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Story Hour
Auntie Edie & The Professor
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 3742103" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>Turn 11: It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.</p><p></p><p>The lights, the noise- blinded, deafened.</p><p></p><p>Eventually the crowd subsides, stop cheering, hollering, screaming. The lights dim, flash bulbs pop but not so frequent.</p><p></p><p>The Professor snakes an arm around Auntie’s shoulders, she’s crying, head down, the emotion has got the better of her.</p><p></p><p>Bertie Bom-Bom strides onto the stage, microphone in hand.</p><p></p><p>“Ladles and Jellyspoons. Thank you. Thank you.”</p><p></p><p>Oblivious to the fact that the applause is not for him.</p><p></p><p>He closes in on the The Professor shoves the microphone in his face.</p><p></p><p>“So what can you tell us about your great adventure?”</p><p></p><p>The Professor raises and eyebrow, leans down to the microphone.</p><p></p><p>“It was… was…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Difficult.” And that’s it.</p><p></p><p>Bertie drags the microphone back, the crowd simmer, the odd hoop and holler, mostly unsure of what to do.</p><p></p><p>“And… and so… Tell us which part was the most enjoyable?” Bertie tries to get back on track.</p><p></p><p>“Enjoyable.” The Professor looks disgusted, he stares daggers at Bertie, fingers something concealed in his pocket.</p><p></p><p>Bertie looks with panic at The Professor, the crowd now silent, he shuffles over to the sobbing Auntie.</p><p></p><p>“Clearly an emotional time for you Auntie, is there anything you can add, anyone you’d like to thank?”</p><p></p><p>Auntie looks up slightly, cries a little more, The Professor tightens his grip on her.</p><p></p><p>“I’d like… like to thank… The Professor.”</p><p></p><p>She grizzles and then blows her nose hard, feedback sings and squeals. Bertie and everyone else in the studio clamps their hands over their ears.</p><p></p><p>Cameras flick from shot to shot- all showing people half-bemused, half-deafened by the squeal.</p><p></p><p>Bertie gathers it altogether eventually.</p><p></p><p>Strides away from The Professor and Auntie, arms out, big gestures, the camera finds him.</p><p></p><p>“And so another adventure completed, the wily Prof, and the brave Auntie Edie have saved the day, remember what were here for today, we’re making the future…”</p><p></p><p>The crowd chorus “We’re making the future.”</p><p></p><p>“And so, without further ado, let’s just how much time we’ve just bought ourselves.”</p><p></p><p>Bertie steps aside, arm waving vaguely at a huge digital readout. Numbers cascade down the screen.</p><p></p><p>“Drum roll. Now remember the display will show, to the last second, just how much time the actions of these brave senior citizens has extended the life-span of our very existence.”</p><p></p><p>The first, or rather, last number- far right, clicks into place- “2.”</p><p></p><p>“OHHHHHH”</p><p></p><p>The crowd moan.</p><p></p><p>The next number clicks into place- “4.”</p><p></p><p>“OHH”</p><p></p><p>The crowd moan again.</p><p> </p><p>“Forty two seconds so far, good start.” Bertie winks at us.</p><p></p><p>The next number clicks in- “0.”</p><p></p><p>“OHH”</p><p></p><p>The next- “0.”</p><p></p><p>“OHH”</p><p></p><p>The next- “0.”</p><p></p><p>“OHH”</p><p></p><p>The crowd continue to moan.</p><p></p><p>“Forty two seconds so far, it’s going to be a big one.” Bertie adds.</p><p></p><p>The next- “0.”</p><p></p><p>“OHHHHH”</p><p></p><p>“A real big one.” Bertie whispers.</p><p></p><p>The next- “0.”</p><p></p><p>“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”</p><p></p><p>“I can feel it- let’s see, this is going to be a record.”</p><p></p><p>The last number is- “0.”</p><p></p><p>“-” The crowd stare- open mouthed.</p><p></p><p>Bertie opens and closes his mouth.</p><p></p><p>Dead air, the cameras continue to roll.</p><p></p><p>TZZZZZZZZZZT</p><p></p><p>The Professor’s Taser makes its way back to his pocket, Bertie slumps and falls, The Professor grabbing the microphone from him during his descent.</p><p></p><p>“Forty Two seconds. We put our lives in mortal danger, gave everything we had, reduced to terror and ruin with fear and worry, for your entertainment, for forty two seconds more time for you to stare at this idiot box.”</p><p></p><p>The Professor cuffs the camera it, spins out of control, round and round. </p><p></p><p>The stage, Bertie lying foetal position on the floor, Auntie still crying, The Professor still speaking- unheard. </p><p></p><p>The audience, a sea of fifty-something year olds the men in Pringle jumpers, casual slacks and buffed shoes; the women in summery frocks, conspicuous consumerism for all to see, clumps of gold jewellery, expensive haircuts and reconstruction jobs.</p><p></p><p>The camera spins on, the glimpse of a glass window to the world outside, the dark night, the furze of scattered lights beyond.</p><p></p><p>Eventually it stops spinning- pointed back at The Professor.</p><p></p><p>The sound clicks back in.</p><p></p><p>As does The Professor.</p><p></p><p>“All that for Forty Two seconds, madness. This place, you people, mad. It’s a disgrace. Look at her…”</p><p></p><p>The Professor gestures at Auntie who is still head hung low, sobbing with all her heart.</p><p></p><p>“I said look at her.”</p><p></p><p>Who knows what the crowd are doing, we can’t see.</p><p></p><p>“I SAID…”</p><p></p><p>But that’s enough two huge men, encased in state-of-the-art body armour, step into view- heading straight for The Professor.</p><p></p><p>“SMASH THE MACHINE.”</p><p></p><p>The Professor yells before Security go to grab him.</p><p></p><p>BOOOM</p><p></p><p>Electrics fizz above, a light falls free and arcs and strobes, the shattered remains of a ceiling brace clunks to the studio floor.</p><p></p><p>Auntie sniffs, levels the shotgun at the Security guards.</p><p></p><p>“Leave him.”</p><p></p><p>The pair back off- hands raised.</p><p></p><p>The camera rolls on.</p><p></p><p>“I’m 87.”</p><p></p><p>She manages and then almost collapses, such are the heaves and sobs that wrack her body.</p><p></p><p>The camera hovers closer, for the close-up.</p><p></p><p>BOOOOOOOM</p><p></p><p>Too close.</p><p></p><p>The camera spins, ceiling-floor, ceiling-floor, head-over-heels.</p><p></p><p>It thumps into the glass, which shatters on impact, and then sails out of the building- falls, whistles through the air.</p><p></p><p>Descending into a city of empty streets, the remains of buildings, houses, cars and people- all broken, many still on fire. A city coming to an end, without hope, without a future…</p><p></p><p>London.</p><p></p><p>Next Turn?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 3742103, member: 16069"] Turn 11: It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. The lights, the noise- blinded, deafened. Eventually the crowd subsides, stop cheering, hollering, screaming. The lights dim, flash bulbs pop but not so frequent. The Professor snakes an arm around Auntie’s shoulders, she’s crying, head down, the emotion has got the better of her. Bertie Bom-Bom strides onto the stage, microphone in hand. “Ladles and Jellyspoons. Thank you. Thank you.” Oblivious to the fact that the applause is not for him. He closes in on the The Professor shoves the microphone in his face. “So what can you tell us about your great adventure?” The Professor raises and eyebrow, leans down to the microphone. “It was… was…” “Yes?” “Difficult.” And that’s it. Bertie drags the microphone back, the crowd simmer, the odd hoop and holler, mostly unsure of what to do. “And… and so… Tell us which part was the most enjoyable?” Bertie tries to get back on track. “Enjoyable.” The Professor looks disgusted, he stares daggers at Bertie, fingers something concealed in his pocket. Bertie looks with panic at The Professor, the crowd now silent, he shuffles over to the sobbing Auntie. “Clearly an emotional time for you Auntie, is there anything you can add, anyone you’d like to thank?” Auntie looks up slightly, cries a little more, The Professor tightens his grip on her. “I’d like… like to thank… The Professor.” She grizzles and then blows her nose hard, feedback sings and squeals. Bertie and everyone else in the studio clamps their hands over their ears. Cameras flick from shot to shot- all showing people half-bemused, half-deafened by the squeal. Bertie gathers it altogether eventually. Strides away from The Professor and Auntie, arms out, big gestures, the camera finds him. “And so another adventure completed, the wily Prof, and the brave Auntie Edie have saved the day, remember what were here for today, we’re making the future…” The crowd chorus “We’re making the future.” “And so, without further ado, let’s just how much time we’ve just bought ourselves.” Bertie steps aside, arm waving vaguely at a huge digital readout. Numbers cascade down the screen. “Drum roll. Now remember the display will show, to the last second, just how much time the actions of these brave senior citizens has extended the life-span of our very existence.” The first, or rather, last number- far right, clicks into place- “2.” “OHHHHHH” The crowd moan. The next number clicks into place- “4.” “OHH” The crowd moan again. “Forty two seconds so far, good start.” Bertie winks at us. The next number clicks in- “0.” “OHH” The next- “0.” “OHH” The next- “0.” “OHH” The crowd continue to moan. “Forty two seconds so far, it’s going to be a big one.” Bertie adds. The next- “0.” “OHHHHH” “A real big one.” Bertie whispers. The next- “0.” “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” “I can feel it- let’s see, this is going to be a record.” The last number is- “0.” “-” The crowd stare- open mouthed. Bertie opens and closes his mouth. Dead air, the cameras continue to roll. TZZZZZZZZZZT The Professor’s Taser makes its way back to his pocket, Bertie slumps and falls, The Professor grabbing the microphone from him during his descent. “Forty Two seconds. We put our lives in mortal danger, gave everything we had, reduced to terror and ruin with fear and worry, for your entertainment, for forty two seconds more time for you to stare at this idiot box.” The Professor cuffs the camera it, spins out of control, round and round. The stage, Bertie lying foetal position on the floor, Auntie still crying, The Professor still speaking- unheard. The audience, a sea of fifty-something year olds the men in Pringle jumpers, casual slacks and buffed shoes; the women in summery frocks, conspicuous consumerism for all to see, clumps of gold jewellery, expensive haircuts and reconstruction jobs. The camera spins on, the glimpse of a glass window to the world outside, the dark night, the furze of scattered lights beyond. Eventually it stops spinning- pointed back at The Professor. The sound clicks back in. As does The Professor. “All that for Forty Two seconds, madness. This place, you people, mad. It’s a disgrace. Look at her…” The Professor gestures at Auntie who is still head hung low, sobbing with all her heart. “I said look at her.” Who knows what the crowd are doing, we can’t see. “I SAID…” But that’s enough two huge men, encased in state-of-the-art body armour, step into view- heading straight for The Professor. “SMASH THE MACHINE.” The Professor yells before Security go to grab him. BOOOM Electrics fizz above, a light falls free and arcs and strobes, the shattered remains of a ceiling brace clunks to the studio floor. Auntie sniffs, levels the shotgun at the Security guards. “Leave him.” The pair back off- hands raised. The camera rolls on. “I’m 87.” She manages and then almost collapses, such are the heaves and sobs that wrack her body. The camera hovers closer, for the close-up. BOOOOOOOM Too close. The camera spins, ceiling-floor, ceiling-floor, head-over-heels. It thumps into the glass, which shatters on impact, and then sails out of the building- falls, whistles through the air. Descending into a city of empty streets, the remains of buildings, houses, cars and people- all broken, many still on fire. A city coming to an end, without hope, without a future… London. Next Turn? [/QUOTE]
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