a million penguins

Novel A

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Contents

[edit] The Silly People!

[edit] Major Characters

[edit] Minor Characters

[edit] Chapter One

Someone sows someone Sows him in his head Stamps the earth down well Waits for the seed to sprout The seed hollows out his head Turns it into a mouse hole The mice eat the seed They drop dead The wind comes to live in the empty head and gives birth to chequered breezes William Blake, THE SEED


It was the worst Sunday of World War II, a dark, but strangely inspiring, Sunday. This was a heavy statement, but one Carlo felt he was qualified to make. His depression settled deep in his stomach. He felt so alone. He was like the three-legged puppy that nobody wanted. Closing his eyes, he fell backwards onto his bed, silently contemplating the syringe of strychnine he had prepared to numb the pain of his encounter with Bababooey Benjy. It was the latest cringe-inducing event in a long line of recent humiliations.

He injected the strychnine nonchalantly into his left thumb. Almost immediately, his skin prickled and his lungs seized up. Strychnine, for those not usually involved in subcutaneous chemicals, was a neuro-stimulant, and extremely poisonous. In small doses, it provoked his abilities. In large ones, however--he did not dare to think. It felt like fear itself was trying to claw out of each and every tiny pore.

He grabbed the antidote he had prepared and struggled to hold the needle steady. Already he could feel his mind slipping and the edges of his vision begin to darken.

"No...," he moaned. It started with an itch at the back of his throat. Then, his eyes began to swell. An army of centipedes began to crawl up his back. Then everything went dark. He had forgotten to pay his utility bill, yet again.

The door of the squat swung open, and in strode Stig, the wonder dog.

"Hello" spake he, nonchalant like, thence departed through the same portal from whence he apparated.

Sara ignored him. She had nothing to do but wait. Alone. In the darkness. She stared at the deserted streets through frosted glass, rubbing her swollen stomach fondly, a part of her looking forward to being mobile once more and another knowing that she will miss being this close to her little girl.

When Carlo came to, Inu peered at him, head cocked, pink tongue lolling in good humor. Carlo wondered what time it was.

He saw himself reflected in the marble of Inu's intelligent eyes. Staring for what felt like several long minutes, he wondered if Inu understood.

He struggled to pick himself back off the floor. Inu wanted to go for a walk. Hauling his dead-weight from the grimy floor he decided to entertain reality once more and step out of the dream induced hell his apartment had become. His sanity was like a needy child and he felt obliged to nurture it.


"This isn't going well at all," Big James thought to himself, staring down at the first draft of his novel and feeling unsure about it. He begain to wonder why he started it all off with a quote from Sun Tzu and whether or not anything could be reflected from the eye of a dog.

"Big James," the bartender said, "There's a call for you."

Big James carefully pushed his manuscript away and looked at the bartender, slightly raising his left eyebrow. "For me? But everyone knows not to call me here."

"They're calling your mobile - how would they know where you are?"

"Of course," said Big James, nodding meaningfully as he took the cell phone out of his pocket.

"Hello" said the voice on the phone, "Is that Huge James?"

"No, this is Big James."

"Sorry - wrong sized James."

"No problem."

Big James faced back to 42' Pioneer plasma TV that hung on the wall, "Damn it", he said to himself. The Lakers were losing again; although basketball was the only sport that he cared about, he didn't pay much attention to the game. He had something more important to do right now.

"There's another call for you, again."

The voice broke the silence in Big James's brain.

"Ah? What?"

"Someone's calling you." The bartender answered.

"What the hell? I'm gonna throw this cell phone away one day."

However, he picked up the phone. "Yes? What do you want?" James answered impatiently.

"Wow, relax man, it's me, George."

"Oh, thank God it's you, do you know anyone whose name is Huge James?," Big James asked.

"No, but I know Big James and I'm talking to him right now. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, do you have the stuff ready?" Big James said.

"Yea, ready enough to blow those assholes heads off."

"Cool, cool, meet me at the Luxor in 10 mins," Big James said.

"What? That's in Vegas, what the hell's matter with you? We're in London," George said angrily.

"Oh yea, I forgot, my bad, well, meet me at the Empire State," Big James requested again.

"Are you out of your mind? London is not New York you idiot," George replied, this time really angrily.

"Ah? I always thought the Empire State is in London, oh well, let's cut the crap, come here... hold on a sec," Big James paused.

"Hey, where's here?," he asked the bartender.

"The Empire State," the bartender answered.

"What the hell?"

"The Empire State Pub"

"Oh, ok." Big James still couldn't figure out why he ended up in this place that he didn't even know.

"Hey, it's me, meet me at the Empire State," Big James talked through his cell phone again.

"I'm really pissed off right now, where the hell I should meet you at?" George said, almost throwing his mobile on the floor, but somehow he controlled his temper. This entire conversation was a catastrofuck.


"No, I meant the Empire State Pub, it's at somewhere in London...I think," Big James said.

"O.K., I don't want to talk to you now, I'll figure out where it is and meet you there soon, talk to you later." George hung up his phone.

Big James once again looked at the 42’ plasma TV on the wall, this time there was no longer a Lakers game, instead, the channel was switched to the Local News. Two couples were murdered at a nearby Barber shop few hours ago and police was confused about why nobody heard a noise until one other customer tried to get his hair cut. Big James lay his head down on the bar and thought. He was going to order a beer but he hesitated, he reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. Searching into it, he found a few pennies and a credit card which had way passed the expiry date. He knew he was supposed to cut it up but he couldn't do that to an old friend. He sighed, and stood up slowly, trying to focus on what he was going to do, but the hollow stomach just wouldn’t let him. He swore to his stomach and dragged himself to a table with two well-carved wooden seats at the corner.

Over in the corner Big James thought about his old life and the silver service he had been accustomed to and decided he was hungry. And the money his wife coughed up for child support wasn't nearly enough and he only had enough small change to order a small bowl of charred kitten with extra maranara sauce. His adopted pleasure-withholding mantra forced him to make such sacrificial choices. If he was honest with himself, though, he was actually starting to get some strange enjoyment from doing so.

"Sortez de mon lit de fleur!," his sensei had told him long ago. Initially, he'd been annoyed with his sensei's random sayings - these kind of zen statements that make no sense to him, except giving him some great headaches - but he seemed now to understand this strange circular logic, especially since he bothered to translate the saying. By withholding pleasures one heightens the enjoyment of that which comes naturally. But withholding pleasure too long can result in problems, not to mention constipation.

His thoughts were disturbed by the voice on the phone acknowledging the order, "ten minutes". He checked his wallet. He didn't realize that his cell phone had a digital clock on it so he always used his calendar. He took out his finepoint and circled the date. Ten minutes! He'd be ready! He'd pay exact change of course; no tip, no nothing. Big James was a mean son of a bitch. Everyone knew that. They all knew better than to get in his way; even Carlo, Bababooey Benjy reflected, a wry grin on his face as he counted out coins and dug to the place deep in his pocket for the extra penny stuck there. Needing a couple more, he bent over and dug them out of his loafers.

Carlo had unsuccessfully attempted to queue jump at the grocery store earlier in the day. But no one pushed their way in front of Big James, as Carlo had found out to his detriment. Then afterwards there had been the unmercifully filed complaint with the store's cardboard-cut-out of a manager; that had been Big James down to the ground. He was a stickler for paperwork and bureaucracy, especially when he was the beneficiary.

Big James knew he'd annoyed Carlo, but even he would have been surprised to see the effect his run-in with his old partner was having right now across town.

[edit] Chapter 2

It wasn't that he didnt like the change. In fact he relished in the very thought of changing his entire lifestyle. Of course its not easy going from dance teacher to mob boss without alot of people mocking you. Big Tony didn't mind too much. He just eliminated them.

Better known as the "Tango Poisoner" he combined his two favourite things; Tango and killing. It was quite an unusual arrangement especially for his current victim Amberdale. She had recently broken her ankle and was having some difficulty standing at all let alone dance the Tango with her to be murderer.

Amberdale tried to scream several times but Tony kept turning the music up to drown her out or lean in and kiss her. His breath smelled of cigars and of Uber Browe (which as she recalled was a German brew and was a rather expensive brand from the Jared line; his last name she could not pronounce let alone spell but it started with a B and had several letters that were not quite right for the name.)

Why she was remembering this useless information when her life should be flashing before her eyes was beyond her knowledge. Maybe what they say about that sort of thing never really happened. Or maybe her life was not really worth having a flashback for; She was after all 23.

The climax of the dance arrived and Tony was sweating as he lead her gracefully across the room and back again before the final dip to signify the end of the dance. Tony leaned in and kissed her fully in the mouth, tongue and all. How disgusting.

He then released her and watched. Odd, this certainly didnt feel like dying but then she started to feel extremely ill. Poison. She did not have the time to wonder how but rather she collapsed and died.



Tony was pleased with his latest work. Pity that she was unable to dance as well as she could have but what can one do? He took the dress off his victim as a keepsake, so that he can relive the dance they shared. He had forced her to wear it and watched as she took off her clothes but that did not matter and she seemed rather confused by the whole ordeal.

Now she lied there wearing only a pair of white knickers and matching bra. Normally though she would not have been wearing it if she were actually wearing the dress without being forced to. It made no difference though.

He now had to flee the scene as he was sure the neighbours would of called the police to complain about the noise and he did not want them to find him here when they found the body. Before he left though he placed a single rose on the womens body.

He slid out the back window and through the side gate into his Corolla. He would ditch the car later and claim the insurance under a false name. This was why he was the boss. This is what he lived for.



Lieutenant Gearson surveyed the scene of the crime as various scientist types took pictures and took samples of various things in the room of Amberdale. He already knew that it was the Tango Poisoner and it was most likely that he left nothing behind except that stupid rose. Always red and always fresh. It was too hard to determine the origin of one rose since it could come from anywhere including the garden out back of this house.

Much to his annoyance one of the police officers called him from outside.

"We havent found much evidence but witnesses say that the noise coming from this house were rather loud and that they heard screams just before the sound muted them," stated the policeman.

"Did they see anything else?"

"One of them saw a car drive off. They didn't get a license but swore it was a Corolla."

"Wonderful. Atleast we got the type of car. Any bets this guy ditches the car like all the others?"

"I'm trying to be helpful."

"Yeah well we already know all this. We know that he has a pattern and that he has a lot of resources. Plus the fact he can tango. Did I miss anything officer?"

"Bang on. Maybe there's a pattern with the victims. This has only been the third murder maybe we should see if there's a pattern in all this madness."

"Smart idea. Get right on it and see if you can discover the name of this poison this guy uses."

The officer salutes Gearson and calls back to HQ to relay the instructions to his inferiors. Meanwhile he had other stuff to do. This wasn't the only case that was hitting newslines but they were not as popular. Still, they had to be solved.

[edit] Interlude

All of the characters were preparing their storylines in the hopes of making the cut for Chapter 1. The rumblings of the managment upstairs were starting to resolve into the sound of a structure and not everyone was going to make it. The panic was tangible with the exception of one character. As the last notes of the Vivaldi concerto faded away he began to think about food instead. He wanted a thick grilled sirloin with a generous serving of pommes frites. He imagined dragging a chip through the bloody juices, a French chip, fried til its outside was diamond crisp, biting through to the fluffy, steaming center. No, he thought. No, not today. By withholding pleasure one heightens the enjoyment of that which comes naturally. Perhaps he'd make do with just a salad, plain, no dressing.

Twenty minutes, and he'd be car. He'd have to change and have a shave. The life of a character wasn't glamorous, and he'd become accustomed to spending mornings unshowered, hunched in front of his word processor in boxer shorts and little else. His scruffy appearance shared too much about his professional life (if, he wondered, anyone would share his belief that he was a professional). Ghost and a shirt, some smart shoes - patent perhaps? He'd go to Big James's place for pizza (in fact, he used to eat McDonalds), so he could afford to make an effort.

  • A random and unhelpful thought flashed incoherently across his dishevelled mind: “ I could compose a monologue about this”, he pondered, as he sauntered off to dinner.


12.52 AM January 18 1975 The data walrus is stirring. Carlo had some kind of premonition of this being many years before. Data walrus was preparing to leave for Earth when he realised that he'd left the gas on and he'd forgotten to feed his pet llama.

[edit] Chapter 2 Loneliness

Sara finally grew tired of staring at the streetscape. Carlo had not yet returned from walking Inu and she was getting hungry. Hauling herself over to the pantry, she contemplated their miserable selection of food with no small measure of depression: two-minute noodles, tinned beetroot and taco seasoning.

Nothing is worth this, she thought bitterly. Not even the damned Genesis project. Rollerson's cryptic hints at what he called the "next phase" had so far amounted to nothing and she was getting tired of wiping up Carlo's eliminations when he lost control of his bowels in strychnine-induced fits.

Oh, to hell with it. Her stomach was rumbling and the apartment stank. It would be good to get outside for awhile. She wouldn't be gone long. The Project wouldn't be endangered. Besides, she hadn't had a pizza in ages...perhaps she would try the pepperoni...

[edit] Chapter 3 Onlookers

Big James was annoyed. Another busy lunchtime in his pizza restaurant, and today it looked like he was one waiter down. Carlo had been a good-looking boy, slim and smooth, a shy smile, blue eyes. He knew how to bring the tips in from all those wealthy men dining alone. But he was just as unreliable as the rest of them. A few weeks wages saved up and it looked like he was off, galavanting around to make the most of his innocent-seeming youthful beauty.

The door opened, and on came a masked man. The mask was rather peculiar, as it was a flaming pizza with glowing red eyes and a couple gold tooth.

For Big James, everything seems to have stopped; what happened 20 years ago today popped into his mind...His reminiscience didn't last long though, as it was all put into an end. A shot heard, then never heard again.

It read, somewhat tautologically, "The Genesis has Begun".

When Inspector Rollerson arrived, all that was left was a note on the counter


Carlo came to several hours later, with Inu peering at him, head cocked, pink tongue lolling, spittle dribbling down the side of her neck. Carlo wondered what time it was. He saw himself reflected in the marble of Inu's intelligent eyes. Staring for what felt like several long minutes, he wondered if Inu understood. The Rolling Stones played on in the background.

He struggled to pick himself back off the floor. Inu wanted to go for a walk. Hauling his dead-weight from the grimy SKY, Carlo decided to entertain reality once more and step out of the dream induced hell his apartment had become. His sanity was like a needy child and he felt obliged to nurture it.

Chapter 4 onwards

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