He was destined for better things. He was FireFlash the Ice-Fighter, Super-Robot.
'Go on!' shouted the rowdy dolls from the ledge above. 'Show us yer fire-shooters!'
He could hear them giggling, then that ghastly bear who thought he knew everything joined in.
'Fire-shooters. Fire-shooters, I ask you,' scoffed the bear in a loud stage whisper. 'Yes, that's really what we all need in a child's bedroom. I bet they don't even work, you know.'
'Actually, they work perfectly,' retorted FireFlash through permanently gritted teeth. 'But there has to be an emergency first. I can only respond to emergency situations. I have to use my powers responsibly – it is in my programming.'
He shut his ears to the laughter that followed. He should not be with these… creatures. He should be in a bedroom that needed him, amongst grateful victims of almost-dreadful fates.
-----------------------------
'Shut them in the fridge! Shut them in the fridge!'
'Ice them! Let's make them into ice cubes!'
Small hands stuffed the toys into the freezer compartment. No one really knew why, but it was good fun. The door shut; an ominous click.
'Oh, heavens,' said the bear, not so clever now.
The dolls huddled together, wide-eyed with fear. 'What are we going to do? We'll freeze in 'ere. I'm only wearing me purple sparkle mini skirt and matching heels.'
You think you're badly off?' cried the bear. 'Look at me! Those ruffians robbed me of my scarf and hat. I am a Christmas bear, designed for warmth and cuddliness. Oh! Look at my fur – spikes, spikes of ice!' He brushed ineffectually at his fur, let out an anguished sob and sank back dramatically against a floret of broccoli.
The dolls were about to scream, but from behind last summer's ice lollies came an unfamiliar trundling sound. A squat figure emerged, firing flame-jets from his mechanical hands.
'Stand back, ladies. Bear, you may need to hide your eyes. It'll get pretty hot in here, but I'll soon get us out.' Bags of frozen peas turned to mush; the lollies formed a sticky orange lake and water flooded from the freezer all over the kitchen floor.
The dolls swooned. The bear hid behind his paws. As the freezer lid was lifted by an angry-looking mother, everyone cheered. No one laughed at FireFlash the Ice-Fighter again.
Where short stories and tall tales grow
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
Monday, 15 March 2010
Trouble in Rainbow City
There was trouble in Rainbow City. The colours were rioting and running amok, splashing themselves across the city streets and generally causing a mess.
Black called a meeting. ‘We are all doomed,’ he announced. 'There is no order! Colours are running into one another and it is all turning...' he turned and pointed a trembling finger out the window...'A Sort of Greyish Brown!' There was an anguished gasp from the small gathering.
Blue, who was late, raced in, apologised and took the last available chair next to Red. No one else wanted to sit next to Red, who was simmering angrily and occasionally letting off steam like a cross bull. ‘Don’t touch me!’ hissed Red. 'Or I’ll end up like her.’ He pointed at the far corner of the room to Purple, who stuck her tongue out.
Orange and Yellow had no such problems and were sitting so close to each other you couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other started. They grinned inanely at the rest of the room. Black, who’d kicked off the meeting, could think of nothing else to say and sat down hurriedly, hoping Grey or White would take over.
Suddenly, a terrible din could be heard from down the corridor. The stomp of heavy boots thundered and a door slammed, breaking the silence in the room.
‘Let’s run away,’ Yellow, cringed and nudged Orange. Orange continued to smile in a rather fixed way. ‘OK,’ he whispered through his teeth and they started to get up. The footsteps stopped outside the meeting room door. ‘Eek!’ screamed Red, and scrambled into Blue’s lap. Together they dashed over to the far corner and hid behind Purple.
The door was kicked open. ‘RIGHT, YOU ‘ORRIBLE LOT!’ In strode Pink, looking mean and scary. ‘YOU SHOULD HAVE INVITED ME IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU LILY-LIVERED LOT OF LEMONS! I’M HERE TO SORT THIS OUT!’ And, to the dread of the other colours, who wondered what on earth he could be carrying, he reached into his large bag and pulled out a flipchart.
‘WE WON’T BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT THIS!’ he bellowed, and handed round an assortment of pens. ‘I'LL SPEAK, AND YOU…’ he pointed to the quaking Yellow, ‘...CAN DO THE WRITING.’
Everyone looked at Black, who said nothing and looked carefully at his feet. ‘CUP OF COFFEE, PLEASE. BLACK, NO SUGAR,’ Pink barked. ‘YOU WANT ORDER? I'LL GIVE YOU ORDER!RIGHT, LET’S GET STARTED!’
And within a few days, A Sort of Greyish Brown had gone back to wherever it had come from, and Rainbow City regained its dazzle.
Black called a meeting. ‘We are all doomed,’ he announced. 'There is no order! Colours are running into one another and it is all turning...' he turned and pointed a trembling finger out the window...'A Sort of Greyish Brown!' There was an anguished gasp from the small gathering.
Blue, who was late, raced in, apologised and took the last available chair next to Red. No one else wanted to sit next to Red, who was simmering angrily and occasionally letting off steam like a cross bull. ‘Don’t touch me!’ hissed Red. 'Or I’ll end up like her.’ He pointed at the far corner of the room to Purple, who stuck her tongue out.
Orange and Yellow had no such problems and were sitting so close to each other you couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other started. They grinned inanely at the rest of the room. Black, who’d kicked off the meeting, could think of nothing else to say and sat down hurriedly, hoping Grey or White would take over.
Suddenly, a terrible din could be heard from down the corridor. The stomp of heavy boots thundered and a door slammed, breaking the silence in the room.
‘Let’s run away,’ Yellow, cringed and nudged Orange. Orange continued to smile in a rather fixed way. ‘OK,’ he whispered through his teeth and they started to get up. The footsteps stopped outside the meeting room door. ‘Eek!’ screamed Red, and scrambled into Blue’s lap. Together they dashed over to the far corner and hid behind Purple.
The door was kicked open. ‘RIGHT, YOU ‘ORRIBLE LOT!’ In strode Pink, looking mean and scary. ‘YOU SHOULD HAVE INVITED ME IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU LILY-LIVERED LOT OF LEMONS! I’M HERE TO SORT THIS OUT!’ And, to the dread of the other colours, who wondered what on earth he could be carrying, he reached into his large bag and pulled out a flipchart.
‘WE WON’T BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT THIS!’ he bellowed, and handed round an assortment of pens. ‘I'LL SPEAK, AND YOU…’ he pointed to the quaking Yellow, ‘...CAN DO THE WRITING.’
Everyone looked at Black, who said nothing and looked carefully at his feet. ‘CUP OF COFFEE, PLEASE. BLACK, NO SUGAR,’ Pink barked. ‘YOU WANT ORDER? I'LL GIVE YOU ORDER!RIGHT, LET’S GET STARTED!’
And within a few days, A Sort of Greyish Brown had gone back to wherever it had come from, and Rainbow City regained its dazzle.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
A dangerous job
The postman hid behind the gatepost. He could feel his heart thumping from his head down to his toes, as though it was trying to escape from his chest. On the other side of the gate was a black dog; its head shaped like a mallet and growling an ominous rumble of thunder. The postman was extremely scared. He imagined the dog eating him, gobbling him up so that nothing remained except his postmans' bag. And his bicycle. The dog might even eat that.
He moved an inch behind the gatepost and felt the dog's hatred like hot breath on his neck. His palms sweated as he gripped the parcel he had to deliver. He peeped from behind his brick pillar of safety and the dog barked and ate some gravel, crunching the stones in its terrible teeth. Should the postman throw the parcel over the gate and run? No, the dog would surely eat the parcel.
Then the postman had an idea. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled: 'I have a parcel for Sammy! A parcel for Sammy!'
There was silence. Then the sound of something clearing its throat. The dog's head appeared through the bars of the gate.
'Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I'm Sammy. The parcel will be for me. Ah yes, the new bone I ordered. Sorry about the barking and all that, but it's part of the job description. Good day.' And the dog trotted off towards the house, parcel delicately held between its teeth.
'Hmm,' thought the postman. He looked at the next package in his sack. It was addressed to Tiger Phillips. The postman took a deep breath and pushed his bike along the pavement.
He moved an inch behind the gatepost and felt the dog's hatred like hot breath on his neck. His palms sweated as he gripped the parcel he had to deliver. He peeped from behind his brick pillar of safety and the dog barked and ate some gravel, crunching the stones in its terrible teeth. Should the postman throw the parcel over the gate and run? No, the dog would surely eat the parcel.
Then the postman had an idea. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled: 'I have a parcel for Sammy! A parcel for Sammy!'
There was silence. Then the sound of something clearing its throat. The dog's head appeared through the bars of the gate.
'Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I'm Sammy. The parcel will be for me. Ah yes, the new bone I ordered. Sorry about the barking and all that, but it's part of the job description. Good day.' And the dog trotted off towards the house, parcel delicately held between its teeth.
'Hmm,' thought the postman. He looked at the next package in his sack. It was addressed to Tiger Phillips. The postman took a deep breath and pushed his bike along the pavement.
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