TOO HOT FOR CRICKET
It’s 2046. Outdoor summer sport is now at best ill-advised and in places impossible due to the searing temperatures. Cricket was banned in England after three umpires spontaneously combusted on one July afternoon in 2039, adding a whole new meaning to “the ashes”. Now, the much livelier game of chess is the big player in sporting entertainment.
There was eager anticipation recently over a grudge match between world champion Sanjay Sharma and young hopeful “Bad Brad” Bell. Bell had falsely accused Sharma of being inappropriate with his bishop in a big final at the National Chess Arena in Knightsbridge and Sharma had threatened to kick his head in next time they met, so a sponsor was found for a seven billion pound winner takes all match at the newly built 12000 seat arena generally known as “The Fridge.”
The build up to the match was marred by outbreaks of hooliganism and fights between rival fans as anticipation built to a frenzy, and several Bell fans had their sunscreen stolen in house raids by police, who were widely believed to have been bribed to keep them from travelling to the game.
An estimated 27000 people turned up to watch the match, many with forged tickets bought from touts, and amid the chaos that ensued the start was delayed by two hours. As Bell finally approached the table to his signature tune “Pawn to be wild”, Sharma grabbed him by his long blonde hair and dragged him across the stage, screaming obscenities, and the match had to be abandoned.
Sharma was banned from chess for 6 months. Bell spontaneously combusted waiting for the bus home, and all chess matches now have to be played to empty arenas in the interests of safety. Life has become very boring for millions of chess fans. The hooligans moved on to scrabble.
THE MISSION
It wasn’t like he couldn’t have avoided it. He had been warned repeatedly that what he was doing could have life changing consequences.
His mother begged him to think twice, and although he wavered at first, compulsion got the better of him and he continued to defy logic. He knew the dangers, but what is life if you don’t take risks? You have to make a difference in your short time on this Earth. Think of any name in history, good or evil. Would we know their names now if they hadn’t had the courage to stand out from the crowd? Of course we wouldn’t.
Daniel was a shy, anxious 16-year-old and he wanted to be remembered. He knew what to do. He had to ignore the warnings and do what he had to do. It was his duty. He packed a rucksack, said his goodbyes, and took the first steps towards his mission.
His train was, predictably, several minutes late, this time because the driver fell asleep at Didcot Parkway, though the reason given was animals on the line. This gave Daniel time to think. Should he listen to the warnings of everyone around him, the sobbing mother saying he was a fool, or should he follow his mission?
He boarded the train in a trance like state, repeating under his breath “I must be true to myself. Follow my plan. This is my destiny”
He arrived in London, wide eyed at his first sight of the capital. He found the tube confusing, but eventually arrived in Camden and took the short walk to his destination. He was sweating and shaking, his head full of trepidation and fear. He pushed through, opened the door, and it was now a matter of honour that he must complete the task.
Seventy-two minutes later, it happened. He felt physically sick as the moment arrived. He was called to the mic. It was difficult and nerve wracking, but he did it. He was now a poet, a spoken word artist, and there was no going back.
POETIC PLEASURE
Robert, a widely disliked, temperamental but essentially honest young man, writes poetry. Not of a standard you would expect to be published – it is difficult to understand, not because it is deep but because it is essentially meaningless drivel. His burning wish is to be published by Poetic Pleasure, a respected journal published in his home town.
He had submitted at least 30 poems over a period of 3 years, and the latest rejection came with a note saying “we appreciate your interest in Poetic Pleasure but it is clear that your poetry, although very interesting, is not a good fit for us. Please do not submit again for at least 6 months.”
Robert, well known for his outbursts of rage, fired back an immediate response, in his usual poetic style:
“You don’t want my words, won’t exist, bastard.
I am too clever for the riggetty raggetty assortment
you think passes the mustard.
Remember what happened at the bighorn to General Custard.
Death is a menace with very sharp fangs
Watch yourself. Karma’s a boomerang.”
At first the editor, Duncan Halliday, a kindly, balding middle aged man felt pity, but as the days went by he got the feeling he was being watched and became anxious and security conscious.
On August 2nd 2019 he walked to the newsagents no more than 200 yards from his home to buy a copy of The Guardian, and never returned home. A copy of Poetic Pleasure, with obscene notes scribbled on each page, was posted through his letterbox. Although the handwriting did not appear to be Robert’s, suspicion immediately fell on him. He has always vehemently protested his innocence but no one, including the courts, believes him.
His appeal is due to be heard in the coming weeks.
His enemies will watch with interest.
Flight of the dragonfly 