Sunday, March 1, 2015


BYE-BYE, BRIAN
(a mini-story by S.T. Fargo)


TV ANNOUNCER:

And now, on the BBC, here is news on the latest in Somangola. As we’ve said earlier this morning, the situation there is critical. Hundreds and hundreds have been reported dead for the past twenty-four hours, including fifty-three foreign journalists, hunted down and mercilessly killed by the provisional government. Our correspondent Brian Johnson is right there, in the middle of the heat, but we won’t reveal his exact location for his own safety. He’ll tell us now what’s happening after the coup… uhh… Hello, Brian!

BRIAN:

Hi, Michael! As you’ve just said, the situation here is absolutely critical! The provisional government of General Mbamunda is responsible for at least one thousand deaths, including over fifty foreign journalists. At the moment, I’m hiding on the second floor of a building here in the capital, Mgula, but even from the inside, I could distinguish sixteen different types of screaming coming from three different directions! These are probably people who have been tortured by the government forces, which, by the way, also try to impose an information blackout.

TV ANNOUNCER:

Are you… are you really capable of distinguishing fifteen different types of screaming, Brian? Because I think it’s incredible if you really—

BRIAN:

Not fifteen, sixteen. Sixteen types of screaming! And I guess they could have been easily twenty, but, unfortunately, the National Opera is right behind the place where I’m hiding, so—

TV ANNOUNCER:

Brian, Brian, be careful not to reveal—

BRIAN:

I mean, the building is quite massive, and because of that, I can’t hear what’s happening in the south. All the streets in the capital are full of General Mbamunda’s soldiers, and earlier in the day, they even came here looking for me, but I sneaked into a fridge, and they didn’t find me. I think it’s rather unlikely they will come back anytime soon.

TV ANNOUNCER:

So, Brian, the most important thing for you is to escape now, isn’t it? Have you got any plans prepared yet?

BRIAN:

Yes, I have. I sure have! Tonight at nine-o-five, I’ve arranged for a boat to wait at the city harbor, on dock eleven. Her name’s Lucia and the boatman will take me to the other side of the border—over to Taxila—

TV ANNOUNCER:

Well, Brian, are you sure it’s safe to say… I mean, isn’t it dangerous to reveal—

BRIAN:

Of course, it’s dangerous, Michael! Of course, it is, but right now, I have no other option but this boat. Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you. My cellphone just broke, so I’m now using the landline here. Its number is 0093 99 099, which is funny because the place’s address is also 99 Kusulu Street. You can contact me for one final report tonight before I go. The entire building is empty, so it’s perfectly safe to call.

TV ANNOUNCER:

Brian, Brian, please don’t reveal—

BRIAN:

Michael, I gotta go now! I think I hear military personnel down on the ground floor. I need to hide, and I’ll try the library this time because the soldiers might have come to check out the fridge, you know. I saw a perfect hiding place between the second and third shelves in the Classics section. There’s a big enough chest there. So bye-bye, Michael! I’ll get in touch as soon as I can!

TV ANNOUNCER:

Well, goodbye, Brian. I don’t actually think we’ll hear from you again, but it’s been nice working with you. And now, other news: our correspondent revealed a massive fraud at a nursery school on Barnet’s 33 South Street. As it seems, a few ounces of ingredients have been shaved off every child’s portion daily, and the accumulated amount of food has been sold back on the market every month. Doris Witherspoon is on the street to tell us what exactly is happening and where the money from this filthy illegal deed goes.

DORIS:

What? What did you just say, Michael? Are you nuts?

TV ANNOUNCER:

Pardon me?

DORIS:

Are you out of your fu**ing mind?

TV ANNOUNCER:

Doris, I don’t understand!

DORIS:

You don’t understand?! What’s the matter with you, you fu**ing jerk? How dare you mention my full name on national fu**ing TV? My fu**ing kid’s in this school, you fu**ing moron!

TV ANNOUNCER:

Oh, I’m sorry, Doris! I didn’t know that! I’m so sorry!

DORIS:

You’re sorry?! You could’ve just said Doris, but n-o-o, no! You had to say it all, right?

TV ANNOUNCER:

I don’t know what happened. I flipped out!

DORIS:

Sure, you flipped out, you miserable son of a b*tch! My kid’s there, not yours! Do you know what it’s like to have a kid at this age? Do you know how hard it is to find a nursery these days? You, mother-fu**ing piece of s**t! You damn imbecile! I wanna… I’m gonna… you little… you filthy… you stinky fu**ing di**head… j**king off as*hole… damn, fu**ing dipsh*t… dumb*ss… SUCKER!

TV SCREEN:

zzz…zzz…zzz…


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