Writing for Fun
August 2019
Once A Loser – Lynn Gale
Petty thief Robert Bonner, or Robbo as he was known began to panic. He needed money and he needed it fast. A heavy drinking session at the Castle last night resulted in him partaking in a high stakes card game in the back room.
Unlike Lady Gaga, Robbo did not have a Poker face and gave himself away on every hand, soon finding himself in debt to the tune of £1000 to a certain Danny Mangler Maguire a local thug and not someone you should mess with.
A dawn visit from some of Mangler’s boys, who didn’t bother knocking, made sure he got the mes-sage perfectly clear.
Heading to the town centre, he kept a look out for a likely victim. A woman acting in a strange way, caught his eye, looking about furtively as she hurried down the high street. Dressed in what only can be described as a lurid green shell suit.
‘Where did she find that outfit,’ he scoffed, Robbo thought of himself as a fashionista, always made sure everything matched and with expensive aftershave he knew he smelt good too. But it was what she was carrying that interested him, holding a small silver case so tightly her knuckles were white with the effort.
‘Must be something of value in there.’
He followed her awaiting his chance.
Opportunity came, when a cyclist jumping a red light careered into her, the case flew from her grip and landed on the road in front of him.
While others rushed to help, Robbo sauntered over and casually scooped it up. He carried on walk-ing ignoring the commotion behind him as the rogue cyclist was berated by angry shoppers. The shell suited woman now with a gash on her head looked dazed, she grabbed the arm of a man tending to her.
‘The traverser, you must find it.’
He patted her hand condescendingly, ‘Yes of course, you’re going to be fine.’ He turned to a woman behind him, ‘Must have a bit of concussion.’
Robbo checking he had not been seen dodged into a nearby alley. Placing the case on the ground behind a large bin he now could get a good look at it; was it his imagination or could he feel a vibration coming from inside. The case was locked but locks had never been a problem for him, taking out his penknife he prised it open.
‘What is this rubbish?’
Disappointment flooded his face, what resembled an old style mobile phone lay inside.
‘This won’t be worth much.’
Taking it out to get a closer look, the device had strange markings on the buttons and what looked like a large watch strap attached to it.
Sliding it over his arm he laughed. ‘Hands free!’
He pressed one of the buttons, it began to beep slowly at first then faster and faster.
‘At least it works.’
A blinding light suddenly engulfed him and he was thrown backwards.
He got to his feet groggily, looking around, he stared in disbelief.
The High Street had vanished, a collection of rough wooden huts replaced WH Smith’s and Boots, the gum and pigeon splattered pavements were now thick gooey mud which squelched over his white Nike Max trainers. Even the air was different, an earthy tinge he could taste in the back of his throat, along with the distinct unpleasant smell of manure.
‘Where the hell am I?’
There was no traffic noise, just the sound of cheering and shouting. Robbo followed the source of the sound and found himself in a clearing amongst a crowd of ragged people watching a young girl being led by two figures dressed in black robes and tall hats.
‘Witch,’ someone yelled.
‘Burn her,’ the crowd jeered.
The girl turned to them, fear and desperation evident on her small white face.
Her eyes locked onto Robbo.
‘That’s him,’ the terrified girl pointed. ‘He be the devil that cursed me.’
Robbo looked behind him, ‘Was she talking about me?’
‘Seize him,’ one of the black clad figures ordered. ‘We shall have our burning today.’
As hands reached to grab him, he turned and fled, out of the village straight into a wood.
Diving into a dense bush, he watched in horror as the baying mob rushed by. ‘What the hell is go-ing on?’
The device began to beep again, as a small boy unable to keep up with the others peered between the foliage.
Robbo put his finger over his lips, his eyes pleading.
‘Ere, he’s ere,’ shouted the boy. The mob stopped and turned.
Another blinding flash and Robbo was once again flung backwards.
The scenery had changed again. The huts were now mud with thatched reed roofs and animal skins were stretched across wooden frames. A fur clad woman turning a roasted pig on a spit screamed at the sudden appearance of this strangely dressed figure. A goliath of a man with a full beard appeared, charging towards Robbo, he grabbed him by his collar and began to drag him towards a blooded tree stump with a wicked looking homemade axe embedded in it. The heads of butchered chickens and other small animals lay on the ground.
‘Please,’ begged a terrified Robbo, who had now emptied his bladder, ‘please … let me go.’
Kicking and screaming he managed to wriggle free and began to run, falling over a small stone wall straight into a pigpen. The pigs squealed and scattered in panic.
Sliding and slipping in the mess he crawled to the other side. Looking back he saw the roaring gi-ant, axe in hand, charging towards him.
‘Oh Jesus, help me.’
Yet again the device began to beep.
He now found himself on the side of a cliff in a huge nest filled with bones and foul smelling bro-ken eggs. Looking out over the strange dense green landscape he could see smoking volcanos and large winged birds in the distance. The trees below shook as something lumbered through the un-dergrowth.
‘What’s happening to me? I wanna go home!’
The birds were getting closer and Robbo could now see their large pointed beaks.
He began to laugh hysterically as the Pterodactyls swooped and headed straight towards him.
The beeping began.
The police found him sobbing and shaking in the alley, stinking and covered in substances no one wanted to touch. The device laying on the ground beside him started to beep.
‘Don’t answer that phone!’ he screamed.