{The Paganist} Minding the Girls (mf, mg)
This story is fiction. Agatha Christie didn't commit a
chain of grisly murders and I don't do these things. If you
can't tell the difference between fantasy and the real world
then you shouldn't read this.
If you aren't old enough, bold enough or strong enough
to be in this group, then DON'T READ THIS! Go away. Visit
another group. Leave us alone. If you do read this and
find yourself getting uncomfortable, that's your problem.
I would appreciate any feedback on this story, even flaming
(at least you've taken the trouble to download the story
and read it).
The Paganist (the.paganist@ukonline.co.uk)
Minding the Girls
by The Paganist
Chapter 9
In the Soup
I remember when I was about four I was bored.
Rummaging around in the attic I found a clip of bullets in
granddad's or was it great-granddad's box.
I wanted to find out how they worked so I went into the shed and
used the vice and a hammer and screwdriver to knock the silver bit
off the end; I'd watched dad do something like it before. I knew
what the silver bit was so I concentrated on the rest.
When I emptied the gold bit there was some powder in it, which I
knew, was gunpowder (wasn't like the gunpowder in fireworks though)
and I knew what it did.
Well all I had to do was find out how the gunpowder knew when to
go bang.
When I felt inside, with a nail, I could feel something soft -
well softer than the outside of the gold bit anyway. I tried looking
into it but I couldn't see in there. So using dads saw I cut the end
off.
Now I could see inside and there was a little cardboard disk in
there. Well you didn't need to be clever to work out that the answer
to my question was under there.
I tried to pick it out with the nail but it wasn't sharp enough.
Then I thought that if I could get the nail through the disk I could
pick it out that way.
I hit the nail with the hammer.
If you've tried this you'll know this result and someone is
probably reading this to you.
If you haven't tried it DON'T.
Now you're probably wondering what this has got to do with the
story.
Well life's a dangerous place when youngsters start exploring...
* * * *
*
I was a turtle.
It had taken me a while to work this out but it was true.
It was the only thing that made sense.
Gravity was in the right direction. I had flippers instead of
arms (they sort of bent back a bit). And everything was so slow. I
hadn't worked out how to work the flippers yet but I was still
trying.
I never believed in reincarnation. Boy did I feel a fool.
I was in good company though.
Remember seeing all those documentaries about how only 5% of
baby turtles reach the sea. "It's an instinct," they all said "for
the baby turtle to run to the sea as soon as it's born.
Ha. Truth is we'd seen the bloody documentary and we knew what
was coming.
I must've upset big 'G' with that crack about the gates of
paradise.
I wondered what they'd put on the death certificate for cause of
death. Something like decapitated by a very blunt object?
I thought poor Elaine's going to have a rough time.
You could just see the court case.
"Miss Jones do you seriously expect this court to believe that
you ripped his head off by accident?"
"How many orgasms did you have before you saw your sister rip
his head of Miss Collette?"
"And how many did she have?"
"Could you please show the court exactly where his tongue was
when you ripped his head off.."?
There was probably a stampede for jury service that day!
They probably had to restart the trial because jurors kept dying
of over-excitement.
It's stupid! Most boxes of matches have instructions printed on
the side.
I've seen them.
Place head of match against the side of the box and strike away
form your body taking care to avoid burns.
They give you a new body and expect you to know how to drive the
damn thing straight off - without so much as a mind how you go.
Now it's not easy to work out these things without anything to
compare it to. I'd just had my senses.
So this is what I thought:
I can feel that I'm on something - that has to be either sand or
eggshell. If it's shell then it's okay but if it's sand then it's
time to run like hell. I know what sand feels like to a man but what
about a turtle. Try again.
Forget about sight - they all say that it doesn't work till
you're a few days old. That reminds me I wonder when they wipe your
memory.
Smell - I can smell something but I don't know what its like for
a turtle. Try again
Taste - yes I can taste something that I somehow definitely
associate with some sort of amniotic fluid. I must be still in the
shell. That gives me a bit of time. Still can't work these flippers
though they feel as if they've got lead weights on them.
When you get something stuck in your teeth you can't leave it
alone until you've prised it out or got a sore tongue. Here I am
with a mouth that's a different shape altogether. Imagine how I
feel.
Well I've got to start somewhere.
Mouth no definitely no teeth.
You'd think that a new body would be in top condition wouldn't
you? I've got a little boil or bump or something in here already. I
suppose they're having an economy drive or something. Ah well lets
try flicking it with the tongue a bit.
Damn must have got it wrong somewhere.
A screaming gull's got me and it's shaking me to death just like
in those documentaries.
Ah well at least they got something right.
Better luck next time.
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