew that aim was not a problem – He had been set to play professional football until he got injured. But power was a must if he were to stand any chance of knocking down the coconut.
“OK sport.” Sport. “Three out of three and you win the prize of your choice, anything less and it’s the consolation from the bottom shelf.”
Blake took his stance, and wound up his arm to give hit his best. Eye on the target, never blinking he launched the projectile at the brown husky shell, striking it dead centre and knocking it clean off its perch.
“One out of one!” exclaimed the man.
Blake, growing in confidence wound up his second. This time he struck the second just below centre, dislodging it so it teetered, but didn’t fall.
“Ooh too bad – throw the last ball and you can get a consolation” the man said in a patronising way – knowing his prizes were safe.
Blake cursed his aim and wound up a power shot. He hurled the ball at full chat at the last coconut, clipping the left hand side, sending the fruit one way and the softball the other, which was straight into the side of the dislodged nut. There was just enough momentum left in the ball to push it to the edge of the stand. As Blake watched the last remaining soldier rock tantalisingly close to the point of breaking its balance, he held his breath. Finally, it teetered and toppled over the edge, and struck the ground with a satisfying clock.
A small crowd had gathered behind them, who cheered enthusiastically, a couple giving a whoop and a yeah. The red faced tattooed man looked miffed, but with a strained smile said “Well done sport – What would you like?”
Blake looked at Maggie and winked “Go for it.”
Maggie picked an oversized yellow duck and the couple left the coconut shy to a small round of applause. Sabre-tooth slain.
The two of them continued walking along the pier and bought some candy floss from a small ice cream van with Mr Whippy written in large blue letters on the side.
They marvelled at the coin slot machine that seemed to attract so many children which involved adding coins into the top so that they fell in to a collection on the bottom tray, which was sliding back and forth, until the point where an avalanche of coins would ensue, rewarding the winner with not much money in a lot of small change.
They played each other at air hockey, where Maggie proved to be a crack shot, even though Blake held back his competitive streak to help Maggie along he still won causing Maggie to playfully hit him with her stuffed toy duck.
As they reached the end of the promenade, the crowd had thinned to a few people, mainly couples staring out to sea.
The ocean reflected the early evening sun, and looked like a thousand gems sparkling red and orange on the water as the gentle ebb and flow of the currents took them to shore.
Distant ships blinked their lights as they passed each other on the horizon, as they took their precious cargos to distant places around the globe – each one with a story to tell and a journey to take.
They paused at the railings and Maggie wondered if they were the only two people in the world who felt this way, at this moment in time. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around Blake’s neck and gave him his caveman’s reward for winning the trophy. After a while they turned to face the shore, and walked calmly back down the pier, occasionally gazing longingly at each other, darting left and right to each other’s eyes the way lovers do when they are searching for the soul of their partner.
Twenty
“Robert?”
Nothing.
“Robert?”
Some sniggering.
“Mr Finlay!”
Mr Osborne rarely raised his voice, and this time it snapped Bobby out of his trance.
“Yes sir, sorry sir.”
“Can you tell me the answer to the question?” Asked the teacher.
“Erm – could you repeat it, sir, sorry, I missed it.”
The teacher puffed out his cheeks and levelled his gaze at Bobby.
“If you spent more time paying attention and less time staring out of window, you might actually learn something.” He had moved and was standing next to Bobby’s desk. Bobby could tell that his English teacher was upset with him, and that his next answer would be crucial to keeping him out of the head teachers’ office. “Now perhaps you can tell me – What does Macbeth want for himself?”
Without missing a beat, Bobby said, “He wants what we all want. Power.”
Mr Osborne straightened up and dropped his shoulders.
“Go on.”
“Well, he started out with the right intentions, but over the years he became greedy and tyrannical. He became addicted to the power and couldn’t let go.”
Mr Osborne nodded to himself and started pacing around the room.
“OK, but what does that tell us about ourselves? What can we learn from this character?”
Bobby was feeling more sure of himself now, less worried about detention hall.
“That we can all be seduced. We can all start out with the right idea, with the right intentions at heart, but somewhere along the way we get lost, jaded and find it hard to go back.”
Mr Osborne walked away, seemingly satisfied with his pupil’s response. “What do the rest of you think of that? What do...” Mr Osborne’s voice faded into the distance again as Bobby carried on his conversation with the window. He wasn’t daydreaming, he was trying to focus. He was trying to re-capture the feeling he had the previous night when his TV exploded.
“And what of power? Why do people get addicted? Why do we nee...”
Try and remember what you were doing, feeling at the time.
OK, so, you were shooting zombies, yes, OK, and you had a headache. But not the unpleasant kind, the kind you get after you have read a lot, or had to think a lot – almost a nice sensation. This stuff is just a muscle memory. Once you have done it a couple more times it should come easier. You have done it once before. Just relax.
Bobby stared back out of the window. He could see across the courtyard of the school into the classroom opposite, where there was a group of students sat watching a TV. The teacher was sitting on the
cabinet at the back of the room, swinging her legs and looking bored.
Bobby guessed that she had seen that video before. She had probably shown it to every class she had taught for about the last ten years. Bobby focused on the TV. He kept willing it to blow. Pushing it. But all he got was a headache.
One more time. Come on. Just remember the feeling.
“...Comes great responsibility!” Laughter.
“Don’t be a wiseass.”
Push. Push.
Bobby relaxed and for a moment went into himself. He imagined the video game. He imagined shooting monsters. He visualised lining up to take his shot. He tried to recreate the suspense in his mind. The feeling that it was coming. It was about to happen.
He opened his eyes and lined up the TV, and as the moment built inside him, as the energy surged and the momentum came to a point he fired. He threw it out with all his will, imagining it leaving his body and racing towards the innocent TV set across the way.
He braced himself for the impact – the explosion that was about to happen.
But nothing happened. No fireworks. No exploding TV. The classroom continued watching the screen, and the teacher continued to look bored.
Bobby sighed inwardly and started to doubt if it was real – if he had actually done the things he thought he had done. He turned and faced the front of the classroom.
“OK guys – so what about his family? Or his friends? What did Malcolm or Duncan make of the quest for powe...”
Bobby scanned the classroom. Sitting two rows in front and one to the left was Gavin. He was secretly texting on his phone under the desk. He wasn’t looking at the phone, but skilfully typing in his message with the thumb of the hand he was holding it with. He seemed to stop typing. A few moments later the phone of the girl in front lit up. She was also holding it under the desk and she equally as skilfully swiped open the face of the handset and glanced at the message. She brought her free hand up to touch her neck and gently turned her head to give a sideways glance to Gavin.
Fucking dick. Fucking hate you. Why can’t you just disappear or something? What have I ever done to you, you fucking cunt.
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