Sample

Looking outside, towards the bubbling chatter of the crowd gathered in the restaurant car parking area. Malik observed Alan at the centre of the mass, waving his hands up and down to quell the cacophony of the multitude of voices.

 The constable put a hand to his forehead, in anticipation of what was about to happen. “Again? Did he ever stop? — he’s about to tell them another holiday anecdote…” Malik muttered, with irritation now clearly showing in his voice. Both occupants of the police car sank further into their seats, hoping it would all go away.

“There was a time when I went on holiday to Uranus.” “Ho-ho-ho,” Alan chuckled to himself, for he knew the punchline, and was about to deliver it like a stand-up comic of the highest calibre.

“I didn’t stay long — it was dark and smelly.” The crowd responded with false ripples of laughter.

Reading the audience like a seasoned pro, Alan drew in his breath as he was about to continue with his tales of intergalactic travel. He felt a pleasurable tickle growing in his throat and giggled. The happy alien disguised the unbidden laughter with a cough, just about regaining his composure before chuckling to himself again. Alan forged onwards and recounted his next story.

“It was a long journey out to the holiday world of Buttins, or was it Pontlin? No connection to Earthly resorts existing or liquidated intended. I can never remember the coat colour… Anyway, I was booked into economy class. Four of us passengers’, shared the same cabin, filled with cryogenic sheep cradles. So-called because they were lined with living sheep. My God, they were comfy!”

He paused momentarily as his mind drifted, before continuing.

“The cradles were ready to be employed as soon as we reached light speed, but that normally took a while. So with time to spare, while waiting for the ship to reach the optimum velocity required. I had made a permanent friendship with an Oortan by the name of Morty, as we found both of us had a few things in common. And, as time passed, Morty decided he was hungry, and suggested the four of us sharing the cabin should visit the onboard gastropub.”

Alan felt at this juncture in the narrative, he should check if the translator had suggested the correct term for an eatery. Deciding that the second word ‘Abattoir’, probably didn’t hit the mark, he decided the original offering was probably close enough.

“Anyway, I ordered a Peranean Sheep Dip as a starter, and Sheep Maggot Haggis Because I like to keep my food groups consistent with my main course, while Trevor fancied the Velusian Slug.”

 Alan scratched his bald head vigorously. “Hang on, let me remember. Oh, yes — Ff****S***.” He paused once more, after noticing that the translator did not appear to have done its job properly again. It had changed his friend's name to ‘* times 7’ in his story.

He slapped the device with a couple of fists and gave it a vigorous shake for good measure. Alan put it near the hole in his head where you would normally find an ear and listened to the revised translation. Smiling and satisfied with the result, he continued with aplomb.

“Svenexxis decided he fancied a Martian Slingshot — So called because… believe it or not — it repeats on you.”

The translator broke its regular tendency to remain silent, as a large red light illuminated, and it began randomly vocalising.

“Ho ho ho. Santa is reminding you to order early this Christmas just to ensure you secure your preferred gift. And remember to be good kids.”

Alan raised a quizzical eyebrow. “This thing is definitely on the blink and I’m DEFINITELY going to have a word with that repair shop I keep using. Besides, who the F*** is Santa?” He mused momentarily, before returning to his story.

“The third and last, but undoubtedly not least, was Morty. He was brave and ordered a Lighthouse Curry, Pilau Rice, Poppadoms and a pickle tray. Now, although three of the meals wriggled at the end of the fork to accentuate the experience… Mmumm…”

His eyes rolled, as he excitedly visualised the culinary experience, stimulating both halves of his stomach's brain.

His eyes began to roll, as he excitedly visualised the culinary experience, stimulating both halves of his stomach's brain.

Gagging slightly, Alan had begun to drool a slimy green fluid, which was expertly dabbed away by a random unseen hand, clutching a McRonalds serviette. He glanced thankfully at the location from where it originated.

 “Thank you, my angel.” He offered whilst adjusting his composure, and continued the anecdote as if nothing had happened.

“Morty’s curry was something else. Apparently, it was filled with a complete year's harvest, of Volcano Spice. Yes — I know what you’re thinking, it was going to be way too hot. But remember this…”

 Alan's eyes widened, and his mouth opened, but no sound appeared. His delivery was interrupted by a skinny-looking girl wearing a turtle-neck jumper and jeans, waving her arms to attract Alan’s attention, “Yes — do you have a question — dear?” He oozed in her direction.

A storm of daggers from multiple jealous eyes was hurled in her direction.

The girl looked at her host oblivious to being a living target, and continued with her opening line. “My name is Alicia Knowles, and I love animals.”

Alan sagely nodded. “Yes Alicia, and what is your question?” He had intentionally spoken in his best Question Time voice, raising one digit on an outstretched arm towards her direction.

“Do you have a local animal charity out there in space? It does sound a little barbaric how you are about to eat — them…”

“Hmm, do-gooder,” surmised Alan louder than he should have perhaps done, as he quickly replied with a condescending smile. “There is no need Alicia. As the food doesn’t have enough time to complain — I hope that answers your valuable question?”

He quickly looked around for any other questions and picked up where he had left off before Alicia had time to respond.

“Where was I? Oh indeed yes, we were discussing Morty’s curry and whether the heat would be a problem.”

Alan took a deep breath

“Well, I would be lying if I didn’t advise you it had a kick. But the thing that is special when you have Lighthouse Curry is when you swallow a mouthful straight down. First, you feel the heat bubbling up in one of your stomachs, and then the pyroclastic cloud heads towards your intestines, giving you a warm fuzzy feeling inside.”

He paused again momentarily, this time for gentle reflection as he remembered his first super-hot curry.

“The finale is when…” He imitated a drumroll with all twenty-eight fingers enhancing the dramatic effect. The crowd responded by staring wide-eyed in anticipation. 

Milking the moment, as he felt the story was now becoming quite exciting. Alan’s voice slowly built to its crescendo, as he animated the volcano in its last moments before erupting with his arms akimbo.

“The chemical reaction to the spicy ingredients, mixed with simple stomach acid, causes a temporary DNA change that is quite visible. One eye flashes a bright white light, followed a couple of seconds later by the other.”

Alan’s arms now raised fully toward the sky, all digits quickly moving independently in a backwards-forward motion, as he reached the climax of his story and continued to do so, long after he concluded the last sentence.

“Hence the name of the dish being ‘Lighthouse Curry’.” He smiled in reflection and expected the inevitable gasp. None came.

Undaunted, he informed them of a fascinating fact. “It's quite a spectacle when ten-eyed Calorians get together for a curry-fest!”

His translator urgently flashed ‘Liar, Liar’ on its screen. The orating alien responded with a quick jab of several fingers on the reset button, and another, just to be sure.

He glanced around at his captive audience — noticing a couple were yawning.

 “Always a good time to wrap up a story,” he thought and picked up the pace. “It was a wonderful meal, and it wasn’t until the departure bell sounded we made our way back to the cabin and climbed into our cryogenic cradles..”

Alan coughed his throat feeling a little dry.

“I waved to the other three, and they waved back. Each of us pressed the respective button beside our cradles. The sound of hydraulic motors began purring, as the top of the cradle began closing like a coffin, sealing us inside. Completing the ending process, for the cryogenic procedure to take effect for our long journey ahead. Just before the lid had completely sealed, I heard an enormous case of flatulence. ‘Was it me?’ I thought as I sniffed the air. No, it was probably Morty, as his nether regions had been loudly complaining, on the way back to the cabin. Anyway, I took no more notice. As, by now the chiller had frozen me solid, and I was fast asleep for a short two years.”

The next thing I knew was the lid rising, and a warm fan switched on to heat my frozen bits. I looked across the cabin, where I saw Trevor, and Svenexxis, extracting themselves from their respective pods, as was I. Glancing over to Morty's’ pod, ‘Where was Morty?’ Became my first thought. As I could see, his lid was up, and Morty was gone. I pressed the button to call the steward and asked him why Morty had disappeared. He told me the deceased Oortan had just been ejected into space, alone and afraid. 

Querying him what had happened. He explained that when they had earlier pre-checked the cabin, there was a gas cloud and a lingering rotting smell. They could not quite determine whence the smell originated. Until upon analysing the cradles one by one, they surmised it was coming from Morty’s cradle, and they reasoned he must have died in transit and was in the stages of advanced decay…”

Alan noticed Gobzilla waving a towel again, he swore he could see moisture in the corner of her eyes. “THAT WAS SO SAD — I WISH IT HAD A HAPPY ENDING.” She sniffed loudly and wiped her misty eyes with a suspicious-looking hanky.

Alan tilted his head slightly to one side and raised his arms towards her, as in a gesture to hug and comfort the sad cow. He explained with a smile, “Oh, it was okay in the end luvvy, they went back for him and brought him back into the ship!”

“But how the heck was he still alive, after being jettisoned out into the vacuum of space without a suit or anything?” Doreen / Derek Plummer Inquired in an incredulous voice, still snuffling slightly with emotion while wiping the moisture from her moustache, after hearing of Morty’s sad demise.

“Oh, he was fine, apart from a little frostbite — because he was already dead, you see. Did I forget to mention, that his race is practising members of ‘Born again Zombies’?”

Cool dry wind was the only movement and sound he could detect from the direction of of his followers. Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t? Either way. He supposed he had better repeat the explanation.

“He used to wear a jar strapped over his shoulder. The container was unusual, as he only used it to carry his soul within its confines. It went everywhere on his journey through life and experiences. The ship’s customs office classified it as ‘Not Organic Material’. Therefore, it had been deemed, to be perfectly safe to remain inside the cryogenic chamber. Hopefully, I pointed this out to the stewards, and they examined the interior of Morty’s cradle a little closer to see what they could find.”

 Extracting the jar from between two of the sheep, they read out to everyone the mysterious inscription etched into the lid. The flowing script had a simple message: ' If found, There is a strong chance I must be lost. Please return me to my host within one year.’ [*Terms and conditions apply.]”

 Alan brightly beamed as he concluded his anecdote, ignoring the multitude of disappointing groans from his followers.

***