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Sharkey's Bad Post Day-Chapter One: Hung Over
By Dac
“Oh, no. It’s gonna be one of those days.”
I woke up, still disorientated from last night.
I had the worst damn headache I’d had for years. Last time was when I was hit with a hubcap. I was feeling pretty poor. I guess I’d never had so many drinks on one night. I staggered around a small vegetable patch next to a river. I thought I saw someone in the patch, so I went round, puking a few times along the way, and walked in the gate, and met a very strange person there.
“Uh, what? ‘Oo are you?”
“Hello. Can you help me?”
“Eh…no.”
“Oh. So you can’t help me at all?”
“Actually, er…maybe, ah…yes, I can.”
“O.K. What’s your name?”
“Rancor.”
“Ranky? But you don’t smell rank…oh, wait, I spoke too soon.”
“No. Rancor. I scare Rancors.”
“O.K., Rancor, so how can you help me?”
“Step over ‘ere.”
I did so, but on the way I felt like punching him for some reason, so I gave him a small whack. He twisted a bit, and snapped at me.
“F@#$ off!”
I went over, and saw a strange pad, like one I saw earlier. I stood on it, and Rancor spoke up again.
“Right. You see them there buttons. Well, actually, eh, well, ah, they’re called Stamping Sensitive. Well eh, er, stamp a bit. Oh yeah. You stand there; the light goes on with that noise ting! There, ting.”
Sure enough, a light bulb went ‘ting!’ over my head, and I stamped, like he said. Somehow I yanked out a whisky.
“Ah,” said Rancor. “Don’t mind if I do!”
And the stupid bastard yanked from my hands and gulped it.
“So, what does that mean?”
“It means, Stamping Sensitive. It’s sensitive to stamping. Try it over there.”
A gate opened up, near where I had woken up.
“Or you could try it again.”
I did, and pulled out a flask. He snatched it again and drank the contents.
“Really nice helium!” he said in an odd, scratchy voice. The bulb tinged again, and I pulled out another whisky.
“Ah, I don’t mind if I do!”
He gulped another whisky just as I was thinking, ‘How much does he drink?’ and then he said, “Right. I’m going to go to bed now. Night night.”
I walked through the gate, and onto the pad I had seen before. The light tinged, and I pulled out a glass of water and a sobering pill.
“Wow!” I said. “It would seem that that was what I needed at that moment in time. Oh, I see what he means. Stamping Sensitive. Oh well, now to go get home.”
I walked over to a riverbank nearby. I jumped in, pulled out my floaties and jumped in. I swam over to a small rock near the end of the river, which ended with a waterfall.
‘Hang on,’ I thought. ‘There’s something I’m missing here…oh yeah! I have to jump into the air and do that funny, helicoptery tail thing. Yeah.”
I jumped, and used my tail as a helicopter rotor. Kick ass! I floated to another rock, with a small bridge attached to it. I ran across to find a door, but the damn thing was locked. I hovered over another gap, across another wooden bridge, hovered another gap and came to a proper stone bridge. I heard heavy breathing on it, and I had a feeling I didn’t want to meet whatever it was, so I grabbed a lever on the rock, pulled it down, and the door I had seen earlier opened. Thinking it led to the News Archive on Dan’s, where my house was, but when I got in, I saw it was just a big hole, with nothing but a key. Then I realized I had to catch the key, because the stupid door had locked behind me! I chased the key for a few minutes, but realized I had to knock it out somehow, which was gonna be hard, because it was strong. Then I remembered something. I had a frying pan! God knows why, but I had one, so I cornered the key, knocked it out, picked it up and shoved it into the lock. I walked out, and decided to see what it was on the stone bridge. I got up there, and saw a huge stone gargoyle sitting there.
“Uh, who’s this guy?”
“If you think you’re coming this way,” sneered the gargoyle. “You can think again.”
“Oh, you’re a real charmer. I just wanna get past, please?”
“No,” it said flatly. “I don’t think so. I’ve only just got comfy. Have you ever sat on a piece of gothic architecture for over two centuries? Gets right up your arse, you know. Thought it was about time to move onto, say, a bridge.”
“Isn’t it a little early in the day to start talking about gothic architecture?”
“Well, if you care to come a bit closer, we can discuss things of another nature…” he grinned.
I could tell what he was thinking. He would try to pitch me off, but I got in first. I hit his front leg.
“Ha! A frying pan! Ha ha ha! You stupid little…”
‘See ya!’ I thought.
“Ah, whoa! Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”
Stupid twat laughed so hard, he lost his balance and fell off the bridge! That got him out of the way, but the shock wave dropped another obstacle in my path…literally. The stone tunnel entrance he’d been blocking got blocked again by a rock that had fallen down the cliff face. I jumped on top, and hovered over to a platform nearby. A Stamping Sensitive Pad was there (let’s call ‘em SS Pads from now, O.K.?). I stamped it, and pulled out another thing from who knows where.
“Plunger,” I said. “With dynamite. I think I know what happens next.”
I shoved down the plunger, and the rock exploded.
“Yep! That did it! Now to go and get some shut eye!”
And I went through the tunnel.
1/23/02 9:15:30 PM
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