Bristol, England. Eight am. Breakfast was over. Scoffed. Finished. David Boinoff returned to his room.
As he sat down upon his chair, his eyes fixed firmly upon the ever humming screen of his computer.
He felt something upon his foot. It tickled and prickled, and he instinctively pulled his foot away from
the floor and held it in his hand.
Upon inspection, his foot appeared fine. The usual dry skin problems persisted, but nothing out of the
David glanced around the floor of his room. Again it all seemed normal. There were stray tissues and bits
strewn around the carpet, but aside from this, nothing.
He returned his foot to the floor. 'huh' he shrugged to himself, and returned to staring at his computer screen.
Adelaide, Australia. Early evening. Still light outside. Carmel Hunkles is pondering a new pair of sunglasses
available for a snip at eighty dollars on offer, through a sunglasses selling website.
The glasses themselves are pretty cool.
But she is having a moment on indecision, an indecision traced through guilt. She already owns upwards
of sixty pairs of sunglasses. She does not work. She has been on income support since the death of her
husband, and her subsequent breakdown. though we will not mention anymore of this. no-one else does.
It would be inpolite to do so, even though Carmel will never hear of or read this text becuase she is a
fictional character of my creation.
Since the death. Sunglasses have become quite an obsession of hers. With the purchase of a new pair.
The same cycle is repeated beforehand. The indecision, the guilt, the doubt, and then the purchase,
and the warm feeling it brings knowing a new pair will soon be delivered.
Do not look down on Carmel. It is true that repetition does indeed lead to banality,
and it may appear that she is indeed stuck in such a cycle. However i am of the opinion that obsessions
are what keep the world flowing and joyful. Enthusiasm leads to new discoveries. Obsession and enthusiasm
are the two traits i most applaud in people.
Carmel is smiling at the computer, as the little bar swirls through its thinking process, before finally
a SALE COMPLETE sign pops up onto the screen and the transaction is completed. She them pulls up a new tab
and begins to ponder what to search for next; a whole world of possibilities!
But as she thinks about all the things she could look at next; the latest RFL Gossip, perhaps finally facing
her bank statement, watching a funny video on you tube. She feels a strange tingling sensation upon her upper left
arm. Without looking she scratched it. But as she scratches, no matter where she scratches the tingling continues,
until finally she looks at her arm and the tingling stops.
A look of bemusement clouds her face. On her arm there is a throbbing green mark, that can only be described
as a splurge. It appears to be growing as it throbs and masticates its way over and around her arm.
It had been over twenty minutes since David Boinoff had felt a strange sensation upon his foot, which after
inspecting and having found nothing there, he returned to his computer screen and was currently in the midst
of making a decision regarding an important scene in the current screen play he is writing.
'Should i kill her off now? or should i kill her off later?' he ponders.
In this time, unbeknown to David, a large green splurge had also appeared on his foot, beginning in the spot
where he had first felt it, and growing rapidly. It would devour upwards of half of his leg, before he finally
noticed it twenty minutes from now, such was his immersion in his screen play.
At the same time as these two instances occured, all over the world,
people began to develop unexplained green splurges on different parts of their bodies.
And within an hour of the first recorded splurge, an epidemic was announced on the News.
The government has no explanation. The media neither, not that it needs one.
The only thing that ties each splurge together, is that each person who has been struck down by one,
was sitting by a computer screen as the splurge appeared.
It has now been announced by the government that all computers are to be turned off. No-one is to go near one, and a special government
task force would be calling round soon to collect, confiscate and quarentine all computers as soon as is humanly
possible. Of course this will take time, and of course not everyone will turn off their computers, nor do some people
even listen to, or read the news. So the epidemic will continue to spread.
Unexplained throbbing green splurges appearing everywhere.
The world is in crisis, and no-one knows what to do, nor can explain how this has happened.
Well, except one person.
Eleanor Splodge lives in a bottle. A small green bottle, buried beneath a mass of brambles and dried leaves
and soil, by the side of a small stream that spreads itself througha small part of Yorkshire.
The particular part of Yorkshire that she lives in, is in an area of Leeds called Woodhouse.
A densely populated part of the city, full of students and ket heads and chavs. The stream is hidden
from view by a crumpled brick wall. I doubt in fact anyone knew of its existance. There is no visable sign
of it, only a slight gushing noise, that one could hear if you really really listened as you passed it.
The stream was linked to a slightly bigger stream that carved its way through what is known as 'The Ridge'
a collection of trees and soil and sunlight, that seperates Woodhouse from a main road, and provides
ample space for drunkards to explore in early morning delight.
This slighty bigger stream is also barely noticable. As it flows mostly underground and unnoticed, until popping
out on the t'other side of road, and linking with a few other streams and forming a river.
What the river is called i cannot recall, and to be quite honest it is of little interest to the story.
Eleanor had chosen to live in this bottle, in this spot, as it is the perfect place for a hermit in a bottle to
live. She is bothered by no-one and no-one knows of her existance. This is how she likes it.
She knows little of the outside world, and the outside world knows little of her.
She has lived here for 60 years. She is content.
Now a bottle may not seem, to me or you, a desirable place to live in. However to Eleanor Splodge it is ideal.
You see Eleanor Splodge is what we, may call a witch. Although she does not know what a witch is,
nor does she really care. As i said she is happily ignorant of the world outside her bottle.
i use the term 'witch' to give a context to your understanding of what she is, and how she came to,
and was able to live in a bottle.
You see she has certain magical qualities, which enable her to be able to live inside a bottle.
In fact once inside the bottle it is rather luxurious and spacious, if a little eccentricly decorated and dirty.
However no-one else is able to get into the bottle because no-one else has magical qualities that enable us
to live comfortably inside a bottle. Perhaps you may wonder, why does she not realise this, and ponder
why no-one ever calls round or visits. However to think like this is to misunderstand the mind of Eleanor Splodge
She does not, nor has never thought of anything outside of her own little world but
if she did think about the world outside of her bottle i imagine
she would presume everyone else also has the same qualities. However as she is so reclusive;
living in a bottle and all, she has no idea that other people do not have such qualities.
And this longwinded explantion i hope will help you to understand how the green splurge epidemic began
and still continues to grow.
You see only once in the last fifty years has Eleanor had any contact with the outside world.
This happened yesterday. Around tea time.
What happened is this. Eleanor was happily sitting in one of her many armchairs, thinking the usual
silly thoughts, when she heard a noise. that sounded like a clunk. a noise she had never heard before.
The clunk reverberated around the glass of the bottle, and drew her to the doorway.
A place she had not ventured towards in a long time. The doorway was were the bottle top is usually placed.
Upon investigation and to her suprise she realised that the doorway opened.
She opened it, and a bright screaming light pierced her eyes.
She closed it. Then she again opened it. The same piercing light again screamed before she closed it again.
This game went on for a while. These sort of games usually did with Eleanor. Eventually she remembered about the noise,
opened the door and ventured outside. The light no longer scared her. Her eyes, thanks to the game had adapted.
However she did scream. She screamed because of what had caused the noise.
What caused the noise was an old computer.
Which someone. I don't know who. Nor would i tell you if i did because i am not a snitch.
Had thrown this old computer over the wall, which had as it fell and scattered, knocked gently upon the bottle
and caused the noise to occur.
Now to me and you, and old computer would not be scary, but to a recluse named Eleanor Splodge, who had no knowledge of computers
because she lived in a green bottle, the sight of it terrified her.
She reacted as all magical people in a panic do. She screamed and waved her hands in the air and sent a curse straight into the heart
of the computer, which immediately vanished in a puff of smoke,
leaving no trace except for what can only be described as a little green splurge on the ground where the computer had once been.
She then returned to her bottle and immediately forgot about the green splurge, the computer, the noise and the outside
world, sat down in her seat and returned to her own silly thoughts.
And as you now must realise, this is the cause for the current epidemic that is causing masses of chaos and panting
and red faces around the world.
This is also why no-one can understand how it has occured, nor how to stop it.
Because the only person who does, lives in a small green bottle, by a stream, in a part of Leeds called Woodhouse.
Its probably better now, if we all just turn off our computers, and go back to using pens instead.