15 April 2012
Chapter 1, in which johnny foreigner does not altogether see a play
Normal objects do not change place in space and time often. If they do, they are usually one sock, or the lid to a tupperware box, or a flash jumping weasel. Johnny foreigner is not any of these things.
Johnny foreigner was also not a small man. Nor was he a big man, for that matter. He was roughly the height of a postbox and 1/6th, and every inch of him shivered as he paced on the spot in the long line of bluesbury citizens waiting to enter the theatre at half past five in the afternoon. Red lights and banners adorned the Walls and office blocks, only just visible through the feather-White torrents that softly whispered down onto the shoulders of passers by. The air was cold to touch, and icy breaths drew from each member of the queue like puffs of smoke from the exhaust fume of a one-stroke engine. The posh district was alive with christmas lights, and the smell of pine and present wrappings filled the cool air.
Johnny foreigner quietly stood as his ticket was punched and he was allowed through the tasteless glass doors onto the warm red patterned carpet and the smell of wine. The queue still spread more into the seating arena doors, but everyone had started to pull of coats and scraps off on reconnaissance missions to the speckled toilets. There was a distinctly high class filtering in through the streets. The woman in front of him gave a near drunken start as she flirted with the man to her right. "and daaarling, the soaps, the soaps were exquisite. I felt as if my legs would explode and fly skywards. I mean really, it should be in EVERY hotel room in the palace, but blaaah blah blah...", as her voice and all those that had become distinct soon merged into one murmur, engulfing the entire theatre. The line had shortened tenfold, and all were soon being guided to the correct row number, politely thanking those who had the misfortune of sitting anywhere between the chosen seat and the stairs, lifting their legs or standing to allow the few through. Lights dimmed, talk ceased, and above, theatre bats patiently waited for their cues to throw the spotlights. Bluesbury city theatre was a massive complex of underground and overground stages, all crammed in beside eachother. They were numbered one to twenty six, twenty six being a small dark room full of snails and old shoes, and one being the embodiment of all that is good about architecture and life in general. This was theatre 8. Johnny took his seat between a magnificent 7 foot brown rabbit, hurriedly cramming fistfuls of raw carrots into it's mouth before the music began, looking around furitively and twitching it's toddler-sized ears; and a stick thin old man with pursed eyes and a sagging pinstripe suit, sporting an impressive array of headgear and holsters. A cricket tugged at his collar before quieting down to rest in the cap of the man's helmet.
Most plays on at the BCT were teary, morbid dramas or colourfully annoying children's pantomimes. The motto there was that they had a play for every day, prompting you to believe there were only two kinds of days in bluesbury. Both awful.
That evening, though, at just gone six o'clock, there was no orchestral drivel striking up, or brightly painted transvestites performing slapstick to straight faced eight year olds.
Johnny's head melted in the darkness, his hands like snow, eyes like raisins in champagne. Blurred was the music, and all chittering became low and cloudy, like speaking through tissue paper. This is when johnny foreigner fainted. It was a postbox and one sixth before his head buried the ground.
Johnny awoke like wetting cereal. The bulge in the front of his brain gurned and hummed, and as senses revealed themselves from the inky black, his cheeks got colder. They were pressed on the Hard linoleum flooring. He could feel the cracks and chips in every tile, and the smell of the faceless panels, like glue and coins, skimmed his nose like iron. Scraps of brown and orange could be found in his eyes. Since he could not remember where he had come from, or why, he decided, rightly, to review his surroundings. His mouth tasted of skin. A thin light hung on his shoulders, tugging at his jacket and pressing on his mind. The splintery floor tickled at him like stubble, and led his eyes to a small table, punctured and proud. The moonlight chilled the coffee cups adjacent, and breath shivered and thinned as pale as dead spiders in the midnight air. A voice. Assuring and strong. The voice of a middle age, middle class, middle height man standing in the middle of a room that was, for all johnny knew, was in the middle of nowhere. "good evening, tosspot." The voice returned obediently to it's owner, as did johnny's eyes, and they rested upon a suited, spectacled man in calm shoes and a well-meaning pipe. "I do apologise for the impromptu faint. We were In a great hurry, you see. I really had no choice." The stranger bowed, humbly. "my name is malcom, of course. You are, I trust, mister picket?" "well, no, not as such," murmured mister foreigner as he elbowed his way from the floor, head spinning with questions. "oh dear. Well that really won't do. I'm terribly sorry, mister not-picket, but I am afraid we still have to proceed with The nessecary procedure. We really don't have time, you see. Your name would be most appreciated, good sir, and if you could just simply step into the box in the green side of the room once you're done making your selection." said the middle man, full of polite rudeness. "johnny foreigner. I'm sorry, am I missing something? I don't really know who you are." shrugged johnny, like a duck trying to fit under a hat. Middle man stood suddenly and keenly erect, speaking slyly so as to only give a hint of his true meaning: "I am a... Representative, If that is what you humans call it, of a higher power. You may well be wondering what we need you for. Wonder not, good git: for it could have been anybody that sat in the seat between snuffles and agent twenty nine. Your job is simply to join us. Think of this organisation as the universe police. We must make sure things happen right, and how. You may not wish to join, but you will do. We do not make it a complicated decision, mister Foreigner. We are simply, ah, short of personnel. Now please, enter the box, and make your selection." And with that, the man rolled up his sleeves, whisking dust away, and vanished like autumn into winter: the air left behind to fill the gap.
Cautiously, johnny picked his path towards the green wooden container, rather resemblant of a present, which seemed to shine in the dark. Stooping, he edged the door Open, as a bright White light fell out, catching on the smoke and hinges. Back on with knees To the hard floor, head down and hands knuckle balanced and simian, he crawled inside.
What awaited him was a room the size of a house, White Walls and indefinable ceilings. He did not bother to question the impossibility of the structure. His brain hurt.
On the table in front of him lay a boathook, an orange, a jar of ball bearings, a coathanger, a small pen and a rubber band. The speakers in the Walls clicked and a pre-recorded message was blown out. "welcome, employee. You have just been recruited to the universe detective agency PLC, where we live under the motto: 'keeping the universe free of bad stuff!'. If you experience any pain during your journeys, please do put a note in the suggestion box! Your service ends at your natural point if termination. We apologise if you had unfinished business on your previous planet, and would gladly accept any theories on cloning so at least ONE of you gets to have a normal, suffering-free existence. Please enjoy your service as an employee of the universe detective agency PLC, and remember: however far you travel, we can still get you if you decide to run!", chortled a cheery American upbeat man who most probably died years ago. A smaller sound now, so small it almost trapped the air with empty space, sounded in johnny's head. The noise grew, and morphed into a low tone. G sharp. Words appeared on the wall in front of him: industrial, clean words. 'please press the button if you can hear the tone. Johnny obediently tapped the small yellow button in the centre of the wall. 'good', wrote the wall. 'before you are an assortment of temporal- chipped objects, that we deemed most useful.' 'there is now a wrist strap on your arm. Don't ask how. Do not even think about it. It has an Atchkins fabric warp Bond with your mind. If you choose to think about it too hard, it will go away, and we will not be responsible for any damage caused to your physical being once that bond is broken.' As the wall stated, there was indeed a leather strap covered with two buttons, a dial, and a radio-wire. 'the first button,' continued the wall, 'is your task shift panel. When it glows green, please feel free to press for a random co-ordinate of stress. The white button below, with the emblem of a heart, is your emergency utility and affection panel. Please press when you wish to talk to your wrist strap, or let it interact with the real world. It is called Cyril. Say hello.'
The heart button glowed enigmatically and let out a small blip of affection, while the top button lit a dull-red. 'the dial will let you know where the nearest UDA employee is located, in the circumstances that you cannot handle a task by yourself. The radio will be your means of communication with the head of UDA, mister whipsaw.' The wall presented a small smily face, which winked, and flicked to an arrow indicating the items on the table. 'one last thing. Take any two of these items to help you in your travels. Please refrain from taking more. Enjoy your service!'
Johnny was numb. He had a headache, he had a dry mouth, and felt as if the Walls were closing in on him. He really needed something to eat. He chose the ball bearings and the
The Misadventures Of Johnny Foreigner • Opuss № I