Just Doomed!
Page 4
100. You are starving to death and dying of thirst on a desert island when you discover a really old-looking bottle in the sand. You pick it up, rub it and a genie comes out and grants you three wishes, but instead of wishing for food, water or even a way of getting off the island you wish for an Xbox, a skateboard and a full-size billiard table.
101. You are trying to write a list of 101 situations in which somebody is clearly doomed and no matter how hard you try you can’t think of anything for number 101 because you’re completely exhausted from thinking up the previous 100 and even though you were relatively young when you started you’ve been working on it for so long now that your memory, eyesight and hearing are failing, hair is growing out of your nose and ears, you are getting weaker by the moment and it’s getting harder to work up the energy simply to breathe—let alone finish this stupid list—because, in fact, you are now 122 years and 163 days old and the oldest person who ever lived was 122 years and 164 days old and therefore you are doomed … completely and utterly doomed.
You know when you have one of those perfect moments where everything is just … you know … perfect?
Well I’m having one right now.
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the breeze is blowing and my hair is looking great.
But wait, there’s more!
I’ve also got a double-scoop ice-cream with sprinkles and chocolate flakes and I’m just about to take my first lick.
I wish this moment could last forever.
But, of course, it can’t.
The sun is too hot and the ice-cream is already too soft for that.
I have to take my first lick soon or there’ll be nothing left.
Okay.
Here goes.
Initiating first-lick preparation sequence.
Ice-cream in front of face?
Check.
Mouth open?
Check.
Tongue extended?
Check.
All systems go.
Beginning countdown …
Five …
Four …
Three …
Two …
One …
My tongue is micro-millimetres away from extreme pleasure when I hear shouting.
‘Hey, Andy! Andy! ANDY!’
Oh no.
Abort countdown!
Abandon first-lick preparation sequence!
It’s Danny Pickett … the last person I want to see right now!
He’s going to want a lick of my ice-cream. And not just a little lick either. If I know Danny it will be a big slobbery saliva-drenched lick.
I can’t take that risk.
Initiate emergency ice-cream-hiding sequence immediately!
Hands behind back?
Check.
Innocent look on face?
Check.
Staring into distance pretending I haven’t seen Danny?
Check.
‘Hi, Andy,’ says Danny.
‘Oh, hi, Danny,’ I say. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘Are you kidding?’ he says. ‘I thought you would have heard me. I’ve been yelling at you for ages.’
‘How come?’
‘I wanted to know if I could have a lick of your ice-cream.’
‘What ice-cream?’ I say.
‘The one you’re hiding behind your back,’ says Danny.
Darn! Danny’s getting smarter all the time.
‘Oh,’ I say, bringing it back out. ‘You mean this ice-cream?’
‘Yes,’ says Danny. ‘That ice-cream. Unless you’ve got more than one back there!’
‘No, that’s it,’ I say. ‘That’s all I’ve got.’
‘Well?’ says Danny.
‘Well what?’
‘Can I have a lick?’
‘No,’ I say.
‘Why not?’ he says. ‘I’m your best friend, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, of course you are,’ I say, ‘and that’s exactly why you can’t have a lick.’
‘I don’t get it,’ says Danny frowning.
‘Because I’m sick,’ I say.
Danny studies me closely. ‘You don’t look sick,’ he says.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I say. ‘That’s one of the symptoms.’
‘Oh, really?’ says Danny suspiciously. ‘And what are the other symptoms—you suddenly get really greedy and don’t feel like sharing? And what’s the cure? No, don’t tell me … let me guess—a double-scoop ice-cream with sprinkles and chocolate flakes, to be eaten all by yourself? Gee, I wouldn’t mind catching that disease! Here, gimme some germs!’
He tries to snatch the ice-cream out of my hand.
But I’m too fast.
‘Don’t be an idiot, Danny,’ I say. ‘You can make fun all you want but I really am sick.’
‘Yeah, right,’ says Danny. ‘What have you got? Lack-of-generosityitis? Or is it greedy-gutsatosis? Or maybe it’s a serious case of I-don’t-want-to-be-your-best-friend-anymore-because-I’d-rather-have-a-whole-ice-cream-to-myself-than-share-it-with-my-best-friend-like-a-true-best-friend-would? Is that it? Is that what you’ve got?’
Tears well up in Danny’s eyes as he finishes his big speech.
He’s right of course.
I am being greedy.
And I’m not being a true friend.
‘All right, Danny,’ I say. ‘You win. Here you go … have first lick.’
‘Are you serious?’ says Danny, wiping his eyes. ‘Do you really mean it?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But just one lick, okay? A little lick.’
‘Sure, Andy,’ says Danny. ‘Just one lick.’
I hold the ice-cream up to his face.
Danny tries to take it from me but I shake my head.
‘Uh-uh,’ I say. ‘I hold it.’
‘What are you saying?’ says Danny, tears beginning to well up again. ‘That you don’t trust me? Is that it?’
‘Of course I trust you,’ I say. ‘I’d just prefer to hold it, that’s all.’
‘You don’t trust me,’ says Danny.
He’s right. I don’t trust him. But I can’t tell him that. And the longer we argue the more the ice-cream is going to melt. I’ve got no choice. I have to trust him.
‘Okay, okay,’ I say. ‘Here. Hold it! Lick it! Just hurry up or there’ll be nothing left to lick!’
‘Thanks,’ says Danny, taking the ice-cream from my hand. ‘You won’t regret it.’
‘Just one lick, okay?’ I say.
He nods. ‘Sure, Andy,’ he says, staring at the ice-cream as if he’s hypnotised. ‘Just one lick.’
He brings the ice-cream up to his mouth, extends his tongue and then opens his mouth and bites off the entire top scoop.
Yes.
You read that correctly.
The entire top scoop!
‘Danny!’ I yell. ‘That wasn’t a lick! That was a gulp! You gulped a whole scoop!’
‘Mmmph! Mmmmph!’ says Danny, his mouth so full of ice-cream he can’t even speak properly. He hands the cone back to me.
‘I can’t believe you did that!’ I say. ‘You ate the whole scoop.’
‘Well, I didn’t want you eating too much ice-cream,’ says Danny. ‘Not when you’re sick. My mum says it’s not that good for you.’
‘Yeah?’ I say, clenching my fist.
‘Don’t do anything you might regret,’ says Danny, backing away. ‘We’re best friends, remember? And you’d better eat the rest of that ice-cream. It’s starting to melt.’
I look at the ice-cream.
He’s right. Little white trickles are beginning to run down the sides of the cone.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ I say to Danny, but he’s already gone.
Never mind.
Life’s not so bad, really.
The sun is still shining. (Well, burning a little, really, but on the nice side of burning.)
The birds are still singing. (Well, not so much singing as squawking, but on the nice side of squawking.)
And I’ve still got a single-scoop ice-cream with sprinkles and chocolate flakes. (Well, the sprinkles and chocolate flakes aren’t there anymore … they were on top of the scoop that Danny ate, but I’m not going to let that upset me.)
I’m just about to take the first lick of my remaining scoop when a vision of loveliness appears in front of me.
A vision of loveliness even more lovely than a single-scoop ice-cream.
Yes, that’s right.
Lisa Mackney.
Lisa the-most-beautiful-girl-in-the-world Mackney.
And she’s standing in front of me, staring.
And who could blame her?
I’m good-looking, rugged and I’ve got great hair … well, today anyway.
But she’s not staring at me.
She’s staring at my ice-cream.
I wish she’d look at me like that.
But, hey, maybe she would if I offered her a lick of my ice-cream.
Then she’d see what a great guy I am. Not only all that stuff I’ve already mentioned but generous as well.
Here it is.
Here’s my chance!
Here’s my chance to be a hero and make Lisa fall in love with me once and for all.
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the breeze is blowing and Lisa Mackney is about to become my girlfriend.
Here goes.
‘Hi, Lisa,’ I say.
‘Hi, Andy,’ she says, not taking her eyes off the ice-cream. ‘I wish I had an ice-cream.’
‘Have some of mine,’ I say.
Her eyes widen, she looks at me briefly then returns her gaze to the ice-cream.
‘Really?’ she says.
‘Of course,’ I say.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ she says. ‘Maybe just one lick …’
‘No problem,’ I say, handing her the ice-cream. ‘Go for it.’
Obviously, when I said, ‘Go for it,’ I didn’t really mean go for it—I actually meant: ‘Just one lick.’ I thought Lisa would understand that but, unfortunately, no, she’s really going for it.
‘Mmmm,’ she says, closing her eyes. ‘Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm …’
‘Lisa?’ I say, looking at my rapidly disappearing ice-cream. ‘Lisa?’
‘Mmmmmm?’ she says, not even opening her eyes.
‘Can I have my ice-cream back?’
Her eyes slowly blink open as if she’s waking from a dream. She hands me the ice-cream. ‘Mmmm, thanks, Andy,’ she says. And with that she walks away, leaving me there in the hot burning sun, with seagulls screeching all around me, holding a melting scoopless ice-cream cone.
Never mind.
The scoops might be gone but I still have a cone full of ice-cream.
And, although there are no chocolate flakes or sprinkles left, there is plenty of crunchy cone to enjoy.
I raise the cone to my lips and am just about to take my first nibble when it is suddenly snatched out of my hand.
‘Hey!’ I say, turning around to confront the ice-cream thief and coming face to face with my sister Jen.
‘Well, thank you, little brother,’ says Jen. ‘I don’t mind if I do.’
‘Give it back!’ I say.
‘Give me one good reason why I should,’ says Jen, holding it up out of my reach as I try to grab it.
‘Because it’s mine!’ I say.
‘Where’d you get the money?’ she says.
‘I found it,’ I say.
‘Yeah, in Mum’s purse,’ says Jen. ‘It’s no use denying it. I saw you take it. And I followed you here. And now I want half or I’m telling Mum what you did.’
She has a point.
A very good point.
A very pointy point.
But before you jump to conclusions—like Jen—you should know that technically it wasn’t stealing because Mum hadn’t paid me my weekly pocket money and I had done all my chores so the money was really mine. But knowing Jen—and Mum—as well as I do, I doubt they’ll appreciate the technicalities of the situation.
‘Okay, okay,’ I say, ‘it’s not what you think, but you win. You can have a lick—one lick—just hurry up.’
‘Thanks, little brother,’ says Jen.
She grabs the cone and takes a bite.
A big bite.
Then she takes another bite.
An even bigger bite than the first one.
Then, when it’s already practically no bigger than a baby cone, she takes another enormous bite and hands me back a tiny cone no bigger than my thumb.
‘Thanks, Andy,’ she says, walking away. Then she stops and turns. ‘Oh, that was nice, but next time I’d prefer strawberry.’
You know when you have one of those perfectly terrible moments where everything is just … you know … perfectly terrible?
Well I’m having one right now.
I’m getting sunburnt, the seagulls are screeching, the breeze has turned into a gale and I can’t see it but I’m pretty sure my hair is a mess.
But wait, that’s not all!
I’ve been betrayed by my best friend, used by the girl I love, blackmailed by my sister and I’m holding the sad remains of a once-great double-scoop ice-cream with sprinkles and chocolate flakes and I haven’t even had so much as a single lick yet.
But there’s no use crying over unlicked ice-cream.
There’s still time.
There’s still hope!
I bring the tiny cone close to my lips and try to poke my tongue into it … but before I can get my tongue far enough down to reach the ice-cream there’s an explosion of feathers in my face. I look up to see a seagull soaring up into the sky … with what’s left of my ice-cream cone in its beak!
I can’t believe it!
I’ve been robbed!
By a bird!
The only consolation is that the thief is not being allowed to enjoy its stolen ice-cream in peace. It’s surrounded by a great hungry cloud of other seagulls all involved in the aerial battle of the century trying to get a piece of the action.
The first seagull loses the cone to a second, which then has it torn from its beak by a third that manages to fly free of the pack for a heroic ten metres before what’s left of my cone falls from its beak.
The bit of cone falls …
down …
down …
down …
and lands on the ground right in the middle of another group of seagulls all prepared to fight to the death for it.
But they didn’t count on me.
That’s my little bit of cone and nobody—not best friend, potential girlfriend, sister or bird—is going to take it away from me!
I dive into the middle of the squalling pack with no thought for my own safety—all I want is that cone!
And I get it, too, snatching it from the screeching, squawking, fluttering, clawing, beaky mass.
A small piece of cone, no bigger than my little fingernail.
And, it’s mine. All mine! But as I hold up my trophy to display to my vanquished foes, it’s cruelly ripped from my fingers by a beady-eyed sea eagle who gulps it down in one careless swallow and flies away, leaving me sprawled on the ground surrounded by … well, nothing actually.
Even the seagulls have moved away.
Clearly they don’t want to risk being associated with a double-scoop loser like me.
Because that’s what I am.
A LOSER.
Capital L, capital O, capital S, capital E, capital R and capital full stop. (Can you have a capital full stop? Probably not. That’s what a LOSER I am—I can’t even punctuate properly.)
I’m lying on the ground thinking what a hopeless punctuater I am when I notice it.
On the dirt just in front of me.
Glistening in the sunlight.
A single drop of melted ice-cream.
Just sitting there, perfect, round and white—there’s even a little bit of chocolate flake in the middle.
I don’t even have to move my head.
Al
l I have to do is poke out my tongue and it’s mine—all mine!
I lick the drop.
It’s sweet, surprisingly cool and delicious.
Sure, it’s a little crunchy and I think that bit of chocolate might actually have been an ant, but aside from that it’s perfect!
I wish this moment could last forever.
A CHOOSE YOUR OWN
SLEEPOVER ADVENTURE
Your name is Andy. You’re having a sleepover at your best friend Danny’s house. You’ve both eaten way too much junk food, watched way too many horror movies and jumped on Danny’s bed until it collapsed. Now, completely exhausted, you’ve both fallen asleep on his bedroom floor with the light on. So far, so good … there are only a couple of hours until sunrise—what could possibly go wrong? Well, that all depends on you. In this story the decisions are yours.
Good luck, sweet dreams, and, whatever you do, BE CAREFUL!
1
You are woken by a noise. You open your eyes and see Danny stumbling around the room. He has his arms straight out in front of him and his eyes shut tight. He’s sleepwalking! Your first thought is that you should wake him up so he doesn’t hurt himself but then you remember Danny once told you that it’s very dangerous to wake a sleepwalker because the shock and confusion of being woken up mid-sleepwalk could kill them.
* If you try to wake him up anyway, go to 2.
* If you don’t try to wake him up, go to 3.
2
You call Danny’s name. He doesn’t respond. You get up and shake him roughly by the shoulder. He blinks, clutches his chest and then falls to the floor. He dies of a shock-induced heart attack. You idiot! You thought Danny’s parents were going to be mad about the broken bed, but imagine how mad they’ll be when they find out you’ve broken Danny! You decide to go home early and hope that nobody realises it was your fault. You get dressed, climb out the bedroom window and jump to the garden below. Uh-oh. Bad move. You seem to have forgotten that Danny’s bedroom is on the second floor. You fall through the air and are impaled on a giant cactus. It hurts. A lot. You die.