Cover illustration by Warren Popelier
FEZ Sez________Bobby Wildside gets us started with some good advice
'TIME DOESN'T HEAL'___________Zed has been rewriting history again
'EAT THE RICH' ________________Our man on the street, Dave Schwan
'THE VOODOOS'_________Circusmouse & Zed's lovable new characters
'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' ______________________A story by Bobby Wildside
FEZ Forum _______________________________with Munky Harris & TBA
'THE MALCOLM TURNBULL REVENGE REVUE'_____Oh yes, this is real!
'TIME DOESN'T HEAL'___________Zed has been rewriting history again
'EAT THE RICH' ________________Our man on the street, Dave Schwan
'THE VOODOOS'_________Circusmouse & Zed's lovable new characters
'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' ______________________A story by Bobby Wildside
FEZ Forum _______________________________with Munky Harris & TBA
'THE MALCOLM TURNBULL REVENGE REVUE'_____Oh yes, this is real!
********************************************************************************************
Contributors
Circusmouse, Zed, Bobby Wildside, Dave Schwan, Munky Harris & TBA
by Bobby Wildside
Dear readers, welcome to the latest edition of FEZ, which this month finds the team in the mood for revenge.
Now, revenge ain't pretty, and it's probably not fair, but unless you are a follower of the Dalai Lama's teachings, you've probably delved into its murky depths.
The essential element to revenge is that it is, as they say, a dish best served up cold. It's no good steaming in fists flying when the neighbour keeps you up all night with a banging party, or your lover shags your best mate. Oh no, that's the work of an unthinking reactionary. Best just sit on it, let the pressure slowly build and take action when the victim least expects it. Hit 'em from behind when it's presumed the coast is clear.
Now, the gang at FEZ isn't a malicious bunch (although I swear I didn't ask for a pizza delivery every day for the past month in the name of Bobby 'Wheelie Bin' Wildside) but one night, on a merlot mission, we got to thinking revenge needs the FEZ treatment.
So, FEZzers, best not cross swords with the wrong person today, or it could all go terribly, horribly wrong.
Until next time, be nice to each other, but, if you can't, just don't get caught out.
Now, revenge ain't pretty, and it's probably not fair, but unless you are a follower of the Dalai Lama's teachings, you've probably delved into its murky depths.
The essential element to revenge is that it is, as they say, a dish best served up cold. It's no good steaming in fists flying when the neighbour keeps you up all night with a banging party, or your lover shags your best mate. Oh no, that's the work of an unthinking reactionary. Best just sit on it, let the pressure slowly build and take action when the victim least expects it. Hit 'em from behind when it's presumed the coast is clear.
Now, the gang at FEZ isn't a malicious bunch (although I swear I didn't ask for a pizza delivery every day for the past month in the name of Bobby 'Wheelie Bin' Wildside) but one night, on a merlot mission, we got to thinking revenge needs the FEZ treatment.
So, FEZzers, best not cross swords with the wrong person today, or it could all go terribly, horribly wrong.
Until next time, be nice to each other, but, if you can't, just don't get caught out.
*
Considering the complexity and advanced technology used to create this machine, the checklist to fire it up was surprisingly short. Although the technology was not entirely new, this was the only TRU that was able to venture before the time of its creation. All the other TRUs remained fixed and could never be moved. This allowed for travelling from any time in the future back to the date of the unit's creation, but the TRU Otto had invented was not like the others. It could be moved. Not only was it able to travel to any point in time, but it could also travel as far as the Galactic Positioning System would allow. But there was no space travel for Otto today. Today he would show Dr. Braun and the rest of the Council that this was his machine, and he would determine its maiden voyage to show its power to the world. The proposed Room A to Room B exercise was a pathetic parlour trick. Otto meant to travel back in time and change the course of history.
But, ironically, time was running out, he had to act fast. The plasma generator was nearly charged and as soon as he had a green light on the console he could de-atomate.
Without warning, Otto heard his name being called. It was Dr. Braun on the other end of the glass, shouting at him to get out of the TRU. Dr. Braun was crazy. Surely he would not survive the radiation blast if Otto was to launch now; nobody had ever been exposed to that many RADS and survived. The green light came on showing power-up was complete. Otto saw it and Dr. Braun saw it. The Doctor knew what was about to happen and made a run for it. Otto hoped he had left him enough time to clear the area before atomation.
Otto was very excited and a little bit scared, as he was every time he made the journey through time. In previous TRU models, the time it took to make the leap 5 minutes or 5 years into the future or past was about an hour. Although it had never been determined why this was the case, he had hoped the new ceramic capacitors would speed up the journey. But Otto didn't mind. He enjoyed the light-headed feeling time travel gave him. He lay back, closed his eyes and prepared himself for the mission ahead.
The GPS had been set to 480 degrees 4’12.62” N 130 degrees 55’14.82”E. He planned to materialise in the isolated woods of Almegg, just outside the small Austrian village of Hafeld. The day would be Friday, June 25, the year would be 1896, his quarry, an unsuspecting, small boy, his name... Adolf Hitler.
Otto, like his father and his father before him were devout followers of the Jewish faith. From as long ago as he could remember his mother would tell him stories about the family they had lost, the friends that had suffered and the bloodline that was gone forever. Otto in no uncertain terms felt he owed it to his family and the Jewish people to erase this bloody chapter in history for them, and for the sake of all mankind. And even as he felt himself re-atomate, he wondered if and when the moment came to take the life of an innocent young boy whether he would he have the balls to go through with it.
Once the turbines had slowed to a gentle hum, Otto unfastened his harness. He looked at the clock and was delighted to find the journey had taken him only 20 minutes; less than half the normal travelling time. He checked the temperature of the new capacitors and found them to be much cooler than their carbon counterparts. Dr Braun would be very impressed, that is if he survived the radiation back at the lab. He powered down the TRU and and emerged from the cabin, the smell of rain prevalent in the fresh Austrian air. Being no larger than a small car, the TRU was easy to conceal in a thicket with little more than a few branches. He figured he may have to come back and do a better job, depending on the length of his stay. After changing into some clothes that were better suited to this time and place he was ready to go. He had mind-loaded all the maps of the area before his departure, so there was no question as to which direction it was to the Hitler farm.
His journey from Almegg to Hafeld was a pleasant one. Taking a little over 40 minutes, he passed several of the local folk, all offering him an identical smile and a nod that seemed to be the standard greeting in these parts. He was met at the gate of the Hitler farm by a couple of barking red setters, gleefully heralding the arrival of the strange-scented guest. He could see that 50 metres or so down the dirt track was the homestead where he was noticed by a couple of children playing on a tractor. After a brief gaze in his direction, the two children jumped off the tractor and ran along the garden path, where they disappeared into the house. Otto’s heart began to pound as a woman carrying a baby stepped out on the front porch to meet him as he rounded the front gate. He had played this moment over in his mind 100 times, but he suddenly found he had forgotten what he was supposed to say.
“Hello,” he croaked, his voice barely audible through the dryness of his mouth. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello,” he said again.
“Good day,” replied the woman adjusting the baby in her arms. “Are you here to see Alois?” Suddenly it all came back to him, the mind-load he had inserted before he left kicked in. Alois was Adolf’s father and this was Klara, his mother. The baby she was holding was Adolf’s infant sister, Paula, and the other two children were his older siblings, Alois Jr, and Angela. It all became crystal clear.
“Yes,” replied Otto. “I believe he is looking for a farm hand."
"He’s always looking for farmhands,” she said. “You’ll find him in the barn behind the house, and you might want to change those fancy shoes, too, they’re liable to get ruined in the fields.” “Thank you,” replied Otto. He proceeded around the side of the house while doing his best to scuff his shoes a little before meeting Alois. He should have paid more attention to his attire. He could not afford to raise suspicion, as even something like clean shoes could jeopardise the whole mission. He would have to be a lot more careful from now on.
Alois was dragging a piece of timber out from a pile of offcuts near the side of the barn when Otto first saw him. Alois didn’t acknowledge him, even though Otto sensed Alois knew he was there. He waited until Otto was within ear shot before he said: “You’re late,” still without looking at him.
“Excuse me,” replied Otto. He turned to face Otto and said with a scowl: “Are you Hans?”
"No, I’m Otto. A friend told me you were looking for a farm hand.”
“I thought you were the other labourer that was supposed to be here this morning,” said Alois, still with the same sour scowl. “Can you drive a tractor? You need to be able to drive the tractor,” he barked at Otto. Until today, Otto had only seen pictures of tractors. Farming equipment was very different in 2098, and none of it was operated by humans. Although the controls seemed basic enough, he was sure he could get his head around them. “Sure, I can drive a tractor,” replied Otto. Alois threw the plank he was holding on to a nearby pile and brushed the dirt from his hands with his pants. “Come, I’ll show you the crops,” he said.
"Adolf!” Alois shouted at the top of his lungs, pausing in silence to await a reply. The sound of Adolf’s name chilled Otto’s blood. Almost instantly came a reply from behind them. “Yes, father.”
Surprised, Otto swung around to find a young boy staring at him no less than three metres away. As their eyes met, Otto saw the steel blue of the boy’s iris and knew without a doubt he was face to face with the infamous Adolf Hitler. Otto looked for a moment, then threw him a smile. Adolf’s unchanged gait reinforced in Otto’s mind exactly whom he was looking at. Killing this monster was going to be easy.
“Gather these wood chips for the smoker, then go and help your mother in the house,” snapped Alois, but Adolf’s stare was unwavering.
“How old are you?” asked Otto, as he continued to smile at the boy.
"Six,” answered his father, eager to end the conversation before it began.
"And a half,” retorted Adolf, his scowl now directed at his father.
“Well, you look more like seven,” said Otto, hoping to get a smile from the boy.
“I’ll be seven in four months,” said Adolf as he returned his now softened gaze at Otto.
“My name is Otto,” said Otto as he extended a hand to shake.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Adolf in a rehearsed tone. By this time, Alois had started moving towards the fields in the hope that Otto would follow.
“Run along then,” said Alois, “Your mother is waiting.”
As they walked towards the first of the almond groves, Alois said: “So, you’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m originally from Spain,” said Otto. He figured he’d stay as close to the truth as possible, so as to minimise any irregularities in his story.
“Your German is very good for a foreigner,” said Alois.
“Yes, my father was German. He insisted we speak German at home when I was a child,” replied Otto.
“Your father sounds like a smart man,” said Alois. “German is a good language. Where are you staying?”
“I have just come from Almegg and am hoping to find something close by for a while,” said Otto.
“There are some quarters in the loft of the barn if you like. You can stay there till you find somewhere better... and that way we know you won’t be late in the morning.” For the first time since they met, Otto thought he heard a smile in Alois’s voice. This arrangement would serve his purpose perfectly.
With blistered hands, a sore back and a dented ego from his attempt at driving the tractor, Otto surveyed his new quarters with an exhausted sigh. His long day in the fields had achieved little more than depleting him of all his energy. He lay on the bed and closed his eyes. Up to this point, he’d just been winging it. He needed a plan to get Adolf away from the others long enough to kill him and secure his getaway. He could kill him in the fields early in the day, or in his bed late at night; either way he had to give himself at least half an hour to get to the TRU in Almegg and another ten minutes to charge the generators before he could de-atomate. He also, at some point, had to get back to the TRU to properly conceal it. What was that!!!! Otto’s eyes opened wide. He’d heard a shuffling sound from behind the drape that seperated his room from the rest of the loft. For a while he held his breath and stared at the drape to see if he would hear it again, and he did. This time the drape moved too. Otto slowly got up off the bed and crept towards the drape, all the while wincing at the creeky floorboards that threatened to give away his position. He stopped in front of the drape, placed his hand on the edge of it and paused a moment to contemplate his next move when he heard it again. Without hesitation, Otto pulled the drape across, only to find to find young Adolf kneeling on all fours and peeking through the holes in the cloth.
“What have we here?” jeered Otto. “A little spy?!!" Adolf stood up straight, as if to somehow absolve his guilt.
“I was looking for something,” said Adolf in a strong matter-of-factual tone. This surprised Otto, as he sensed no fear in his voice, an admirable trait for a six year old who’d just been caught spying.
“And what have you lost that you might find in my room?” smirked Otto.
Adolf paused for a moment, before replying: “My soldier. I play with him here sometimes. I thought he might find him here.”
Otto himself paused for a moment, then said: “Does your father know you’re here?”
Adolf seemed to grow an inch as he straightened up, and boasted: “My father thinks I’m in bed. I crept out my window.”
Otto’s feelings of mild humour turned deadly serious. The butterflies in his stomach threatened nausea. This was it, the moment where he would kill Adolf Hitler. He thought he had prepared himself for it, but he had been caught completely by surprise. It would have to happen now, for he may never get this opportunity again. “Well, you’re in very big trouble young man. I want you to stand in the corner over there, until I figure out what to do with you.”
For the first time, Adolf looked him straight in the eye. There was a moment of complete silence between them, then without notice Adolf made a run for it. Adolf’s reflexes were no match for the adult's. Even with bloody blisters and aching muscles, Otto’s reach had foiled Adolf’s getaway instantly. He grabbed him by the arm with a vice-like grip. Adolf floundered and writhed in a desperate attempt to escape but Otto was not letting go. There was no turning back now, he knew what had to be done. Easily overpowering the boy, Otto dragged him to a corner of the room where he proceeded to tie his hands with a rag. Adolf sensed this was far more serious than any punishment he had ever received and began to shout.
”Help, Mama, help!”
“Shut up, ya little brat,” growled Otto, as he covered his mouth with his hand. “Just shut up.” He scoured the room for anything that could be used to bind the boy. “If you only knew what you’ve done, you little monster.” He fumbled with his shoes and began removing the laces. “All those Jewish people, those poor Jewish people.”Otto reached for the pillow on the bed and with his free hand shook loose the pillow case. “They all hate you and they’ll be so glad when your dead, you fucking monster.”
Adolf was scared and confused. Why did this man keep calling him a monster, and why did the Jewish people hate him. Mr Janowski is Jewish. Why would he hate him? Otto fastened the pillowcase around Adolf’s head so tightly he was unable to make a sound.“Did you honestly think you could get away with it? Did you think for a minute that we wouldn’t come looking for you?” Otto was becoming more enraged by the second. Sweat dropped from his temples as he wound the laces around Adolf’s legs. “I should make you suffer like all those Jews that died because of you.”Adolf could feel his hands getting cold. They were tied so tightly that they were starting to go numb. Otto stood up and exhaled loudly. “Right,” he said, as if he had finished punishing the boy, but Adolf feared there was more to come when Otto began to unscrew one of the legs from the bed. “I’m going to show you what it’s like to feel fear, to know you’re going to die.” Otto had a final look around the room, just in case he had missed a better weapon to bludgeon Adolf to death with. Adolf began to panic. He tried frantically to work free the pillow case from around his mouth. His only hope was to call for help. Otto seemed satisfied with his club, as he repeatedly smacked it into his other palm, his blisters bleeding from the beating. “Now, you’re going to suffer, and then you’re going to die,” Otto spat as he approached Adolf.
“What’s going on?” a voice came from the doorway. Otto turned to face him. It was Alois Jr, his hand clutching a heavy spanner. “What are you doing to my brother?” Just at that moment, Adolf managed to work his gag free and shout: “Help, he’s trying to kill me.” Alois looked back at Otto, who had already started to walk towards him. On instinct, Alois threw the spanner at Otto. Otto tried to avoid the missile but the spanner found its mark hitting Otto in the ear. Otto dropped his club and began clutching his head, growling at the extreme pain. Alois tried to run around Otto to help his brother, but was stopped when Otto’s bloody hand grabbed him by the neck. Alois didn’t stand a chance. At 13 years of age his physical strength was no match for a grown man. Alois tried to free himself but struggled in vain. He felt his body going limp as Otto’s huge hands squeezed the life from him. Alois knew it was the end as the candle light in the room began to dim. Adolf had managed to work loose with his teeth the knot that bound his hand. The laces around his legs were not tied that tightly from the start and easily came away. Adolf saw the bed leg just in front of Otto as he kneeled over Alois. Adolf knew Otto would see him if he tried to pick it up. He knew he would grab him, he knew he would kill him. He frantically searched for something to stop Otto with. He now feared his brother to be dead, but he had to try. He saw the spanner under the bed and managed to grab it without much effort. He stood behind Otto and raised the spanner way above his head. With all his might he brought the spanner down, hitting Otto in the back of the skull. Otto immediately released Alois and his hands met the ground is an effort to support himself. Adolf, fearing the worst, raised the spanner high and struck Otto again. He struck him again and again until Otto stopped moving, his lifeless body draped over Alois.
“Are you all right, Alois?” he shouted, but there was no reply. Adolf tried to roll Otto’s bloody body over, but it was no use. He grabbed Alois’s hand and tried to pull him free. He managed to move him a little, but he was still stuck under Otto. He tried pulling on his hand again when he felt Alois’s hand clutch his. He was alive! “Are you okay Alois? I’m so glad you’re alive,” sobbed Adolf. “I did it Alois, I killed him. Can you hear me? I killed the Jew, so he can’t hurt us any more, and I promise you I will kill all the Jews, all of them, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“I think we found it, Doctor.” All attention was focused on Corbit as he uttered the words the whole team had been waiting weeks to hear. “And it’s here on Earth, somewhere in central Eurasia.” Dr Braun and a few more scientists rushed the terminal Corbit was channelling.
"Is it intact?” asked the Doctor. After a brief pause, Corbit replied: “Yes, all functions appear to be normal.” The doctors around the terminal erupted into a burst of euphoric cheer, shaking hands and patting backs like proud fathers, but Dr Braun still had one important question before he abandoned himself to jubilation.
“Is the beacon operational?” he said in a sober and reserved tone. Corbit checked some figures and replied after a moment, "Yes, fully operational. Would you like me to bring the unit home, sir?”
“Bring it home son, bring it home.” Dr Braun stared out the window at the rising sun and wondered what would transpire after Otto’s return. Otto had a lot of explaining to do, and so did he.
But, ironically, time was running out, he had to act fast. The plasma generator was nearly charged and as soon as he had a green light on the console he could de-atomate.
Without warning, Otto heard his name being called. It was Dr. Braun on the other end of the glass, shouting at him to get out of the TRU. Dr. Braun was crazy. Surely he would not survive the radiation blast if Otto was to launch now; nobody had ever been exposed to that many RADS and survived. The green light came on showing power-up was complete. Otto saw it and Dr. Braun saw it. The Doctor knew what was about to happen and made a run for it. Otto hoped he had left him enough time to clear the area before atomation.
Otto was very excited and a little bit scared, as he was every time he made the journey through time. In previous TRU models, the time it took to make the leap 5 minutes or 5 years into the future or past was about an hour. Although it had never been determined why this was the case, he had hoped the new ceramic capacitors would speed up the journey. But Otto didn't mind. He enjoyed the light-headed feeling time travel gave him. He lay back, closed his eyes and prepared himself for the mission ahead.
The GPS had been set to 480 degrees 4’12.62” N 130 degrees 55’14.82”E. He planned to materialise in the isolated woods of Almegg, just outside the small Austrian village of Hafeld. The day would be Friday, June 25, the year would be 1896, his quarry, an unsuspecting, small boy, his name... Adolf Hitler.
Otto, like his father and his father before him were devout followers of the Jewish faith. From as long ago as he could remember his mother would tell him stories about the family they had lost, the friends that had suffered and the bloodline that was gone forever. Otto in no uncertain terms felt he owed it to his family and the Jewish people to erase this bloody chapter in history for them, and for the sake of all mankind. And even as he felt himself re-atomate, he wondered if and when the moment came to take the life of an innocent young boy whether he would he have the balls to go through with it.
Once the turbines had slowed to a gentle hum, Otto unfastened his harness. He looked at the clock and was delighted to find the journey had taken him only 20 minutes; less than half the normal travelling time. He checked the temperature of the new capacitors and found them to be much cooler than their carbon counterparts. Dr Braun would be very impressed, that is if he survived the radiation back at the lab. He powered down the TRU and and emerged from the cabin, the smell of rain prevalent in the fresh Austrian air. Being no larger than a small car, the TRU was easy to conceal in a thicket with little more than a few branches. He figured he may have to come back and do a better job, depending on the length of his stay. After changing into some clothes that were better suited to this time and place he was ready to go. He had mind-loaded all the maps of the area before his departure, so there was no question as to which direction it was to the Hitler farm.
His journey from Almegg to Hafeld was a pleasant one. Taking a little over 40 minutes, he passed several of the local folk, all offering him an identical smile and a nod that seemed to be the standard greeting in these parts. He was met at the gate of the Hitler farm by a couple of barking red setters, gleefully heralding the arrival of the strange-scented guest. He could see that 50 metres or so down the dirt track was the homestead where he was noticed by a couple of children playing on a tractor. After a brief gaze in his direction, the two children jumped off the tractor and ran along the garden path, where they disappeared into the house. Otto’s heart began to pound as a woman carrying a baby stepped out on the front porch to meet him as he rounded the front gate. He had played this moment over in his mind 100 times, but he suddenly found he had forgotten what he was supposed to say.
“Hello,” he croaked, his voice barely audible through the dryness of his mouth. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello,” he said again.
“Good day,” replied the woman adjusting the baby in her arms. “Are you here to see Alois?” Suddenly it all came back to him, the mind-load he had inserted before he left kicked in. Alois was Adolf’s father and this was Klara, his mother. The baby she was holding was Adolf’s infant sister, Paula, and the other two children were his older siblings, Alois Jr, and Angela. It all became crystal clear.
“Yes,” replied Otto. “I believe he is looking for a farm hand."
"He’s always looking for farmhands,” she said. “You’ll find him in the barn behind the house, and you might want to change those fancy shoes, too, they’re liable to get ruined in the fields.” “Thank you,” replied Otto. He proceeded around the side of the house while doing his best to scuff his shoes a little before meeting Alois. He should have paid more attention to his attire. He could not afford to raise suspicion, as even something like clean shoes could jeopardise the whole mission. He would have to be a lot more careful from now on.
Alois was dragging a piece of timber out from a pile of offcuts near the side of the barn when Otto first saw him. Alois didn’t acknowledge him, even though Otto sensed Alois knew he was there. He waited until Otto was within ear shot before he said: “You’re late,” still without looking at him.
“Excuse me,” replied Otto. He turned to face Otto and said with a scowl: “Are you Hans?”
"No, I’m Otto. A friend told me you were looking for a farm hand.”
“I thought you were the other labourer that was supposed to be here this morning,” said Alois, still with the same sour scowl. “Can you drive a tractor? You need to be able to drive the tractor,” he barked at Otto. Until today, Otto had only seen pictures of tractors. Farming equipment was very different in 2098, and none of it was operated by humans. Although the controls seemed basic enough, he was sure he could get his head around them. “Sure, I can drive a tractor,” replied Otto. Alois threw the plank he was holding on to a nearby pile and brushed the dirt from his hands with his pants. “Come, I’ll show you the crops,” he said.
"Adolf!” Alois shouted at the top of his lungs, pausing in silence to await a reply. The sound of Adolf’s name chilled Otto’s blood. Almost instantly came a reply from behind them. “Yes, father.”
Surprised, Otto swung around to find a young boy staring at him no less than three metres away. As their eyes met, Otto saw the steel blue of the boy’s iris and knew without a doubt he was face to face with the infamous Adolf Hitler. Otto looked for a moment, then threw him a smile. Adolf’s unchanged gait reinforced in Otto’s mind exactly whom he was looking at. Killing this monster was going to be easy.
“Gather these wood chips for the smoker, then go and help your mother in the house,” snapped Alois, but Adolf’s stare was unwavering.
“How old are you?” asked Otto, as he continued to smile at the boy.
"Six,” answered his father, eager to end the conversation before it began.
"And a half,” retorted Adolf, his scowl now directed at his father.
“Well, you look more like seven,” said Otto, hoping to get a smile from the boy.
“I’ll be seven in four months,” said Adolf as he returned his now softened gaze at Otto.
“My name is Otto,” said Otto as he extended a hand to shake.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Adolf in a rehearsed tone. By this time, Alois had started moving towards the fields in the hope that Otto would follow.
“Run along then,” said Alois, “Your mother is waiting.”
As they walked towards the first of the almond groves, Alois said: “So, you’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m originally from Spain,” said Otto. He figured he’d stay as close to the truth as possible, so as to minimise any irregularities in his story.
“Your German is very good for a foreigner,” said Alois.
“Yes, my father was German. He insisted we speak German at home when I was a child,” replied Otto.
“Your father sounds like a smart man,” said Alois. “German is a good language. Where are you staying?”
“I have just come from Almegg and am hoping to find something close by for a while,” said Otto.
“There are some quarters in the loft of the barn if you like. You can stay there till you find somewhere better... and that way we know you won’t be late in the morning.” For the first time since they met, Otto thought he heard a smile in Alois’s voice. This arrangement would serve his purpose perfectly.
With blistered hands, a sore back and a dented ego from his attempt at driving the tractor, Otto surveyed his new quarters with an exhausted sigh. His long day in the fields had achieved little more than depleting him of all his energy. He lay on the bed and closed his eyes. Up to this point, he’d just been winging it. He needed a plan to get Adolf away from the others long enough to kill him and secure his getaway. He could kill him in the fields early in the day, or in his bed late at night; either way he had to give himself at least half an hour to get to the TRU in Almegg and another ten minutes to charge the generators before he could de-atomate. He also, at some point, had to get back to the TRU to properly conceal it. What was that!!!! Otto’s eyes opened wide. He’d heard a shuffling sound from behind the drape that seperated his room from the rest of the loft. For a while he held his breath and stared at the drape to see if he would hear it again, and he did. This time the drape moved too. Otto slowly got up off the bed and crept towards the drape, all the while wincing at the creeky floorboards that threatened to give away his position. He stopped in front of the drape, placed his hand on the edge of it and paused a moment to contemplate his next move when he heard it again. Without hesitation, Otto pulled the drape across, only to find to find young Adolf kneeling on all fours and peeking through the holes in the cloth.
“What have we here?” jeered Otto. “A little spy?!!" Adolf stood up straight, as if to somehow absolve his guilt.
“I was looking for something,” said Adolf in a strong matter-of-factual tone. This surprised Otto, as he sensed no fear in his voice, an admirable trait for a six year old who’d just been caught spying.
“And what have you lost that you might find in my room?” smirked Otto.
Adolf paused for a moment, before replying: “My soldier. I play with him here sometimes. I thought he might find him here.”
Otto himself paused for a moment, then said: “Does your father know you’re here?”
Adolf seemed to grow an inch as he straightened up, and boasted: “My father thinks I’m in bed. I crept out my window.”
Otto’s feelings of mild humour turned deadly serious. The butterflies in his stomach threatened nausea. This was it, the moment where he would kill Adolf Hitler. He thought he had prepared himself for it, but he had been caught completely by surprise. It would have to happen now, for he may never get this opportunity again. “Well, you’re in very big trouble young man. I want you to stand in the corner over there, until I figure out what to do with you.”
For the first time, Adolf looked him straight in the eye. There was a moment of complete silence between them, then without notice Adolf made a run for it. Adolf’s reflexes were no match for the adult's. Even with bloody blisters and aching muscles, Otto’s reach had foiled Adolf’s getaway instantly. He grabbed him by the arm with a vice-like grip. Adolf floundered and writhed in a desperate attempt to escape but Otto was not letting go. There was no turning back now, he knew what had to be done. Easily overpowering the boy, Otto dragged him to a corner of the room where he proceeded to tie his hands with a rag. Adolf sensed this was far more serious than any punishment he had ever received and began to shout.
”Help, Mama, help!”
“Shut up, ya little brat,” growled Otto, as he covered his mouth with his hand. “Just shut up.” He scoured the room for anything that could be used to bind the boy. “If you only knew what you’ve done, you little monster.” He fumbled with his shoes and began removing the laces. “All those Jewish people, those poor Jewish people.”Otto reached for the pillow on the bed and with his free hand shook loose the pillow case. “They all hate you and they’ll be so glad when your dead, you fucking monster.”
Adolf was scared and confused. Why did this man keep calling him a monster, and why did the Jewish people hate him. Mr Janowski is Jewish. Why would he hate him? Otto fastened the pillowcase around Adolf’s head so tightly he was unable to make a sound.“Did you honestly think you could get away with it? Did you think for a minute that we wouldn’t come looking for you?” Otto was becoming more enraged by the second. Sweat dropped from his temples as he wound the laces around Adolf’s legs. “I should make you suffer like all those Jews that died because of you.”Adolf could feel his hands getting cold. They were tied so tightly that they were starting to go numb. Otto stood up and exhaled loudly. “Right,” he said, as if he had finished punishing the boy, but Adolf feared there was more to come when Otto began to unscrew one of the legs from the bed. “I’m going to show you what it’s like to feel fear, to know you’re going to die.” Otto had a final look around the room, just in case he had missed a better weapon to bludgeon Adolf to death with. Adolf began to panic. He tried frantically to work free the pillow case from around his mouth. His only hope was to call for help. Otto seemed satisfied with his club, as he repeatedly smacked it into his other palm, his blisters bleeding from the beating. “Now, you’re going to suffer, and then you’re going to die,” Otto spat as he approached Adolf.
“What’s going on?” a voice came from the doorway. Otto turned to face him. It was Alois Jr, his hand clutching a heavy spanner. “What are you doing to my brother?” Just at that moment, Adolf managed to work his gag free and shout: “Help, he’s trying to kill me.” Alois looked back at Otto, who had already started to walk towards him. On instinct, Alois threw the spanner at Otto. Otto tried to avoid the missile but the spanner found its mark hitting Otto in the ear. Otto dropped his club and began clutching his head, growling at the extreme pain. Alois tried to run around Otto to help his brother, but was stopped when Otto’s bloody hand grabbed him by the neck. Alois didn’t stand a chance. At 13 years of age his physical strength was no match for a grown man. Alois tried to free himself but struggled in vain. He felt his body going limp as Otto’s huge hands squeezed the life from him. Alois knew it was the end as the candle light in the room began to dim. Adolf had managed to work loose with his teeth the knot that bound his hand. The laces around his legs were not tied that tightly from the start and easily came away. Adolf saw the bed leg just in front of Otto as he kneeled over Alois. Adolf knew Otto would see him if he tried to pick it up. He knew he would grab him, he knew he would kill him. He frantically searched for something to stop Otto with. He now feared his brother to be dead, but he had to try. He saw the spanner under the bed and managed to grab it without much effort. He stood behind Otto and raised the spanner way above his head. With all his might he brought the spanner down, hitting Otto in the back of the skull. Otto immediately released Alois and his hands met the ground is an effort to support himself. Adolf, fearing the worst, raised the spanner high and struck Otto again. He struck him again and again until Otto stopped moving, his lifeless body draped over Alois.
“Are you all right, Alois?” he shouted, but there was no reply. Adolf tried to roll Otto’s bloody body over, but it was no use. He grabbed Alois’s hand and tried to pull him free. He managed to move him a little, but he was still stuck under Otto. He tried pulling on his hand again when he felt Alois’s hand clutch his. He was alive! “Are you okay Alois? I’m so glad you’re alive,” sobbed Adolf. “I did it Alois, I killed him. Can you hear me? I killed the Jew, so he can’t hurt us any more, and I promise you I will kill all the Jews, all of them, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“I think we found it, Doctor.” All attention was focused on Corbit as he uttered the words the whole team had been waiting weeks to hear. “And it’s here on Earth, somewhere in central Eurasia.” Dr Braun and a few more scientists rushed the terminal Corbit was channelling.
"Is it intact?” asked the Doctor. After a brief pause, Corbit replied: “Yes, all functions appear to be normal.” The doctors around the terminal erupted into a burst of euphoric cheer, shaking hands and patting backs like proud fathers, but Dr Braun still had one important question before he abandoned himself to jubilation.
“Is the beacon operational?” he said in a sober and reserved tone. Corbit checked some figures and replied after a moment, "Yes, fully operational. Would you like me to bring the unit home, sir?”
“Bring it home son, bring it home.” Dr Braun stared out the window at the rising sun and wondered what would transpire after Otto’s return. Otto had a lot of explaining to do, and so did he.
*
As I watch, listen, read and learn from various media whilst running the revenge theme through my mind, I locked onto the economics crisis we are being forced to endure and I see, everywhere, footage of confused and angry people in so many countries - Iran, China, USA, Greece, France, SE Asia and elsewhere. It would appear that at least half of the world's population is upset about something. Now not all of this discontent is related to the chronic financial mismanagement as practised by the American money-men, but, add this mess to all the other issues and the shit heads for the fan.
We, the people, have allowed this situation to develop over time, one loss of freedom after another. As the politicians and money lenders come and go, we too, just go with the flow, unaware that we head rapidly towards the abyss. Or, if we do become aware of the seriousness of our situation, we often feel powerless to alter it. We see, in Tiananmen Square in China and more recently in Iran, that those of us who do get angry enough to take it to the street and demand some changes, are met by other men with guns and gas, trucks and tanks, brainwashed lackeys who are paid and prepared to kill their fellow man, regardless of the fact that they too are down here with the rest of us.
So, when challenged to offer up an answer, a plan to begin to alter the state of affairs, I am left sadly questioning what has become of many modern men and women. In the west in particular, where talk is free and cheap, real, positive, earth shattering change is a rare commodity. We are addicted to consumerism, lulled by media trivia, brainwashed by various forms of propaganda and becoming obese and unhealthy to the extreme. I must doubt that we have what it takes to not only tell the governments what we want, but to stand up and make those changes - as in the Russian and Chinese Revolutions of not so long ago.
I concede that relatively recently there have been numerous "colour" revolutions, and most recently, in Iran, a popular protest against perceived vote rigging, but at best these movements merely replace one party with another and no real restructuring occurs.
I feel that even if tens of millions of people, worldwide, united and armed themselves with aims, policies and weapons, they would find themselves facing the most violent repression, by the best armed police, military and para-military forces that money can buy. That small, yet very powerful group of people, who own most of what can be owned, would probably be prepared to exterminate much of the world's population in order to hold onto their baubles.
Earlier this year, about 130 of the world's most powerful individuals came together as the Bilderberg Group. The two issues of most concern to them were the continuing global economic crisis and its pet topic, overpopulation. It came to a consensus it would back a strategy in which population growth would be tackled as a potentially disastrous environmental, social and industrial threat and that it needed to be independent of government agencies, which are unable to head off the disaster they all see looming. One guest of the meeting said that "they wanted to speak, rich to rich", without worrying that anything they said would end up in the newspapers, painting them as an alternative world government.
At the moment, for better or worse, those whose official duty it is to deal with these problems, are our elected governments and officials, not this self-promoting group of extremely wealthy individuals, who have already managed to manipulate the world economy in their favour and in doing so nearly collapsed the system. I believe that these very people are the problem. The bean-counters state that 15-18% of the world's population own and control 85-90% of all that exists and they hunger to have it all. Surely we can do without these creatures. We should let them lead the way, set an example and put their money where their mouth is and euthanase themselves - reducing earth's population by 15-18% in the process! The next step would be the redistribution of their amassed wealth to those to whom it really belongs and those in the most need.
Rather than creating AIDS and flu viruses and inciting endless wars and spreading the scourge of drug addiction in order to covertly depopulate the planet, we need simply begin at the top of the their social ladder and nip these poisonous buds.
We, the people, have allowed this situation to develop over time, one loss of freedom after another. As the politicians and money lenders come and go, we too, just go with the flow, unaware that we head rapidly towards the abyss. Or, if we do become aware of the seriousness of our situation, we often feel powerless to alter it. We see, in Tiananmen Square in China and more recently in Iran, that those of us who do get angry enough to take it to the street and demand some changes, are met by other men with guns and gas, trucks and tanks, brainwashed lackeys who are paid and prepared to kill their fellow man, regardless of the fact that they too are down here with the rest of us.
So, when challenged to offer up an answer, a plan to begin to alter the state of affairs, I am left sadly questioning what has become of many modern men and women. In the west in particular, where talk is free and cheap, real, positive, earth shattering change is a rare commodity. We are addicted to consumerism, lulled by media trivia, brainwashed by various forms of propaganda and becoming obese and unhealthy to the extreme. I must doubt that we have what it takes to not only tell the governments what we want, but to stand up and make those changes - as in the Russian and Chinese Revolutions of not so long ago.
I concede that relatively recently there have been numerous "colour" revolutions, and most recently, in Iran, a popular protest against perceived vote rigging, but at best these movements merely replace one party with another and no real restructuring occurs.
I feel that even if tens of millions of people, worldwide, united and armed themselves with aims, policies and weapons, they would find themselves facing the most violent repression, by the best armed police, military and para-military forces that money can buy. That small, yet very powerful group of people, who own most of what can be owned, would probably be prepared to exterminate much of the world's population in order to hold onto their baubles.
Earlier this year, about 130 of the world's most powerful individuals came together as the Bilderberg Group. The two issues of most concern to them were the continuing global economic crisis and its pet topic, overpopulation. It came to a consensus it would back a strategy in which population growth would be tackled as a potentially disastrous environmental, social and industrial threat and that it needed to be independent of government agencies, which are unable to head off the disaster they all see looming. One guest of the meeting said that "they wanted to speak, rich to rich", without worrying that anything they said would end up in the newspapers, painting them as an alternative world government.
At the moment, for better or worse, those whose official duty it is to deal with these problems, are our elected governments and officials, not this self-promoting group of extremely wealthy individuals, who have already managed to manipulate the world economy in their favour and in doing so nearly collapsed the system. I believe that these very people are the problem. The bean-counters state that 15-18% of the world's population own and control 85-90% of all that exists and they hunger to have it all. Surely we can do without these creatures. We should let them lead the way, set an example and put their money where their mouth is and euthanase themselves - reducing earth's population by 15-18% in the process! The next step would be the redistribution of their amassed wealth to those to whom it really belongs and those in the most need.
Rather than creating AIDS and flu viruses and inciting endless wars and spreading the scourge of drug addiction in order to covertly depopulate the planet, we need simply begin at the top of the their social ladder and nip these poisonous buds.
*
*
*
The early morning chill was now subsiding, the birds were whooping and calling in the back yard. Billy was wide awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the signal. Waiting, waiting, and, yes, there it was, the moment when the sun cast two, round, yellowy blobs of light upon his pillow. YES. It was time to get up and to enjoy the very first day of the long summer holiday which spread seemingly infinitely out in front of the nine-year-old.
Leaping out of bed and pulling on his shorts, Billy ran over to his younger brother’s bed. “Sean, Sean, come on. Get up. It’s the holidays.”
Sean squeezed open his eyes to slits in the rapidly brightening room, and smiled at his brother. “Yeaah,” he laughed. “Ask mum to look for my trainers,” Sean began asking Billy, who had already vanished downstairs for breakfast.
“You boys, I don’t know,” Billy’s mum said on seeing the little bundle of energy in front of her. “You’ve got another six weeks’ playing to do. Why all this rushing about?”
“Mum, you don’t understand. There’s a big tide today. We’re going fishing off the pier. You wait, we’ll bring you and dad a big fish to eat,” Billy said. With his blond curly hair and big, watery blue eyes, he was adored by his parents and had so many friends that his mum had long lost count. At that moment, Sean arrived at the breakfast table, all messed up hair and poor eyesight. Only a year younger than Billy, he was much frailer and less confident than his seemingly indestructible brother.
“You ready, Sean?” asked Billy.
“Okay, okay, five minutes. Mum, did you find those trainers for me?” Sean asked, aware Billy was gearing up for a big day of adventures and wasn’t going to be hanging around for too long.
Breakfast finished, they went to the shed to dig out their fishing rods and tackle. And ten minutes later all the necessary hooks, line, reels and rods were assembled in a neat and orderly pile outside the brick shed their dad had built. While rooting about in the shed, the pair had found their dad’s tennis racquets and a couple of tennis balls stashed away from previous summer days. Pulling the racquets from their sleeves, the two boys launched into an impromptu, haphazard game in the garden, barely able to control the oversized racquets in their tiny hands. It didn’t take long though for the usual to happen though.
“Oh, Sean, now look,” said Billy. Sean had side swiped the ball, sending it over into the garden of their neighbour, Riley, the elderly, retired headmaster. Things had begun well between Billy’s family and Riley, when they had moved from the city next to the old man a little more than five years ago. But trouble flared when the family told Riley they wanted to build rooms in the roof. The old headmaster insisted he didn’t want this to happen, as it would cast a long, dark shadow over his beloved garden, with its myriad of flowers, shrubs and trees. After a bitter divorce and now estranged from his two daughters, the garden was all that Riley cared for. He loved to watch the bees and butterflies swirling about on their frantic missions to gather pollen from the honeysuckle and roses heaped alongside the adjoining fence to the young family.
Leaping out of bed and pulling on his shorts, Billy ran over to his younger brother’s bed. “Sean, Sean, come on. Get up. It’s the holidays.”
Sean squeezed open his eyes to slits in the rapidly brightening room, and smiled at his brother. “Yeaah,” he laughed. “Ask mum to look for my trainers,” Sean began asking Billy, who had already vanished downstairs for breakfast.
“You boys, I don’t know,” Billy’s mum said on seeing the little bundle of energy in front of her. “You’ve got another six weeks’ playing to do. Why all this rushing about?”
“Mum, you don’t understand. There’s a big tide today. We’re going fishing off the pier. You wait, we’ll bring you and dad a big fish to eat,” Billy said. With his blond curly hair and big, watery blue eyes, he was adored by his parents and had so many friends that his mum had long lost count. At that moment, Sean arrived at the breakfast table, all messed up hair and poor eyesight. Only a year younger than Billy, he was much frailer and less confident than his seemingly indestructible brother.
“You ready, Sean?” asked Billy.
“Okay, okay, five minutes. Mum, did you find those trainers for me?” Sean asked, aware Billy was gearing up for a big day of adventures and wasn’t going to be hanging around for too long.
Breakfast finished, they went to the shed to dig out their fishing rods and tackle. And ten minutes later all the necessary hooks, line, reels and rods were assembled in a neat and orderly pile outside the brick shed their dad had built. While rooting about in the shed, the pair had found their dad’s tennis racquets and a couple of tennis balls stashed away from previous summer days. Pulling the racquets from their sleeves, the two boys launched into an impromptu, haphazard game in the garden, barely able to control the oversized racquets in their tiny hands. It didn’t take long though for the usual to happen though.
“Oh, Sean, now look,” said Billy. Sean had side swiped the ball, sending it over into the garden of their neighbour, Riley, the elderly, retired headmaster. Things had begun well between Billy’s family and Riley, when they had moved from the city next to the old man a little more than five years ago. But trouble flared when the family told Riley they wanted to build rooms in the roof. The old headmaster insisted he didn’t want this to happen, as it would cast a long, dark shadow over his beloved garden, with its myriad of flowers, shrubs and trees. After a bitter divorce and now estranged from his two daughters, the garden was all that Riley cared for. He loved to watch the bees and butterflies swirling about on their frantic missions to gather pollen from the honeysuckle and roses heaped alongside the adjoining fence to the young family.
But the family pressed on with their building work regardless, and their home was extended upwards and outwards and, for many months, Riley heard only the sound of concrete mixers, pounding hammers and falling masonry. The extension had, as Riley predicted, blocked the light of the sun and many of Riley’s prized and rare flowers had died, starved of the light. Riley’s protests to the family had fallen on deaf ears, his relationship with the family deteriorating into shouting matches and, now, a brooding silence that had pervaded both homes for many months.
“You get it,” Sean said to Billy.
“Why me, you put it over there,” replied Billy laughing.
“I’m scared of him. He’s horrible. You do it.”
“All right, but you go next time,” Billy sighed. Billy didn’t let on he was scared of Riley too, although he was probably more petrified of him than his younger sibling.“Mum, I’m just going next door,” Billy said as he paced through the kitchen, his stomach churning inside.
“You watch him,” his mum exclaimed. “Just knock once and if he doesn’t answer, ask for the ball politely through the letterbox. Don’t wind the old bugger up.”
“Mum, I never wind him up,” said Billy.The young boy tried to block out the images of what might be happening inside the old man’s house as he walked up the front pathway and past the stacks of unused bags of fertilizer to the dark green front door. It was always dark in there and no chinks of light were even seen to emerge from inside. The curtains remained drawn both day and night. Billy knocked fearfully at the door, just loud enough to be heard, not quiet enough to be ignored. No reply. He waited a minute or two and then knocked again.There was the sound of a chair from inside, scraping across floor tiles.
“What do you want?” came a gruff voice from the blackness.
“Mr Riley, our tennis ball has gone over your fence. Could we have it back, please?”No reply. Billy edged up closer to the letterbox, curious as to what Riley’s home looked like inside. Pushing up the narrow sliver of metal to the letterbox, Billy peered in through the slit. He could see nothing. But what did hit him immediately was an awful, eye-watering stench, the strongest smell of chemicals he had ever smelt. Then, he let his eyes adjust to the void. Looking to the left he could see a row of shelves reaching up from the floor. Upon it were dozens of golf balls, tennis balls and several footballs, all of which had gone over Riley’s fence at some time or another. And there was Billy’s model plane, the one that his dad had given him for his last birthday.
And then the door opened swiftly and sharply, almost sending Billy sprawling on to the floor inside.
“Now then,” said Riley. “What can I do for you, young boy?”Billy blinked back at him. Riley’s hair was a bird’s nest of tangles and knots, his face riven with wrinkles and lines. He must have stood 6ft 6ins in the doorway, his clothes hanging lifelessly on his cadaverous, grey body. But perhaps the most peculiar thing about the old man was the way he was dressed on such a hot August day. Upon his feet were gumboots, while on his hands a pair of pink plastic gloves were pulled tightly over his boney hands.
“Erm, er,” Billy stuttered. “It’s our ball, we were playing, it went over your fence,” he said.
“And you’d like it back, would you?” said Riley.
“Well, er, yes. It is my dad’s, part of a tennis set, he got it for his birthday.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. I wouldn’t keep a birthday present now, would I? When is your dad’s birthday then, Billy?”
“Two weeks’ time,” replied Billy.
“That’s nice for him. Let’s hope he has an unforgettable day,” Riley said without a hint of emotion. “Now, go back to your garden and wait ten minutes. I will throw the ball over the fence.”
Billy ran back home, through the kitchen, past his mum, and out into the back garden.
“You were ages,” Sean shouted out on seeing his brother reappear. Sean looked at Billy and thought to himself that his brother seemed to have shrunk since going next door. How pale and worried he looked. Billy remained silent while the brothers waited for the return of the ball. They waited and waited and, then, something appeared from over the fence.
“Is that our ball?” asked Sean on seeing a green disc lying upon the lawn. The boys looked at the object lying forlornly on the grass. It was only half a ball. And then, seconds later, the remaining half skittered over the fence, flopping down right in front of Sean’s bare feet. The boys looked at each other and began to roar with laughter. They picked up the two pieces of ball and brought them in to show their mum.
“That man is pure evil,” she said on looking at the remnants of the tennis ball. “Now then, are you going fishing or not. I’ll make you a packed lunch if you are.”Gathering up their fishing rods and putting the sandwiches in their bags, the pair set off up the hill. A heat haze had formed on the horizon, and once over the crest of the hill, the boys smiled at each other on seeing the sea shimmer and sparkle in the late morning summer sunshine.
And this was how the inseparable pair spent the next couple of weeks, passing time by fishing and riding their bikes, making dens and heading off to the woods. Every day was a new adventure.
Meanwhile, next door, Riley was in a frantic rush to finish his project. Just a couple more spoons of ammonium nitrate and it should all be ready. “Just in time for the celebrations,” he said, raising an eyebrow and peering out of the gloom and on to his once former beautiful garden. It was a shame he couldn’t use up more of the fertilizer which he now had no use for, but he thought better to at least put some of it to good use. Through the walls he could hear the family laughing and joking with each other and the guests. Balloons hung from the eaves of the house and party-goers arrived and left in cars throughout the day for the boys’ dad’s birthday. It was his 40th and wife, Cheryl, had made sure it would be the best party he had ever had. The smell of barbeques and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, making its way over into Riley’s desolate and blackened back yard. The only life that still remained was some weeds that had squeezed up through the paving slabs. As the day came to an end, guests waved their goodbyes and the family began to put away the decorations. “Thanks for a wonderful day,” Billy’s dad said to Billy as he helped him pack up the barbeque and plastic chairs. And then the phone rang.
“It’s the phone for you, Bob,” Cheryl called out. “Your brother, wants to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Tell him to hang on.”
While Billy’s dad chatted on the phone, Billy’s mum came out to the back yard, armed with a broom to begin sweeping up the debris from the big day. Sean had long ago gone to bed, tired after the day’s proceedings.
“Thank you for all your help today, Billy, I couldn’t have done it without you,” said Billy’s mum.
“Thanks, mum, it was a great day, wasn’t it?” smiled Billy, basking in the praise. Before Billy’s mum could reply, a single, solitary knock was heard at the front door.
“Billy, be a love, answer that. I’m just going to finish sweeping up,” she said.
“All right then,” said Billy, happy to oblige. Up the step, through the kitchen, past the wrapping paper, into the hall. Billy looked through the glass-panelled front door and could see a huge package sitting all alone on the front patio. Reaching up to free the latch, which he had only lately been able to reach, he opened the door and a breath of warm evening air played with his hair. “What’s this?” he thought, trying to manhandle the big box inside the house. But it was much too heavy for him on his own. Upon the top of the container he could make out the words: “Hope this makes you as happy as it will make me.”Must be a present, Billy thought to himself. And then there was that dreadful smell again, just like the one inside Riley’s house a couple of weeks ago.
Meanwhile, back at Riley's, the old man settled into his sofa, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a detonator switch in his other. Five seconds to go, and it would be payback time.
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“You get it,” Sean said to Billy.
“Why me, you put it over there,” replied Billy laughing.
“I’m scared of him. He’s horrible. You do it.”
“All right, but you go next time,” Billy sighed. Billy didn’t let on he was scared of Riley too, although he was probably more petrified of him than his younger sibling.“Mum, I’m just going next door,” Billy said as he paced through the kitchen, his stomach churning inside.
“You watch him,” his mum exclaimed. “Just knock once and if he doesn’t answer, ask for the ball politely through the letterbox. Don’t wind the old bugger up.”
“Mum, I never wind him up,” said Billy.The young boy tried to block out the images of what might be happening inside the old man’s house as he walked up the front pathway and past the stacks of unused bags of fertilizer to the dark green front door. It was always dark in there and no chinks of light were even seen to emerge from inside. The curtains remained drawn both day and night. Billy knocked fearfully at the door, just loud enough to be heard, not quiet enough to be ignored. No reply. He waited a minute or two and then knocked again.There was the sound of a chair from inside, scraping across floor tiles.
“What do you want?” came a gruff voice from the blackness.
“Mr Riley, our tennis ball has gone over your fence. Could we have it back, please?”No reply. Billy edged up closer to the letterbox, curious as to what Riley’s home looked like inside. Pushing up the narrow sliver of metal to the letterbox, Billy peered in through the slit. He could see nothing. But what did hit him immediately was an awful, eye-watering stench, the strongest smell of chemicals he had ever smelt. Then, he let his eyes adjust to the void. Looking to the left he could see a row of shelves reaching up from the floor. Upon it were dozens of golf balls, tennis balls and several footballs, all of which had gone over Riley’s fence at some time or another. And there was Billy’s model plane, the one that his dad had given him for his last birthday.
And then the door opened swiftly and sharply, almost sending Billy sprawling on to the floor inside.
“Now then,” said Riley. “What can I do for you, young boy?”Billy blinked back at him. Riley’s hair was a bird’s nest of tangles and knots, his face riven with wrinkles and lines. He must have stood 6ft 6ins in the doorway, his clothes hanging lifelessly on his cadaverous, grey body. But perhaps the most peculiar thing about the old man was the way he was dressed on such a hot August day. Upon his feet were gumboots, while on his hands a pair of pink plastic gloves were pulled tightly over his boney hands.
“Erm, er,” Billy stuttered. “It’s our ball, we were playing, it went over your fence,” he said.
“And you’d like it back, would you?” said Riley.
“Well, er, yes. It is my dad’s, part of a tennis set, he got it for his birthday.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. I wouldn’t keep a birthday present now, would I? When is your dad’s birthday then, Billy?”
“Two weeks’ time,” replied Billy.
“That’s nice for him. Let’s hope he has an unforgettable day,” Riley said without a hint of emotion. “Now, go back to your garden and wait ten minutes. I will throw the ball over the fence.”
Billy ran back home, through the kitchen, past his mum, and out into the back garden.
“You were ages,” Sean shouted out on seeing his brother reappear. Sean looked at Billy and thought to himself that his brother seemed to have shrunk since going next door. How pale and worried he looked. Billy remained silent while the brothers waited for the return of the ball. They waited and waited and, then, something appeared from over the fence.
“Is that our ball?” asked Sean on seeing a green disc lying upon the lawn. The boys looked at the object lying forlornly on the grass. It was only half a ball. And then, seconds later, the remaining half skittered over the fence, flopping down right in front of Sean’s bare feet. The boys looked at each other and began to roar with laughter. They picked up the two pieces of ball and brought them in to show their mum.
“That man is pure evil,” she said on looking at the remnants of the tennis ball. “Now then, are you going fishing or not. I’ll make you a packed lunch if you are.”Gathering up their fishing rods and putting the sandwiches in their bags, the pair set off up the hill. A heat haze had formed on the horizon, and once over the crest of the hill, the boys smiled at each other on seeing the sea shimmer and sparkle in the late morning summer sunshine.
And this was how the inseparable pair spent the next couple of weeks, passing time by fishing and riding their bikes, making dens and heading off to the woods. Every day was a new adventure.
Meanwhile, next door, Riley was in a frantic rush to finish his project. Just a couple more spoons of ammonium nitrate and it should all be ready. “Just in time for the celebrations,” he said, raising an eyebrow and peering out of the gloom and on to his once former beautiful garden. It was a shame he couldn’t use up more of the fertilizer which he now had no use for, but he thought better to at least put some of it to good use. Through the walls he could hear the family laughing and joking with each other and the guests. Balloons hung from the eaves of the house and party-goers arrived and left in cars throughout the day for the boys’ dad’s birthday. It was his 40th and wife, Cheryl, had made sure it would be the best party he had ever had. The smell of barbeques and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, making its way over into Riley’s desolate and blackened back yard. The only life that still remained was some weeds that had squeezed up through the paving slabs. As the day came to an end, guests waved their goodbyes and the family began to put away the decorations. “Thanks for a wonderful day,” Billy’s dad said to Billy as he helped him pack up the barbeque and plastic chairs. And then the phone rang.
“It’s the phone for you, Bob,” Cheryl called out. “Your brother, wants to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Tell him to hang on.”
While Billy’s dad chatted on the phone, Billy’s mum came out to the back yard, armed with a broom to begin sweeping up the debris from the big day. Sean had long ago gone to bed, tired after the day’s proceedings.
“Thank you for all your help today, Billy, I couldn’t have done it without you,” said Billy’s mum.
“Thanks, mum, it was a great day, wasn’t it?” smiled Billy, basking in the praise. Before Billy’s mum could reply, a single, solitary knock was heard at the front door.
“Billy, be a love, answer that. I’m just going to finish sweeping up,” she said.
“All right then,” said Billy, happy to oblige. Up the step, through the kitchen, past the wrapping paper, into the hall. Billy looked through the glass-panelled front door and could see a huge package sitting all alone on the front patio. Reaching up to free the latch, which he had only lately been able to reach, he opened the door and a breath of warm evening air played with his hair. “What’s this?” he thought, trying to manhandle the big box inside the house. But it was much too heavy for him on his own. Upon the top of the container he could make out the words: “Hope this makes you as happy as it will make me.”Must be a present, Billy thought to himself. And then there was that dreadful smell again, just like the one inside Riley’s house a couple of weeks ago.
Meanwhile, back at Riley's, the old man settled into his sofa, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a detonator switch in his other. Five seconds to go, and it would be payback time.
*
"An eye for an eye and soon the world is blind." So said Gandhi, political and spiritual leader of pre-independence India.
So where would Gandhi's words square today, as our leaders rampage across the Middle East in their continuing quest for blood in revenge for the 9/11 attacks?
In a blind act of revenge, the "Allies", as they like to be called, launched their war in the name of so-called justice. We know the war was for oil riches, but we, the public, were told Al Qaida was the foe, and Saddam their keeper. This was a lie and is morally indefensible. But that is too little, too late, for the million civilians who have already been slaughtered.
The argument concerns the fact we were sold a war on the notion of revenge, and that, it was agreed, was good enough reason to perpetrate such a crime.
Compare and contrast those words of Gandhi to those of US actor Ron Silver, who told a cheering Madison Square Garden crowd at a Republican rally five years ago; "We will never forgive. We will never forget. We will never excuse." Let's hope, for all our sakes, that the God-fearing Mr Silver has no children, if that is the conventional wisdom he teaches over the supper table.
And like Mr Silver, governments espouse the concept of revenge as the accepted form of conducting business.
As the fight against global "terror" widens, the masses call for ever more revenge across the world. Hostage-taking and slaughter are commonplace, from the wheat fields of Russia to the minefields of Palestine. When Israel fires rockets into the West Bank, then the Palestinians fight back with suicide bombs. Was it worth the human race descending from the trees, if this is how it all turned out?
Revenge demands no accountability, nor answers, the only goal merely being the fall of the wrong-doer. Let's hope that one day those who are blind to the killing of women and children on foreign fields suffer at the hands of karma, the inverse natural law that inevitably follows revenge.
*
So where would Gandhi's words square today, as our leaders rampage across the Middle East in their continuing quest for blood in revenge for the 9/11 attacks?
In a blind act of revenge, the "Allies", as they like to be called, launched their war in the name of so-called justice. We know the war was for oil riches, but we, the public, were told Al Qaida was the foe, and Saddam their keeper. This was a lie and is morally indefensible. But that is too little, too late, for the million civilians who have already been slaughtered.
The argument concerns the fact we were sold a war on the notion of revenge, and that, it was agreed, was good enough reason to perpetrate such a crime.
Compare and contrast those words of Gandhi to those of US actor Ron Silver, who told a cheering Madison Square Garden crowd at a Republican rally five years ago; "We will never forgive. We will never forget. We will never excuse." Let's hope, for all our sakes, that the God-fearing Mr Silver has no children, if that is the conventional wisdom he teaches over the supper table.
And like Mr Silver, governments espouse the concept of revenge as the accepted form of conducting business.
As the fight against global "terror" widens, the masses call for ever more revenge across the world. Hostage-taking and slaughter are commonplace, from the wheat fields of Russia to the minefields of Palestine. When Israel fires rockets into the West Bank, then the Palestinians fight back with suicide bombs. Was it worth the human race descending from the trees, if this is how it all turned out?
Revenge demands no accountability, nor answers, the only goal merely being the fall of the wrong-doer. Let's hope that one day those who are blind to the killing of women and children on foreign fields suffer at the hands of karma, the inverse natural law that inevitably follows revenge.
by Munky Harris
While revenge usually contains elements of violence and humiliation at its core and is, mostly, performed by individuals on other individuals, what are the options for national governments? In the past, some have sought retribution, sometimes on enormous scales using the most heinous methods imaginable, but here, in 2009, it's getting less and less politically correct to invade your neighbour just because they kidnapped one of your princesses.
Governments these days rely more on "passive" revenge; non-violent, but guaranteed to piss off the people you want to make a point with. The Chinese National Government is well versed in this method of payback. Just recently, a state-owned company tried to take over an Australian mining conglomerate. Due to the stalling Australian Federal Government, market forces caused the deal to fail. Less than a week later, a senior executive of the mining company was arrested in Beijing on charges of spying. He still remains in detention.
As diplomats are always being expelled in tit for tat exchanges when countries are annoyed with each other, what has happened to the mining executive may be perceived as nothing new, but, it must be remembered, he is, and was not, a diplomat, and has none of the subsequent immunity.
With Tibet, Macau and Hong Kong all returned to the fold, just how long can Taiwan hold out?
Governments these days rely more on "passive" revenge; non-violent, but guaranteed to piss off the people you want to make a point with. The Chinese National Government is well versed in this method of payback. Just recently, a state-owned company tried to take over an Australian mining conglomerate. Due to the stalling Australian Federal Government, market forces caused the deal to fail. Less than a week later, a senior executive of the mining company was arrested in Beijing on charges of spying. He still remains in detention.
As diplomats are always being expelled in tit for tat exchanges when countries are annoyed with each other, what has happened to the mining executive may be perceived as nothing new, but, it must be remembered, he is, and was not, a diplomat, and has none of the subsequent immunity.
With Tibet, Macau and Hong Kong all returned to the fold, just how long can Taiwan hold out?
by TBA
Some recommendations from the Australian Federal Leader Of The Opposition.
www.thepayback.com
Initially bland, but if you're prepared to dig a little, you'll find quite a few original revenge ideas. The "Ute-Gate" email was inspired by something found here.
www.revengelady.com
www.revengeguy.com
Gender specific websites that give you all you need to know to fuck up the member of the opposite sex who did you wrong. I swear, Revenge Lady could be Julia Bishop. Be warned though - tongue in cheek it may appear to be, but karma heavy in reality.
www.getrevengeonyourex.com
Self explanatory, really.
www.freerevengeideas.com
Wonderful, innovative site and it won't cost you anything, except a piece of your soul. Joe Hockey's favourite.
www.makehimpay.net
Why are there so many sites for women to take revenge on men? Men can't be all THAT bad. I'll have to ask Lucy.
Note: If you can't access these sites, don't blame me. It's all Labour's fault, what with their "nanny" attitude to the internet. Also, blame them for our 3rd World download speeds. Don't get me started on that one!
www.thepayback.com
Initially bland, but if you're prepared to dig a little, you'll find quite a few original revenge ideas. The "Ute-Gate" email was inspired by something found here.
www.revengelady.com
www.revengeguy.com
Gender specific websites that give you all you need to know to fuck up the member of the opposite sex who did you wrong. I swear, Revenge Lady could be Julia Bishop. Be warned though - tongue in cheek it may appear to be, but karma heavy in reality.
www.getrevengeonyourex.com
Self explanatory, really.
www.freerevengeideas.com
Wonderful, innovative site and it won't cost you anything, except a piece of your soul. Joe Hockey's favourite.
www.makehimpay.net
Why are there so many sites for women to take revenge on men? Men can't be all THAT bad. I'll have to ask Lucy.
Note: If you can't access these sites, don't blame me. It's all Labour's fault, what with their "nanny" attitude to the internet. Also, blame them for our 3rd World download speeds. Don't get me started on that one!
*
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