Kevin's Tale from May 2006 Assignment

You can read a particular members work by clicking on the author's name:

by Mark Beach      by Phil Golden      by Di Lawton

by Anita Loughrey   by Geoff Rush    by Di Lawton

by Mark Beach

Kevin cursed for the 99^th time that morning as the herd of rush hour traffic slowed from a crawl to a complete standstill on the M4 motorway. He was stressed, on his way to a difficult meeting with a difficult client, he daren’t be late. Kevin made a decision; at the next junction he would leave the M4. He knew he could cut through Colnbrook instead, and pick up the M25 near Heathrow.

Ten minutes later sweeping smoothly along the Colnbrook by-pass his gently recovering spirits were dashed again. This time by a warbling sound from his mobile phone. Kevin knew from the distinctive ring tone it was his boss, ‘she who must be obeyed’. Or ‘she who can never be satisfied’ as Kevin had learned.

As He reached tentatively for the handset he glanced in the rear view mirror and flinched. Directly behind him was a huge Police four by four patrol vehicle, like the ones he had seen at the airport. Kevin made an instant decision and turned immediately left into a side road, then watched bemused as the Police patrol followed suit. A slight squeal coming from its huge tyres as it heeled over.

He took another random turn. It was a narrow one-way street. The Police truck  swept serenely past, oblivious of the crime Kevin was bent upon committing. The phone warbled on, more insistent with each repetition. The narrow road he’d chosen was lined with tatty, unkempt Victorian houses and scruffy parked cars. There seemed to be a layer of dirt over everything. The street was too narrow to stop. Kevin, like the ringing of his phone, went on. And as he went, he reached out and grasped the handset, its strident warbling  promptly stopped.

‘Damn!’

Kevin’s 100^th curse of the day and it wasn’t nine O’clock yet. He drove on despondently through the dismal surroundings, there was no-where to turn.

The dirty tatty houses gave way to grubby and shabby countryside. The Heathrow air traffic was still visible overhead but no signs of motorways, highways or by-passes remained. A bend in the road revealed a rusty iron bridge straddling a stretch of stagnant Canal. Long abandoned boats either sinking or sunk lined the near bank. A field on the far bank contained a small herd of hopeless ponies, all painted the same shade of grimy beige and confined by a rusty, barbed-wire fence.

In the bare branched hedgerows and the fences, snagged litter from decades past fluttered in the busy March breeze. A tethered carrier bag waved ominously at Martin as he passed.

Beyond the next bend in the deserted lane, past the remains of a burned-out car, Kevin saw an open gateway. Checking his mirror first, he swung the car into it. There was a puzzling mixture of judders and lurches as the car drove over the field’s recumbent metal gate now submerged beneath the new spring grass. Invisible to a harried salesman.

In the first of six surprises to befall Martin in quick succession, he found his mobile phone had no signal. Martin was surprised; only 5 miles from the world’s busiest airport and he had found a fissure in the coverage. ‘Its that kind of day’ he thought.

Martin climbed out of the car and held the handset up high, towards the sky, like a Neanderthal offering a sacrifice, entreating his Gods to smile down upon him in his hour of need.

His next surprise was to notice the front tyre on his compact company hatchback was flat. Entirely so.

Surprises three, four and five; that the other front tyre and both rear tyres were also entirely flat, followed in quick succession.

Just when he thought things could get no worse came the sixth surprise, and with that all the preceding events of the day paled into insignificance.

[back to top]

From the moment he glanced skyward, he was to regret, for the rest of his life, this one impulsive act.

First, it was just a shadow. But as it grew, darkening the sky, then the ground below it, he recognised Gwyngolfarrer, the giant Golden Eagle of his dreams of previous sleeps!

It swooped.

With a whoosh, the giant wings wrapped themselves around the air, the hooked beak, bloody from previous feasts, opened in a shreak so dreadful, it curdled Farmer Giles’ milk yield, and the talons, enormous, curved, sharp, barbed, extended and closed around Martin’s hand.

The ferociously hooked mouth-part swiftly snatched the mobile from his grip, and was gone!

As blood oozed and snaked past Martin’s wrist, the giant, feathered perpetrator soared, wheeled, and with an almighty “shreeek”, dropped the phone.

As it hit the rocky ground, the mobile bounced once, twice, then shattered into smithereens. Eco-friendly it was not!

Swooping swiftly for a second pass, Gwyngolfarrer fixed a steely eyeball on the now frantically running human. This time, the nine inch talons scissored into Kevin’s shoulders.

He was lifted effortlessly into the puce sky and hurtled towards the eerie, perched atop Timbrel Mountain. But it was no crows nest. Gwyngolfarrer had a brood of hungry looking, emu-sized chicks, waiting impatiently for dinner!

‘I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now, how or why it was ‘Kevin’ who ended up up. And I fail to understand why ‘Martin’, my alter-ego, the cluts who allowed my damned mobile to be stolen, was down. Down on terrafirma, walking aimlessly through Mid Berkshire’s lost reed beds, inadvertently heading directly into the encampment of the Berkshire branch of the Gnomes of Newell Green’

“Yum yum yum”, lapped a hideous looking gnome as he espied a tasty looking morsel meander into his clearing.

[back to top]

I'm really happy. Truly blithe thought Kevin. He was aware that his feelings might seem irrational to onlookers, but since there weren't any he decided to stick with it.

"Excuse me?" he called up to Gwyngolfarrer. "Errrr Hi?"

The Eagle said nothing. Kevin asked if he could be dropped by a tube station. "Not literally," he added, afraid that the eagle's pea-size brain would misconstrue irony. But they flew on and Kevin realized that he'd never again have to try to satisfy she who couldn't be satisfied. Though last night was good, he told himself, just slightly demeaning. He thought no further. Kevin was a happy bunny, though possibly bunny is an unfortunate parallel to make.

"What do they eat," he whispered?

At this, the eagle said Shriek.

Meanwhile his alter-ego was eyeing up a gnome. Martin was a member of the local outreach team to gnomes. The feeling of the doppelganger community in general was that gnomes were unfortunate people who had few opportunities in life, who needed tender loving care and spiritual enlightenment. From his pocket, Martin drew a small green booklet. He waved it to and fro, as if fanning the gnome's hot, red little face. The title of the book was: Four Godly Truths

"God loves you," said Martin, "and has a wonderful plan for your life."

The gnome just stopped. His whole demeanour changed as The Truth sunk like a stone axe into his heart. "Really?" he asked. His voice was blurred and uncontrolled, like Kevin's when she who must be satisfied said Again! for the third time.

"It's a truth I too hold dear," said Martin.

"What must I do to be saved?" asked the gnome.

"Kneel and invite Jesus onto the throne of your life!"

 "I was only fucking kidding," said the gnome.

[back to top]

Kevin held his hands to his temples, trying to calm the vivid images of gnomes and eagles from his dreams. He squeezed his eyes tightly together.

“Go home, Martin,” he yelled into the wind.

The eagle’s squawking faded, to be replaced with the roar of a jet engine. When he opened his eyes, he saw the Boeing 747 overhead, so close he could almost see the passengers. He picked up the mobile phone from the mud where he’d dropped it. There was still no signal.

His pills. He needed his pills. Kevin reached into the glove compartment of the company hatchback. Yes. They were there. Thank goodness. He pressed down and unscrewed the lid of the tablets for his schizophrenia. He was having a particularly bad day.

Kevin flicked the tablet to the back of his throat and swallowed as he had done all his life. He was unsure why these episodes were happening more and more frequently nowadays. The gnomes had finally returned back to rabbits, hopping merrily across the field.

“Damn,” Kevin cursed for the 101^st time that day. He kicked the closest of the flat tyres. “What am I going to do now?”

There was no sign of the police vehicle. Just as well, thought Kevin. If they knew a schizophrenic was driving he’d been locked up for life. But, he could never continue being the ace salesman he had become without being able to drive. It was Kevin’s dream vocation, what with that and his extreme sports, he was the happiest man alive.

Every day was an adventure. Absailing down a mountain cliff side, bungee jumping, free falling, Kevin thought, bring it on! He could feel the adrenaline pumping just thinking about it. The more exciting and dangerous the more of a thrill it was and even more importantly, when he was sky-diving from an aeroplane, or zipping down a high storey tower block, the more it kept Martin and his other alter-ego’s at bay.

That was why today more than any other day he needed to bungee jump from the top of Tower Bridge; straight after he’d finished with his client.

Kevin pocketed his bottle of pills and grabbed his rucksack with all his bungee jumping equipment from the back of the hatchback. He made his way across the field, the wind in his hair, past the dodgy gnome-like rabbits, in the direction of a main road where he might get a signal on his mobile and be able to call for a taxi.

[back to top]

In a parallel timeframe, just around the corner, or light years away – it all depended on one’s perspective – an ageless little man with a huge pot belly and a large domed head somewhat at odds with his diminutive stature sat in a virtual games arcade, sandwiched between a virtual McDonald’s and a virtual knocking shop, eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

Concentration oozing from every pore, Zart tweaked the joystick, sharpening the image. What now? Legs jiggling with nervous tension, he pondered his options.

All things considered, he’d handled Kevin rather well thus far. Luck played its part but experience counted for everything and Zart was a master. Briefly, he reflected on the smart moves that had extricated Kevin from the claws of the giant eagle and the clutches of the hideous flesh-eating gnomes. That was where experience came in. He’d encountered the gnomes before in a previous game. And the tokens he’d collected were sure to come in useful as the game progressed. Abseiling equipment. Hmm. A tall building, perhaps? A frantic escape down a sheer cliff face?

He positioned a bemused Kevin at the roadside, wondered how much longer the game would continue to block the mobile phone signal.

Ever alert, he spotted the van approaching from the right of the screen. He waited. It was slowing down. Was it going to stop though? It did, braking to a halt alongside Kevin.

Zart stroked his chin meditatively. If only he could see inside. Feverishly, he manoeuvred the joystick, exploring the angles. Tinted windows. A clever move. He should’ve anticipated that.

The door was opening. Decision time. Zart’s palm was slicked with sweat, slippery on the joystick.

[back to top]

Jim leant over and called out “Hey mate. Where are you going?” 

Minutes later they were heading round Heathrow’s perimeter road with Jim chattering about his morning’s round.  A copy of The Sun was stuffed into the crevasse between dashboard and windscreen that existed for that very purpose and Kevin thought normality was back.

It was not to last!

Was it his imagination or was it getting dark?   The road began to narrow.  Large trees replaced the wire fence and undergrowth encroached onto the road.  Soon there was only just room for the van to fit.   Where were all the buildings?

Jim needed the lights to see the road.   A loud bang followed from the van’s cavernous back.    “Hell” shouted Jim. 

There was a slithering sound.  A slimy green large headed ‘thing’ rose from behind..  Jim swung round and just had time to notice it bore an uncanny resemblance to his passenger before it plunged a long knife deep into his neck.   Blood gushed, spraying Kevin and the van a sickly bright red.  Martin had burst Jim’s carotid artery.

The van lurched sideways, crashing though the undergrowth and a drainage ditch coming to rest against the immovable trunk of a large oak.  A flock of ravens flew up.

The van’s remaining headlight illuminated the lower branches.  Dangling from the largest was a row of corpses, each in an iron cage, as if they’d been hung there as a warning to others.

Some looked quite fresh.  Others had been there some time and were a mass of stinking flesh. Some had been stripped clean. 

Kevin got out and recognised ‘she who must be obeyed’ in the first cage. Looking along he saw a cage containing just a big pile of bones.  The name at the bottom of this cage was “Zart”.

[back to top]

‘It’s happened again’ thought Kevin as he pulled Jim out of the van towards the end cage. He threw Zart’s bones into a nearby bush and hung the mortal remains of Jim by his hands from the top of the cage. Jim’s clothes had the sheen of fresh blood which Kevin found extremely sensual.  Darling, he murmured, stroking Jim’s cheek, now sticky with blood, and kissing him lightly on the neck. Kevin knew that Jim wanted him in that subtle understated way that only dead people can.

‘Necrophilia can be such a wonderful beautiful thing.’ He said to himself., sliding his hand down Jim’s still warm torso and into his trousers. At the end of his reach, he felt some hair but was surprised to find that Jim’s nether region was missing in an important regard.

‘Darling.’ He heard a female voice murmur appreciatively.

Kevin opened his eyes to find himself staring at Katrina, his boss and dominatrix. He drew back in alarm, removing his hand from her pajamas as he did so.

There was a shiny wet patch on Katrina’s cheek where she had been dribbling.

‘Do me. Do me now!’ She yelped in a demanding sort of way.

‘You know I can’t get hard unless you call me by my pet name.’ He replied.

‘Sorry.’ She murmured. ‘ Do me. Do me now My Little Bottle Of Tomato Sauce.’

‘My only true Pickle.’

‘My Condiment!’

He kissed her tenderly.

‘My own. Can I kiss your Gerkin?’ Kevin pleaded.

She kissed his forehead. ‘Only if you let me suck your radish first’

She planted a kiss on his neck.

‘You’ve been a naughty boy and deserve to get punished.’ She reached over the side of the bed and pulled out a long stick.

‘No. No. Not the feather duster!

[back to top]