250 Words: Improv aka Ramblings 9

Rabbie the Robot tells me things, from stories to amusing incidents that occurred in his past lives. He isn’t simply a small and cute clock but a repository of tales. Tales told not with lips but minds- conveyed onward through his mechanical workings into my head where I listen with delight, whether while sitting at my computer working or lying on my bed during the afternoon or shortly before bed.

There was the story about the man at the apocalypse, upset at the manner people were being divided between heaven and hell and how it contradicted the life he had had and the way it had been governed. “Where is the jury of my peers?” he asked as devils dragged him kicking and screaming to hell.

And one, a sort of bad rhyme, about a lost bear who made his life in a strange new world, eventually becoming its king for a year. Rabbie wasn’t sure, though, as to why his reign had ended: maybe a vicious overthrowing, potentially the end of his agreed tenure, perhaps his death. Rabbie does not know.

A sad-but-hopeful tale of a woman burning items collected during a recently ended relationship in order to find a way forward and to start to file away the still painful thoughts and memories.

And one about five schoolboys in trouble before their headmaster, who knows his is to punish but cannot help but respect the way they flooded the dreaded gym with a cunningly crafted system of pipes.

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Note: In a more or less self-obsessed manner (or a way to create a story for a deadline), this stories of Rabbie's relate to ones I had already written.  I have linked each to its original.

This is Rabbie the Robot, a gift from wife a few birthdays back:

I also wrote about Rabbie here, including a tribute to Sorry I've Got No Head's Museum of Imagination.

250 Words: Improv aka Ramblings 8

Donald sat stunned.  The family secrets were out and now barely anyone was talking to anyone else and his 70th birthday party was a silent shambles.

For years he had kept much under wraps and worked hard to stop certain information from reaching certain ears- and from leaving the family unit at all, of course.  But during his recent spell in hospital, documents had been uncovered in his desk while his wife had searched for their copy of the will (it had looked very dicey at one point and he had asked her to be prepared, forgetting momentarily what else lay in the drawer) and she had delved a bit too deep in her despair. 

The intricately worked pattern of lies that had been built up over the years soon started to unravel as people defended their actions by letting slip those of others.  Far more than Donald had ever known came out.  As did two grandchildren and one of their fathers. 

The party was nearly cancelled several times but Donald had begged for it to go ahead, fearful that this would be his last birthday, and in the vain hope that this would help bring together the family.  At the very least it might make it look to the outside world as if they were a united front.

When the first punch was thrown the old man gave up his last vestige of hope that this party could start to heal the rifts caused.  He left the party dying.

250 Words: Improv aka Ramblings 7

The robot blinked mechanically, cleaning the dirt off its eyes.  Or, to be more precise, the glass placed just in front of the two cameras that gathered the information it used to see. 

Dirt was a constant problem for the robot.  In this area it seemed to be forever collecting dirt and dust upon its glass plates that distorted its vision and required the slow process of blinking: something that could create a real problem should the robot come under attack while running the blinking program.  The CPU might never know.

Elsewhere dirt could easily get into its joints and cause robotic arthritis, necessitating an immediate return to base and a period away from the frontline while being cleaned.  The stuff could get inside the robot too, causing a potential myriad of other problems that would result in the same situation.

If the robot could have thought for itself it may have reasoned that it wasn’t entirely well designed for its purpose.  Despite a high degree of success when working properly, this model was badly suited to the conditions in which it was operated.  The casing came along soon enough but the robot and its siblings were required to fight before it was completed.  They saved lives and turned the tide but, with a little more work, could have won the war single-handedly.

Not that the casing proved to be a solve-all solution.  The introduction of electromagnetic grenades saw to that.  And the robot could still not blink away bullets.

250 Words: Improv aka Ramblings 6

Emperor Honorius sat admiring the birds sat at his feet, arms, shoulder and hand and saw the beauty he’d loved since childhood: the fine softness of the feathers, and the colours and patterns.  The elegant, wise look in the beads of eyes.  Owls were his favourites, he especially loved to stick his finger into the feathers around the head, marvelling at how far it would go in.  That never ceased to amaze him. 

Emperor Honorius sat admiring the birds at his feet, arms, shoulder and hand but this was all he did.  He would marvel as Rome fell, all the while his wonder mirrored in the faces of his courtiers and senators as they nodded along with all he did, seeing only what was before them as Honorius saw only the wonder of birds.  No one would see the savages coming.  Rome had become insular and forgotten itself entirely.

Emperor Honorius sat admiring the birds at his feet, arms, shoulder and hand and cooed to them.  If only he could fly himself, all the way to Greece, Egypt, Spain, Judaea and beyond.  That would be amazing.  If only his skin were feathers, his bones hollow, if only he knew those secrets of flight that his pets knew.  And that of song!  To sing, to understand the song.  How marvellous it would be.  The courtiers agreed.  Truly great.

Emperor Honorius sat admiring the birds at his feet, arms, shoulder and hand and soon wished he could fly when the Viscigoths arrived.

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Note: As with the next 250 Words, this was inspired by a John William Waterhouse painting, in this case The Favourites of Emperor Honorius, which I saw at an exhibition at the Royal Academy.

250 Words: Improv aka Ramblings 5

Terence walked down the road wondering about the weirdness of the day that had just passed. 

He’d woken as normal at 6.52 but, abnormally, a white rabbit sat at the end of his bed and spoke to him. “Don’t follow me to wonderland but see the fat man at Dreamland before lunch.”

So Terence went to Dreamland as it was his day off and he had nothing else to do.  A fat man manning a hot dog stall greeted him like an old friend and gave Terence a ticket for the Scenic Railway.  “A very special ticket indeed,” he announced.

So Terence rode the railway and as the car went down one of the dips he was transported to another world, one beyond Margate, where, like in Oz, everyone wore coloured specs to distort reality, but here it was blue because that was the despotic king’s favourite colour. 

Soon after arrival Terence was arrested as an illegal immigrant and jailed.  The white rabbit, now blue, told him he must kill the king at his trial.  Which Terence obviously did because by now he was so bewildered by everything that it made sense to kill.

So a death sentence was passed, “The only way back,” whispered his fat, familiar, executioner and, as the axe passed through his neck, Terence saw the world of blue change to the multicolour of the street he lived on.

So Terence walked down the road wondering about the weirdness of the day that had just passed.

250 Words: Improv, aka Ramblings 4

Whatever happened to Steve?  I remember the last time I saw him was in the Wetherspoon’s on Grape Lane, the one that all the slags hang out in, that drag guys to kiss in the alley down the side.  And maybe more, I don’t know, I’ve never been a random.  Anyway, I saw Steve in there three, maybe four years ago, I remember cos it was the night I last went out with Nicki; she dumped me the next morning (though I didn’t breakdown into her naked breasts, Los Campesinos! fans; I did that on her doorstep having left with my head held, reasonably, high).  God I loved her at the time.  It was only later I found out she’d been screwing right around town.  Probably in the alleyway down the side of the Wetherspoon’s on Grape Lane. 

Hmm.

Anywho, I saw Steve last then.  You remember him too, don’t you?  Not even that night?  It was also the night that you fell down drunk, smashed your head up real bad.  That’s why you might not remember that night so well but you must remember old Stevie Steven!  He cleaned you up someone told me (I missed the whole thing, arguing with Nicki no doubt, I only found out at closing time, hadn’t noticed you were gone).  Well that was the last I saw of him, in the Grape Lane Wetherspoon’s the night before Nicki ditched me and you smashed your head up badly.  Whatever happened to him I wonder?  

250 Words: Improv, aka Ramblings 3

It was a parrot called Malcolm that finally pushed me over the edge.  Always squawking on about fucking crackers or some such shit.  So I never went to the pet shop again.  Shame, really,because I had always enjoyed a visit there.  I went to a party once, though, and saw Malcolm again.  His repertoire had changed a bit by then and he won me over.  Charming fellow, I must say. Knew the first lines of fifteen classic novels.  If you said the title, he would give you said first line. Fun game to try and find the ones he knew.  I can remember he knew A Christmas Carol (not read it, but knew the first sentence: easy to remember at three words long) and Pride and Prejudice (who doesn’t know that one?)  I don’t think I know any others, actually, so if he was right I wouldn’t have known.  Funny old bird, that.  Not as strange as the parrots who live wild in this country. Weirder for them, perhaps.  Or maybe not if they were born and bred in captivity. Malcolm was cool, though.  Like to see him again.  Anyway, I went back to the pet shop but the latest parrot was a shit too.  I’ve not been back since.  Shame, really, because I always enjoyed a visit there.  I liked the little hamsters with their big cheeks and the rabbit babies and the guinea pigs. And the different size water bottles.  And the fish: could watch them forever.

250 Words: Improv aka Ramblings 2

Smaug Asborde was feeling despondent again.  Sixty years as ruler of sixty star systems had taken its toll and all he wanted to do these days was sit about the house and occasionally lift a leg to release some flatulence.  His daily snacks of large worms farmed from the planet Earth seemed to have that effect on him.  Every day he would swear to leave them alone forever but then his son and daughter would appear and offer their daddy a well-deserved treat for the day.  And he would commence to sit about and do sod all.  And so he never seemed to do any ruling any more.  Sometimes he would wonder who was doing it all.  There used to be all sorts of things to do and sign.  Not now.  Presumably because he never left his private chambers to go and do it.  And he used to be so gung ho about it all- keen and ready each day to get up and rule the empire he had created as a young, and then middle-aged, man.  That zeal of old had died away.  Around about the time he had started on the worms.  But his brain didn't tell him this on account of the worms.  So a despondent despot become useless continued to sit and ruminate over his life, remembering the good battles and the old, the uprisings beaten down and all the comrades stabbed in the back at the start, never recognising the look in his children's eyes.  

250 Words: Improv, aka Ramblings

Lamby the lamb lived by the sea but 100 metres above it in a beautiful green field that ended abruptly at the top of a white cliff.  The young lamb dreamed of getting her hooves wet on the beach far below the pastures it lived on, of running about in the surf and seeing if her woolly middle would help her float in deeper waters.  

Through long days and nights Lamby would dream of sailing out to sea on a raft, its mast flying a flag bearing the picture of a sheep.  Across the world Lamby would sail, meeting sheep in other lands and having adventures in ports and coves, fighting the pirate sheep dogs that longed to control the movement of the sheep herds but couldn’t because Lamby stood bravely in the way.

Alas, though, what can one little sheep do but plunge to her death in the attempt when there is no path from the field to the beach.  And so Lamby grew sad and old because there is no hope in life.  Year after year Lamby was given to the rams and gave birth to many young lambs who dreamed too of the beach below the field.  The closest they ever got was the chemical dip they were routinely forced into.  

Instead, like Lamby, they saw out their days becoming more and more weary each time their coat was roughly hewn.  Their eyes clouding until the inevitable finally occurred and they succumbed to the coldest of air.