The Seagull Prophecies

I wrote this for one of my uni modules, it isn't the most interesting piece but it was more a project to see what was possible.

I don’t appear in this story not even as the narrator. You may wonder what I am doing here; well I'm not really here at all, you're imagining it. Focus, come on now. No not on me, over there in the background, him on the bench. Good I guess we should start. No I'm not going to tell the story after all I can’t. You're telling me you've forgotten already. This isn't my story. It’s not even yours. Well that may not be true. Just because you aren't it doesn't make it yours. It’s time for us to get back on track I will pass you over to that young lady over there after all she has something to tell you. I won’t ruin the plot for that would be cruel, and that isn't what I'm about.

I saw him sitting on a bench in the park, I can't tell you where or when. It’s not that I don't want to tell you. I just don’t remember the bigger details, they aren't that important. Anyway there he was, his clothes clinging to him as if they were about to fall off a cliff. It had been raining for the last two days so it was hard to tell how long he had been out there just sitting, looking into the near distance. No one seemed to notice him and walked straight on by. Even the Mormon’s hurried on by. It was hard to imagine that anyone had been there to talk him out of his stupor. He didn't look like the type with many friends and who could blame them.

A burst of wind, some old forgotten ghost of energy whipped up the empty crisp packets and empty promises. The discarded detritus sticks to your leg like some metaphor of life. So you desperately kick it free so that you can both carry on with your respective journeys. It flies up into the air and hits a business man in the side of the head, knocking his phone out of his hand. Then I remember the man on the bench.

I was now more curious to know why this bloke was sitting there. He was watching what seemed to be the remnants of an umbrella just flapping around the park like a distant seagull with a broken wing. I went to sit down next to him when he began to speak.

‘Life can be like a train at times at times. It doesn't always stay on track or arrive when you want it to. There are often unexpected delays or cancellations. Then life throws a bus replacement service at you which is when you realise it would have been quicker to take the bus.’

‘All roads lead to Rome but not all trains lead to Leamington Spa. That maybe a good thing unless you are stuck there waiting for the train to Warwick, to resume not just your journey but to be back out there in the world.’

‘There is a church in Warwick where the tomb of Richard Beauchamp just sits there; the golden figures that surround it are really something to see. I go there from time just to sit and reflect in the silence, occasionally swearing from time to time at tourists who get in the way.’

‘This tomb and church is from a different world when kings were kings and men were men. I admire their achievements more than most. I would imagine that the person walking down the street doesn't even know it’s there, which for me is a shame, and shows you everything that is wrong with the world today. Maybe it takes someone like me to change that. It is impossible to make a living from tie dye t-shirts, even in these supposedly more enlightened times.’

‘Maybe I should storm the ten o’clock news with some rant on the condition of the dustman. Something that makes people sit up and listen to the injustice out there. There are too many sob stories or just plan idiocy and I wonder what the deal is with that?’

It was then that I realised that this man was a total loon, oofty mcgoofty a nut case. I got up and left and thought nothing of it until I was sitting in my onesie eating corn flakes out of a mug with no handle watching the ten o'clock news when this maniac bursts in the studio empties a bin of rotting cabbage on the desk. George Alagiah stood up and lamps him one, sending into the remnants of month old veg, before rubbing his face in it. Boy did I feel good about that one.

OK, OK I steered you badly on that one I can't apologise enough. Apart from the fact that I'm not in control here, you're supposed to be.  Now settle down you are starting to make me a little uncomfortable here. So now what? You want me to give you compensation? Are you out of your mind? You must be you’re talking to me I guess. OK what if I can channel you down a new path? A new story and a fresh start. You like stories with animals in, I know these things, I don't know why you have to ask. I'll see what I can do. OK here we go, you are feeling very sleepy.

There is a field with a Mule and a Bull they are both minding their own business eating the grass and looking into the distance trying to figure out if it will rain or not, when the Bull approaches the Mule and asks.

“Are you a Donkey or an Ass? Not that there is anything wrong with that” said Andy the bull. “It’s just sometimes labels matter.” Bertha looked at him with the stunned look that most mules possess form time to time, if not all day long.

“Are you mental? I’m a Mule. Now can we drop it and talk about something sensible like is it going to rain? Or the size of rabbits feet which if you ask me are way too big.” Andy was chewing on some grass by now and all he heard from Bertha’s outburst was rabbit.

“What’s the difference between a rabbit and a hare?” Andy asked, as a seagull landed on his back pecking at the flies and other pests.

“Oh, that’s it. I give up you really are the most stupid bull anyone will come across.” Bertha was far from happy with the current conversation and tried to hurry off as quickly to the other side of the field as she could trot.

It’s true that Andy isn't the smarted bull in the world but he is pretty inquisitive. If it wasn't for the fact that Andy’s insemination record was the best around for miles and probably countywide he would have been pretty easy to get rid of. As it was he was awarded the same prowess as a footballer in the lower leagues, not on a great deal of money but with more than his fair share of kids by different mothers.

He was adored by his farmer and by those who recognised his achievements, but all the other animals on the farm took an enormous dislike to him, apart from the cows that had their two minutes of fame with him. It was that he was annoying as hell.

Come on that is sick, what kind of mind are you running here. I think I should move on. After all what is “insemination record” all about? What makes you think of things like that? Alright we’ll move on I’m sure there is something in this little mind of yours that would be interesting to look at. Maybe time for a little drama that would be good wouldn't it?

The seagull shit hit the back of my head like a tracer bullet. The sticky substance transferred to my hand the moment I felt to see what it was. It wouldn't have been out of the ordinary if someone had thrown it at me. The little pile of gunk made me feel instantly sick. People around me told me I was going to have good luck. But I had never had any luck, good or otherwise. That just wasn't the sort of person I was.

The remnants of birds dinner was starting to dry on the collar of my shirt like moldy toothpaste. I was already late for my interview on the pier. I needed to get rid of the mess on my hands so I wipe it in some kid’s candyfloss; this just made my hands stickier. 

There are people gawking at me, and then a man starts shouting at me. Crap it’s the dad of the candyfloss kid and he doesn't look too happy he looks like pistons and springs are starting to rattle in his head. Of course he has every reason to be like that but I don’t need this just now I need calm so I can get this interview over with and start my interview and start changing this luck situation. The man moves towards me and I run for the pier. I need to find some sort of sanctuary between the noise and lights of the arcades. There is a buzz to the place; people are excited about winning multiple 2ps. The claw machines give the hint of glory before letting go. A group of old ladies swoop on the slot machines as families move away to discovery new ways to spend their money and maybe buy an ice cream. Groups of teenagers form like a pack of feral animals waiting to pounce on the misfortune of members of their group.

That is until I enter the place people are now watching me clearly noting my every move. I feel as if I have committed some incredibly devious crime one that I will never be able to live down. The 2ps stop hitting the bottom of the dispensers, the little horse racing things stop running and the focus is on me. I do what any sane person would do and that is run for the exit. I take the wrong set of doors.

They follow me out on to the pier I am trapped the cold looking sea is a real concern but it seem like it is the only way out of this situation. I don't want to jump but what other choice do I have. There are policemen in the crowd. Surely what I have isn't that bad I should get a caution at best. This isn't what I wanted. Damn seagull, it’s all your fault.

They have moved in closer. I’m on the rails, I think about giving myself in but I lose my grip and I’m in the water. I have never been this cold and I feel more disorientated than ever. I make my way to the shore, warmth failing to re-enter my body. Now I’m a sodden man it wet clothes the only thing left to do is go home dry off and leave town. I need to find a place where there are no seagulls. That is harder than you would think those things are crafty little buggers, they have a tendency to follow a man unable to conform to societies demands.

Wow, wow. I think there are some major guilt issues here. I don't really want have anything to do with that. I think we should go our separate ways. OK I guess I can't just abandon you just yet but you have to promise not to pull a stunt like that again. Do we have a deal? OK let’s see what’s next.

Jon loved Maude very much. He would do anything for her. Then one day she fell ill. Jon was beside himself with worry. So he asked his dear love what he could do to make her feel happy. More than anything she wanted him out of the house.

“I’d like some bagels and some lovely cream cheese.” Jon wondered what a bagel was. “You know how much I love them.” This was the first that Jon had ever heard about bagels let alone Maude’s love for them. It may have been on her on-line dating profile, but he hadn't looked at that in months.

This left him with a problem he didn't know what it was he needed to get but he didn't dare ask Maude as she may have been disappointed in him, she would have forgiven him but that didn't enter his thinking. There was only one person that he knew he could contact in a situation like this. He had been friends with Kevin since primary school. He has always been the smart of the two but that was much the same as saying the cheese slices you get in burgers are as tasty as a nice piece of brie. Don’t ask me why it just is. We don’t need any of the italicised rubbish to tell me how we tell a story.

Well I was just…

Don’t, save it. Any way our hero needed the help of his friend, who we have established he looked up to.

‘Hello, Kevin. I need your help with something. It is really important.’ Jon said. Looking up into the sky a seagull hung in the air as if suspended by a piece of string pinned to the upper atmosphere.

‘I’ve got your back mate, what is it I can help you with?’

‘What is a bagel and where can I get them from?’ this was asked with all seriousness and Kevin knew it.

‘I’ll be over in ten minutes don’t go anywhere.’ Said Kevin sounding excited, this was a really chance to go on a big adventure, or at least the big Morrisons on the other side of town.

Jon looked again at his watch, ten minutes was now starting to look like forty. Kevin had rarely been on time for anything in his life. Jon had resigned himself for this taking a while, even though this was a situation he needed sorting out.

When Kevin arrived, Jon didn't bother asking him why it had taken so long to get around four blocks because he knew it could not change a thing.

‘I hope you know where you are going?’ said Jon looking the most riled he had ever been. While Jon always looked clam on the outside he was a nuclear explosion in one of them snow globe things. Kevin didn't say anything for a long while and it wasn't until they had gotten to the car park of the supermarket built on what was once an old haunted Indian burial ground, all the more strange for being in Godalming, Surrey.

There weren't any sign of ghosts or weird happenings, apart from two cowboys sat on horses filling up with hay. Jon didn't bother to mention this to Kevin, he just wanted those bagels and to get home to the woman that made his dreams a reality.

‘They are near the bread, Jon if we can find out where that is kept. Somewhere at the back I’d guess.’ Kevin had taken control. This wasn't anything new and probably why they had made the news at ten for getting stuck down a gold mine on the outskirts of Guildford.

‘Can I help you sir?’ said a young assistant, fresh out of school, still unable to predict that the general public are all idiots, especially the two she is trying to help.

‘Yes we are looking for bagels’ said Jon, ‘it’s rather important.’ The assistant smiled back, this annoyed Jon. He didn't want these pleasantries he wanted bagels.

‘This way, gentlemen’ she said beckoning them to the back of the store. ‘Oh it appears we are out at the moment.’ Jon was not happy. This scared the girl. ‘Um maybe you could try the small bakery over the road. The might even bake you some fresh ones.

‘OK, we’ll go and see what they have got,’ said Kevin trying desperately to pull Jon along with him.

The bakery over the road was a pokey little thing. It was dwarfed by the empty buildings around it. However it seemed to survive. Its buns must be amazing.

‘Hello?!’ Kevin said when he opened the door; the dim lighting suggested no one was home. ‘Oh I thought you worked at the supermarket over the road.’ He added to the girl behind the counter.

‘You met my sister then?’ she enquired.

‘Do you have any bagels then?’ Jon snapped at her.

‘Why of course sir’ she said handing a bag over, ‘Freshly baked as well.’ Jon snatched it from her. ‘Is this it? All I've been after it this. I could have made them myself.’

When Jon got home having added some cream cheese he took them to Maude. Taking a bite she spate it out.

‘You got the cheese with chives in you know I hate that flavour.’

Can I just say that is the most boring story I have read surely you can come up with something better that? I’m starting to lose patience. You need to impress me otherwise I am leaving.

There was a woodlouse called Toby. He had a wife and 500 children. One day he decided that it was time to go and make a name for himself in the world. He was bored of the 9-5 job of tottering around gardens all day trying to look important in the grass and under bit of bark and compost. It was hard work and never got the credit he deserved for it.

He thought he could make a better life out of acting under the stages of the west end. Woodlice from all over Petersfield remember his Othello. He thought maybe thought he should have gone to acting school but he had fallen for a beautiful woodlouse he met while at work. Kids soon followed and his dreams died.

Toby packed up all his little things and started the long walk to London, where he would walk the shiny paved streets and finally realise his dreams.  He had a cousin who lived in Brentford and was happy to put him up.

The journey was arduous, birds swooped at him trying to make him sign petitions to keep that birdsong radio station going. He didn't give up and even secured himself an audition for a top musical written by Ben Elton. It didn’t get bigger than that.

Finally he had reached London sent a postcard back to the family and sent it through the ladybird post. It was at this point he decided to go to the pub and celebrate. However he got trodden on by a big boot and he now inhabits the dust that surrounds us.

I think this says a lot about you. You feel you are in a dead end job with no outlet for your talents. The only problem is you don’t have many. Which is a real shame. You would have been good in cats or something. What do I know though? It is only half five in the morning so no need to open your eyes now relax.

Fay and Arnold were holding hands while out walking one day when they came across an odd man selling little yellow men. They were from all walks of life. There was a construction man, a policeman and even a nurse. Arnold was a collector and there was a spaceman that was really hard to track down. It had real gold leaf stuck to the helmet and one in mint condition was worth thousands. It was worth inquiring how much it was. Lego was his passion, and this would make that enthusiasm all the more special,

‘Good day sir!’ said Fay. ‘We see you have the little spaceman how much do you want for it?’

The man looked at the couple for a while, as if judging a fair price for the little figure.

‘You may have it for free but first I need you to do something for me.’

That is disgusting! I don't like where you are going with that. I beg you what are you playing at? You are sick and perverted; I would suggest you get some help! Well it isn't my fault I'm just a guide to the thoughts that are floating in your head. OK so you are telling me you were going somewhere more innocent with this story? OK let’s hear it?

‘Well within reason, I guess so’ said Fay. Who looked a little worried, she had good reason to as well.

‘Look, I don’t want this to get weird’ said Arnold who was a little defensive about this. If it was something out of a film where he could lose fay to this loser in the park it just wasn’t on.

‘I only want you to cut my toenails, they are hard to reach and the make my feet uncomfortable.’

OK, I have heard enough. It’s time for you to get up anyway. Go on wakey wakey and all that. Good you’re up good morning.