I gave no more thought to the enigmatic phone call that my uncle received and continued with life as usual. It was a Monday morning and the sky was filled with a pack of dark grey clouds roaming around in their quest to obscure all traces of sunlight. I walked into school and headed straight for the library. I found an empty table in a fairly isolated corner, sat down and removed my notepad and a blue ink pen. I began to scribble down notes for a history essay that I needed to hand in the next morning. I needed to write a total of three thousand words, so far I had written a total of fifty words, only two thousand and fifty words left to go.
“Erm… hey.” I heard a timid voice say. I looked up and saw a petit girl with blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled like a cluster of tiny sapphires. Her name was Chloe Silverman, a shy girl who had always had trouble making friends, not because she was dislikeable, far from it, she was the nicest girl you could ever wish to meet. Her problem was her crippling shyness, she was unable to work up the confidence to speak to anyone, so the fact that she had approached me was a very pleasant surprise.
“Hello Chloe, how are you?” I said brightly, gesturing for her to take a seat at my table. Chloe smiled nervously and sat down quickly, brushing some of her wayward hair out of her eyes. Her natural expression was one that managed to combine timid shyness with palpable terror, it was quite endearing, if a little strange.
“Cassie, what do you know about Brian Hatch?” she asked quietly, her eyes fixed down at her feet. I thought for a few moments, the name definitely rang a bell somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember why I was aware of his existence.
“I’m aware of his universal presence, but I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd.” I said, my response causing Chloe to look at me with a mildly confused expression. She obviously couldn’t handle my quirkiness.
“He asked me to go out with him. Y’know… on a date.” She said, her voice small and timid like a mouse, there was an ounce of pride in her voice, but it was carefully hidden by layers of meekness. I looked into her eyes and could see the joy swimming in the blue oceans of her irises, this caused me to glance down at my work and smile. I closed my notepad and put it back in my bag along with my blue pen. I was not one of those girls who have a dainty and impractical purse-like bag nor am I one of those girls who carry around the pelt of an obese crocodile that can probably comfortably carry a 4x4. I believe in practicality, so I carry a backpack which can carry all my stuff and is easy to carry. I stood up and hoisted it onto my back, gesturing for Chloe to follow me.
“I’m gonna need a bit of extra info on this Brian Hatch. I know nothing about him and how am I supposed to decide whether he is suitable for you if I know nothing about him? So, spill the proverbial beans Missy.” I said, decided to adopt a stern tone and hoping that Chloe would grasp the fact that it was a joke. Luckily she did and the conversation continued at a steady pace.
“He’s a member of the hockey team. I think he’s the team captain of the Blue Team, he’s really cute.” Chloe said meekly, rubbing her right arm with her left hand. As soon as the words “Blue Team” left her mouth I realised why I knew Brian Hatch, he was the one who had decided that I could no longer be part of the school hockey team, because it was bad for morale to see a girl being aggressive. As I recall, I politely informed him that hockey can cause aggression just like all sports, I then told him that I am not a girl I am a woman. My final move was landing a sharp kick straight to his nether-regions, causing him to crumple to the floor in pain. I hadn’t interacted with him since then, because I have found that I’m allergic to sexism.
“Chloe, I hate to tell you this, but Brian Hatch is not a good guy, he’s a real nasty piece of work. Feel free to date him, only you are in control of your life, but I have had run-ins with him and he is a pig.” I said, attempting to keep my voice neutral so that Chloe wouldn’t pick up on the bitter resentment I harboured towards her new boyfriend. She didn’t notice a thing, but for a small moment she looked incredibly sad, but then a smile appeared on her face and her eyes lit up.
“Maybe you could meet him?” she said hopefully. I smiled graciously and offered a small chuckle and then I realised she was being serious. I waited until we were outside the main building before responding.
“Are you out of your mind? I have met him plenty of times already, I don’t need to talk to that guy again. Ever.” I said, my voice raised. Chloe looked hurt, like a little puppy that has been kicked far too many times.
“Please.” She said, looking at me with large pleading eyes that resembled those of a baby deer. I tried to strengthen my resolve, but there was no way I could say no to those eyes.
“Okay. I will meet him, but only once and I don’t want you to hold it against me if I kick him in the crotch.” I said, annoyed at my decision. Chloe looked startled for a few moments and then decided that she could accept my terms and nodded. We sat on one of the benches that looked out across the school car park, not the most mesmerising view in the world, but we both shared a hearty laugh as a large group of pigeons simultaneously deposited copious amounts of excrement upon the maths teacher’s car. As my laughter was subsiding I looked at the roof of the building opposite and noticed that there was a figure up there. I wouldn’t have found it so peculiar if I hadn’t spotted the other two figures, each one standing upon a different building. There was only one thing the three people had in common. They were facing towards my school. I was being watched.
R.I.P Nelson Mandela
18th July 1918 - 5th December 2013
"Seriously, call Kenny Loggins because you’re in the Danger Zone" - Sterling Archer
Doctor Who - Dark Eyes
The 50th Anniversary celebrated with:
The Day of The Doctor
The Light At The End
2 50th ANNIVERSARY SPECIALS!!!!!!!
In celebration of the 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who, I give you the most brilliant and underrated incarnation of the great Time Lord…
S.H.I.E.L.D Agents Fitz and Simmons (a.k.a The most shippable characters on television)
Once Upon A Time…
There was an old woman who lived in a ramshackle cottage in the middle of a dense area of woodland with her husband. The elderly couple had, over the years, gone quit mad as a result of the grief they felt over their inability to conceive. The old lady had got on the wrong side of a powerful witch that cursed her to never have children for as long as she lived. However, this particular old woman, now in a state of frenzied madness had hatched an ingenious and incredibly sinister plot to bring a child into the world. She decided to use a combination of her twin passions (baking and occult rituals) to create a son. She made a vessel in the shape of a human boy out of gingerbread and then with the aid of hell bound demons she filled the gingerbread vessel with life. Unfortunately, when enlisting the help of demons she hadn’t realised that the vessel wouldn’t just be filled with life, but with evil too. The Gingerbread Man sat up on his tray as all the dark life-giving magic swirled around inside him.
“Oh my! It worked, I finally have a son of my very own! This is wonderful, I can’t believe my luck!” The old woman cried with delight. She had invested an awful lot in forging a son with the aid of dark magic, because she had had to kill her husband as a sacrifice to the dark forces that she had called on for help. The Gingerbread Man looked up at his pseudo-mother with his emotionless, impassive gumdrop eyes. The Old Woman’s smile faded, those weren’t the gumdrop eyes of a sweet young boy, they were the gumdrop eyes of a killer.
“Mother?” croaked the Gingerbread Man, reaching out and touching the Old Woman’s face with his doughy hands. The Woman smiled, thinking that she had been wrong about the Gingerbread Man, but she hadn’t been wrong she had been right. Dead right. While the old woman turned away to fetch some clothes for her new son, the Gingerbread Man leapt onto the table, scooped up a kitchen knife and jammed it deep into the Old Woman’s back. She cried out in an intriguing mixture of pain and shock. The murderous biscuit laughed maniacally to himself and ran out of the house and into the dark woods. He had places to go, and people to maim.
The Gingerbread Man, despite being a merciless killer was also very naive and therefore didn’t know which woodland animals could be trusted and which ones should be given a very wide berth. As the psychotic baked treat skipped through the woods whistling a merry tune to himself a fox stepped out in front of him, causing him to halt in his tracks. Just behind the fox was a wide stream separating the large forest into two halves. The Fox looked at the Gingerbread Man, then looked at the stream and the redirected his attention to the walking talking biscuit.
“I’m afraid your journey ends here.” Said the Fox in a darkly smooth voice usually possessed my unscrupulous aristocrats.
“I don’t think so, Mr Fox, I have to cross this stream and make my way to the villages beyond to cause some merry havoc.” The Gingerbread Man said, proud of his mischievous and homicidal intentions. The Fox was taken aback, filled from tail to whiskers with fear, the woodlands and the villages beyond was the Fox’s territory. Only he caused havoc in those areas and he wasn’t about to let his reign of terror be upstaged by a biscuit. He would become a laughing stock like that wolf who failed to assassinate a little girl and her grandmother. The Fox needed to hatch a cunning plan to protect his fearsome reputation.
“I understand where you need to go, but your journey cannot go any further. If you attempt to cross this stream you will get wet and break apart.” The Fox said, pretending to feel sorry for The Gingerbread Man. There was a moment of silence as the little biscuit considered his plight and then he had an idea.
“You could carry me across! I shall sit on you and you can swim across.” Said the Gingerbread Man, proud of his ingenious idea. The Fox groaned inwardly and then realised that this idea could help him dispose of the annoying potential usurper. The Fox lay down on the ground and the little biscuit climbed upon his snout, sitting as if he were riding a horse.
“There we go.” Mumbled the Fox.
“See, it works. Wasn’t my idea great?” asked the Gingerbread Man swelling with pride. The Fox chuckled to himself.
“Indubitably.” He said and with a flick of his head the Gingerbread Man was hurled into the air. He screamed loudly at the shock of his newfound predicament, but those creams were shortly cut off when he landed into the Fox’s gaping maw. Powerful teeth bit into the Gingerbread Man, shattering him into pieces and grinding his body out of existence.
The Gingerbread Man was no more.
The next day I awoke with a heavy heart knowing what the day held for me. I looked at my alarm clock and saw that it was 7 a.m. I let out a long and tormented groan. No one should be awake this early. I threw back my sheets and stumbled out of my bed and grimaced when I looked in the mirror. My hair is usually slightly wavy and the colour of oak. Unfortunately, this morning my hair was a tangled hulking mass of knots and unwanted curls. I let out a tired and exasperated sigh, walked out of my room, down the corridor and into the bathroom. If I was going to be fighting hordes of the living dead all day I needed a long warm shower. As my shower had nothing to do with my zombie hunting exploits I can leave out the precise details. I can mention that after the shower my hair looked lovely. I had to meet my uncle at the local cemetery at nine o’ clock in the morning. So, I left my house at 8:45 leaving a note for my parents who had the luxury of not having to rise from their slumber for another two hours.
I cannot remember exactly what I wrote on the note, but I imagine that it went like this:
I’ve gone out for an early morning jog, I’ve already had breakfast.
However, if I had written a note explaining what I was really up to it would have sounded like this:
I’ve gone to the local cemetery to violently murder the living dead, I’ve already had breakfast.
Strangely enough, I have a feeling that my parents would have questioned the second note option a lot less than the note I actually left. I walked down a dingy alley that served as a shortcut from my street to the cemetery. The alley is quite possibly the single scariest place to be even in the day. At the time I had my iPod on with “The Best of Alice Cooper” blasting into my ears. When I reached the other end of the alley I emerged and felt the sun’s warmth on my face. I raised both my hands into the air in a victory pose. I felt like I was channelling my inner Rocky. Turning right I walked down the pavement passing a row of boarded up shops. I ran across the road, which caused an old man in a battered old car to beep his horn at me. I could see the fury etched into his severely wrinkled face. I arrived at the rusting gates to the cemetery and I could see my uncle standing before a grave with his head bowed. I reached into my satchel and pulled out my ZOM-B-VISION goggles and pulled them on. I looked like a steampunk pilot, which pleased me greatly. I reached my uncle just as he looked up.
“Hey.” I said without an ounce of enthusiasm in my voice whatsoever.
“Good morning Cassandra.” He said politely, using my full first name causing me to wince slightly. I looked at the grave he was standing in front of and I realised that it didn’t belong to a relative.
“Whose grave is that?” I asked slightly perplexed.
“Janet McBride.” Uncle Jerome replied, simply reading out the name etched into the tombstone.
“Well, who’s that?” I asked, still perplexed. Jerome thought for a moment before responding.
“I have absolutely no idea, but I’ve found that pretending to be a mourner helps one blend in.” he said tapping the side of his nose as if he was passing on some ancient words of wisdom.
“Right, so what is it you want me to do?” I asked, looking around the cemetery and noticing for the first time just how few people were present.
“Can you see the short fat man in the bowler hat?” Jerome asked, nodding his head towards something behind me. When I turned around it didn’t take me long to spot the man with the bowler hat. I pulled my goggles down over my eyes and activated them. They revealed the bowler hat man to be a zombie. There was a red haze surrounding him and I could see his hideous rotting features. I gasped and turned to Uncle Jerome. He reached his hand inside his large coat and withdrew a bunch of flowers, then handed them to me.
“Lesson one: always be subtle when killing in a public place. Use these flowers to kill that zombie.” He said. I looked at him quizzically, but nonetheless I adopted a “can do” attitude and walked in the direction of the bowler hat man.
When I was on the same stretch of path as the zombie I began to examine the bunch of flowers, looking for a concealed weapon. That was when I noticed the length of string with a plastic loop at the end. I was getting ever closer to the zombie in the bowler hat, so I pointed the top of the flowers at the chest of the camouflaged zombie and I pulled sharply on the string. BLAM! The flowers were ripped apart and the obliterated petals rained down like multi-coloured snow. The bowler hat man was launched off of his feet and sent hurtling backwards as his entire torso exploded spraying blood and offal everywhere. I dropped the remains of the flowers in shock. I looked around and my goggles highlighted five other zombies who had halted and were staring at me with their rotting eyes. They stood motionless for a few moments, their gaze fixated on me and slowly they all seemed to realise that I knew what they really were and that I had killed one of their pack. They let out a roar that would have tamed the meanest of lions and then they ran at me, slavering like wild dogs. They were all running from different parts of the graveyard and within seconds they would converge on me and I would die horribly. Before I could think of how to react Uncle Jerome appeared beside me with a cane in his hand.
“Lesson two: think fast.” He said and swung his cane around in a smooth arc. His grip was purposefully loose so the cane snaked forward as a result of the momentum. This meant that when the first zombie leaped through the air at me the handle of the cane smashed through the side of its head and obliterated its brain. I heard a growling from behind me and turned to see a half decomposed woman running towards me. I removed my satchel and threw it at her and miraculously it had the desired effect, her reflexes kicked in and she caught it perfectly. I spun on my heel and executed a passable roundhouse kick that separated her head from her body. I then turned and ran full pelt at another of the zombies and leapt past him and as I sailed by I grabbed his deteriorated face with my hand and used my momentum to smash the back of his head against a tombstone. There was a rather loud and unpleasant sound that was half crunch and half squelch, a sound that told me I had successfully eliminated another one. When I turned around I saw my uncle finish off the other two in one of the most impressive displays of zombie killing I have ever seen. There were two zombies moving towards him slowly and deliberately, they were both tall well-built men and looked like the sort of duo that could fight a Sherman Tank and win. My uncle examined them both carefully, looked at how they were standing and their positions and then he struck. He ran at the first one, barrelling into him and managed to push him backwards with a large amount of force. The first zombie collided with the second zombie and they both fell backwards onto a tree, which resulted in two branches entering into the back of the second zombie and exiting through the shoulders of the first. Amazingly, the zombies were still active and trying to remove themselves from the tree that they found themselves tuck to. However, my uncle wasn’t going to allow them another chance to tear him limb from limb and so he threw his can with all his might and it impaled both their heads to the tree. I retrieved my satchel and walked over.
“I am very impressed with you Cassandra. You are quite the natural at this sort of thing.” He said his tone complimentary so I knew he wasn’t mocking me. I felt a little glow of pride within me.
“What do we do about the bodies?” I asked, worried about what would happen if they were found.
“Leave them. After a zombie has been put down they dissolve within minutes, like a slug after you’ve tipped salt on it.” He explained, instantly putting my mind at rest. As we walked away from the scene of carnage, I heard my uncle’s phone ring. He answered, exchanged a few heated words with the person on the other end of the line and then hung up angrily.
“Who was that?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. He exhaled heavily and rubbed his temples in mute exasperation.
“Someone who you will hopefully never ever have to meet.” He said mournfully. We continued to walk in silence and when we reached my house we parted ways. I entered my house and went to my room whilst my uncle left for an undisclosed location.
Glee - One of my favourite t.v series