Day out, A tale without a name and the price of life

14 December 2013

Yesterday morning I had a ride out into town on me scooter, just to mesen out for a couple of hours. I didn't get back until nearly 6pm and after four pints of real ale. two hours later I fell asleep stretched out in my recliner armchair before going to bed really early at around 8.30. Not a good night though, I ended up getting up twice for a wee. Not only that. I left my CPAP mask off because it was far too tight on Thursday and it had made my neck very sore. Ah well ... ... ...

How much money do you owe to others? I'm asking for a reply folks because whatever the answer is, it's none of my business. So why ask the question? Front page of today's Telegraph has the story of man who has been murdered by two others because of money that was owed to the killers. Now, I'm talking of thousands of pounds here, not even hundreds, but just £30! To those two toss pots that man's life was on worth £15 each. What a sad picture of their alcoholic lives. To make matters worse although they were given a life sentence one is only to serve a minimum of 16 years, the other 20 years. What is wrong with these judges?

This blog will be fairly short because I am going to add the first section of my this year's NANO effort. But before I do get on a do that, today's anniversary looks back to 1502 when a prophet named Nostradamus was born. Don't know much about him or what he warbled on about for the future, but there yer go, another snippet of useless info for you.

Today's photo then ... 

A piece of street art I found in Brixham.

A funny for today ...

 A woman is asking her friend how her doctor's appointment went.
"Well, my doctor told me to avoid saturated fat," the friend replies.
"So from now on I'm going to stop having sex with my husband in the shower."

A No-Named Tale ...

 

Beany Woods woke up with pain in his eyes, not that he actually knew that name. All he could see was bright light shining making his eyes hurt and badly water. He snapped his eyes shut and screwed them tight to stop the light getting in.  All he did though was to cause a light show of many colours racing across his retinas and along his optic nerves to his brain, which casued him to get a headache. Slowly he became accustomed to bright white light and was able to open his eyes without too much difficulty. Even the pain in his eyes and head ache lessoned as he became accustomed to the brightness of the light.

Beany became aware he was lying on his back and his open eyes were looking straight up at a white ceiling, not a normal white but a bright, brilliant white. He turned his head to the left and saw he was lying against a wall of the same brilliant white. Turning his head in the opposite direction he saw that the wall there was also brilliant white. Slowly he moved his arms and lifted them up before his eyes to see that his arms were covered in a tight garment of soft white material, but not quite as brilliant as the walls. His hands were covered in white gloves of the same shad of white. It took a few seconds to realise that they were actually part of the same garment covering his arms.

He tried lifting his legs, first his right leg, then his left leg. They too were covered in the same white material. It seemed to cover his entire body. Even as he thought about that, his arms lifted once more and felt his head; that to covered, as was his face, but that wasn't so think and he could see through it. Slowly Beany sat up using his arms to help support him. Once sitting upright he could look around properly at his brilliant white room. The only furniture he could see was the bed he was sat on; just a shelf really but soft and comfortable and covered in a soft white material of the same brilliance as all four walls, floor and ceiling.  There was no sign of a door.  'So how did I get in here then?' he thought, 'and why is everything so white; and where is the light coming from?'

He moved along the bench until he could sit in the corner where his bench was fixed to two walls, his legs pulled up, his knees bent with his arms resting on them. The white suit he was in was an all in one with no visible way of opening it. As he lay there became aware of something digging into his back, something like a zip he thought, so he tried to reach the zip on the back of the suit he was wearing but he couldn't reach it, either from over the shoulders or from around his chest. 'How did I get into this damned suit then,' he wondered. Shaking his head he thought, 'So how the hell do I do a pee and a dump? And where do I do one anyway?' He rested his head on his hands and knees.

His next thoughts were vague, disjointed and seemed to be strangely guided to where he didn't want to go. He was lying flat on his back again. The walls were still brilliant white but seemed to be further away then the room he had woken up in.  He was sure that whatever he was lying was slowly moving. He wondered why everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. 'I didn't do anything slowly,' he thought in his dream/trance. His next thought saw him waking up again in his white room, lying back on his white shelf.

Lying back he tried to remember what he had been dreaming of.  He used the term dreaming because that is what it seemed like; in fact the whole thing going on around him seemed like a dream. As soon as he seemed to lock onto a thought, it was gone again no matter how hard he tried to hold on to it.  A loud voice seemed to speak directly into his mind, 'Who are you? Where do you come from? How did you get here? Think on these things first of all. Everything else will fall into place from there.'

Beany Woods began to shake from head to toe.  That voice in his was so powerful, so authoritative, so demanding that it actually frightened him more than the words it had spoken. 'And where did it come from?' he demanded to know. There was no answer, and that frightened him even more. He became aware of the light level falling.  Soon he was in total darkness, more a blackness rather than a lack of light.  And that really frightened him. 

Becoming aware of his surroundings again he found himself sitting back against the wall, his knees bent, his arms resting on them and his head resting on his arms. He sat up quickly and looked around him. Everything in the room was exactly the same. Beany rested his head back against the wall and he could remember everything from when he first woke up in this strange orange room.

His head snapped up in surprise and he looked around; yes, yes, everything was a vivid shade of orange. 'No, no, that's not right; it should be white, not orange! Why is it all orange now?' he thought. Beany laid his head back against the wall trying to work things out in his head. Yet nothing seemed to be happening inside his head. He knew that the brain in his head was the key to it all but he couldn't remember how or why he knew that. All his movements happened because of something in his brain, but again he just couldn't understand what it was and why or how it worked.  He slowly became aware that remembering these things was the real key to finding out what was happening to him. It was time to think again, if he could think properly that is!