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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Barry Castor: Driving Instructor (Part 2)
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Extended Work
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| Barry Castor: Driving Instructor (Part 2) | |
| By pforrester | ||
| 03 March 2006 | ||
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Just in case any of you were concerned I had forgotten the fantasy bit, don't worry. It kicks off here, and I would reiterate that this is first draft material still. But I'm kinda proud of it. “I feel cheap and I feel used,” said Kraneth. He surprised himself by keeping his voice level as he said this, because his overwhelming desire was to retch. The smell of grease filled his head and almost seemed to be trying to fight its way out. Kraneth fought back, valiantly in his opinion, and turned to the people standing around him. A few met his gaze, which implored them to offer some support. No one took up the offer however, although one or two made half-hearted attempts at a smile as if to say, ‘What can I do?’ The rest of them just gazed at the floor, or pretended to read the menu. “I only asked if you wanted your fish and chips together or separate,” said the bemused chip shop owner. “Oh, right. Sorry.” Kraneth considered leaving, but then remembered that he’d already paid for his food. “Can I have half the chips with the fish and the other half wrapped separately then? Please?” The polite ending to the sentence seemed to do the trick and Kraneth got his way, which is something you tend to get used to when you’re an immortal entity who creates mobile phone accessories for fun (as well as the occasional galaxy). He left receiving looks equally imploring to that he had just been giving, except this time the other customers were imploring him to leave. Not that it mattered a great deal to Kraneth; mainly because he hadn’t really got to grips with the idea that he might be irritating to others, but also because he had been around for a few billion years. Having a few people behave snootily toward you is nothing when you’ve played hide and seek with dinosaurs. Fumbling with the newspaper wrapped round his tea, Kraneth reflected that living on Earth wasn’t all that humans might crack it up to be. Imagine having to just pile fish and chips on plastic trays day after day just to be able to not feel embarrassed among your peers. He shook his head mournfully, as if this was something people often did when walking round with fish and chips. Kraneth liked to think that he seemed an integral part of society, but he wasn’t, because he didn’t spend enough time on Earth. The best illustration of this was the way he would go around proclaiming the beauty of his surroundings; a view nobody shared with him due to the fact that it was a large town ravaged by mass unemployment and behaviour that could charitably described as anti-social if there had been any society to rebel against in the first place. Kraneth kept walking until he reached the park. Unfortunately, it took so long to walk there that by the time he sat down he only had a few crumbs of batter left in his tray and the sun had started to set, to the point where there was only about fifteen minutes of daylight left. On the positive side, the local gangs weren’t about yet, so they must have been in Bargain Booze buying White Lightning. “Look behind you,” said a voice suddenly. “What do you want?” asked Kraneth, staring up into the sky but looking at nothing in particular. “I told you. Look behind you,” repeated the female voice, sounding very impatient. “We haven’t got all day.” “Very droll,” said Kraneth. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” “I’m being serious. Get a move on.” Kraneth laboured to his feet and tipped all the pieces of newspaper into the bin next to the bench. The wind had started to pick up, and there seemed to be a reasonable chance that it might rain. Not that this mattered particularly, because Kraneth was about to go somewhere that didn’t have weather. About twenty metres behind the bench, between two trees, was what can only be described as a hole in the air. Whatever was through the hole contrasted completely with the gradually darkening air around it, giving the appearance that there was a stone pathway leading away from the trees. In fact, there seemed to be a whole lot of what looked like stone, but precious little else to distinguish it. Kraneth walked toward the hole, and then literally disappeared out of thin air. Nobody is quite sure who built the Palace of the Gods. The same people are even less sure why it was built, for the simple fact that it is completely unnecessary. It is said that the Gods put human beings on Earth and then wondered why they had bothered. Having lost all motivation for populating planets, they decided to take on a human form and walk upon the very soil they had created. But then they got bored of that as well, so they started thinking about how life might be improved for their creations in an attempt to make it more interesting for themselves on the occasions they visited. Each of the Gods was assigned something to do; something to create (being as that is what they tend to do). Kraneth, for example, was given flexible plastic phone cords to deal with, although this was later expanded to mobile phone accessories in general when it was clear that the spiral phone cords were about as far as the envelope was going to be pushed. In an unusual demonstration of foresight, the Gods felt it inappropriate to spend all their time among the humans they hadn’t really put a great deal of effort into. So instead of going on an ego trip by walking the same streets and living in the same houses, the Gods decided they would live in a palace. And here is where we come across some of the mystery, because there is no record of how long it took to be built. Anybody who might have tried to keep a record probably gave up, because when a group of immortal beings decide to design by committee the results are unlikely to be pleasant. Kraneth walked across the stone-paved courtyard, breathing in the… nothing. There was no smell, there was no atmosphere, and there was little in the way of landscaping either. The Palace of the Gods was both an assault on the senses and a completely passive experience at the same time. A human being would have been under whelmed by the experience; Kraneth just considered it home. “Where is everyone?” asked Kraneth as he entered a bedroom that appeared to have taken every age through history as the inspiration for its décor. “They’re all dead,” said the same female voice that had spoken to him before. “What took you so long? And why are you giving off that peculiar aroma?” “What took me…? How long have you been lying in that bed? Have you forgotten how many rooms there are in this place, Quogvern? And I’ve been eating fish and chips. You try getting batter mix right sometime – it’s impossible. I’d sooner try and convince a planet full of female women that I’d created them.” Kraneth looked down at the figure lying on the bed with something approaching pity. He hadn’t fully registered that Quogvern looked terrible, which is not something you expect of an entity born at the same time as the universe. “Anyway, what’s going on? And what do you mean they’re all dead?” Quogvern was lying flat on her back, groaning in apparent pain and looking like she’d strike down with lightning anyone who tried to tell her to cheer up. At random intervals she would arch her back as some kind of spasm wracked her body. Whatever was wrong with her, it didn’t look pleasant. “It’s terrible,” she hissed after yet another ‘attack’. Then she coughed, for no other reason than she’d once watched a movie and seen someone do it. “I’m a God – and an immortal one at that – and I’m dying. That’s depressing enough. But what depresses me more is that you’re the last one of us here! You! What happened for that crazy situation to arise? That’s the question you should be asking.” “You’re really dying?” asked Kraneth in amazement. “Everyone else is dead? There not just on some big road trip across a few ice flows?” “What does it matter? I just can’t believe the only representative of the all-powerful Creators is going to be a spineless pit of inadequacy named Kraneth. Give me strength.” Kraneth was not impressed. “The way I see it, I’m the unlucky one for having to sit by the bedside of some bigoted old goat like you. It always comes down to who’s got vertebrae and who hasn’t, you miserable excuse for… for…” Insults start to get more difficult when the target for them can make stars explode at a click of the fingers. “Shut up,” said Quogvern. They sat in silence. Ordinarily it might have been described as awkward, but there was such a clear feeling of animosity between the two that you couldn’t blame them for not talking to one another. “So do you want to tell me why you’re dying or not?” Kraneth said eventually. “How would I know?” came the reply, still with more than a hint of petulance. “I’ve been lying here for however long, when everyone’s dying around you it gets harder to find anyone to talk to. Why don’t you get the day diary? That might tell you what’s been going on.” “I suppose that’s an idea…” “I don’t know when Athroon died, so the diary might not have been filled in for a while.” “It’s got to be worth a look,” said Kraneth. “Anything to get away from my company, eh?” “Yeah,” replied Kraneth, and left. It occurred to Kraneth that Quogvern could die anytime, and therefore that he might consider getting a move on. He’d never seen a God die and so in some respects Quogvern’s demise could be considered of interest. He’d never considered the possibility that a God might die, let alone every single one of them. Except him. But something stopped him from quickening his pace. Even though the idea of rattling around such a big place on his own wasn’t entirely appealing, Kraneth still couldn’t summon up the motivation to hurry. So he didn’t. Down long corridors lit by chandeliers; down even longer corridors lit by primitive torches consisting of oily rags on the ends of sticks, Kraneth meandered until he reached the room known, with no affection at all, as the Time Study. There were a few wrong turnings on the way – it had been some time since Kraneth last walked the passageways of the Palace, and even then he never really had much to do with the keeping of the diary. The Study was primarily black, but despite this it was still easy to see. All surfaces – the floor, the ceiling and the walls – were black, but starry, like a clear night’s sky. It would be considered pretty by most, but by a God it is considered plain. The Study was also octagonal, for no reason that anyone had ever worked out. When it had been built most of the Gods just assumed it was something in the brief that they had overlooked and consequently failed to discuss. In the centre of the room, on a circular gold plinth, stood a globe. Naturally, it was of the Earth, and it was some five feet in diameter. It revolved slowly and… didn’t appear to show any signs of doing anything different. “Is this it?” said Kraneth to nothing in particular. Happily for his state of mind, that same nothing offered no reply. “The way some of the guys used to talk about this place, I was expecting a bit more than a bad geography classroom.” It’s strange, the way you become more of a smart arse when there’s no one around to answer you back. However, Kraneth was being answered back. To be more accurate, his back was being answered to, for behind him the stars on the wall above the door were forming themselves into a message. The message read: ‘Nice day for it. Now piss off’. This then dissolved, and in its place was added, ‘You cheeky git’. But Kraneth didn’t see it, his attention caught by a desk he hadn’t previously noticed. He walked over to it, apparently totally disinterested by the fairly epic nature of the room. The desk had been Athroon’s, the God in charge of keeping the day diary. Kraneth couldn’t actually recall ever sharing a word with Athroon, who had always seemed – considering he had authority over matter itself – to be something of what might be termed a recluse. There was no clue as to when Athroon died, in much the same way as Kraneth had no idea when the rest of the eternal God population had lost their lives. “God’s will sign in and out on all occasions they depart for, and return from, Earth,” Kraneth read aloud from a piece of paper simply entitled ‘Rules’. Next to this piece of paper lay open a blue leather-bound book, and next to the book, attached to its holder by a chain, sat a pen not unlike the sort you find in banks. He used this pen to sign his name in the book, but couldn’t see where he had signed out in the first place. There had been a lot of coming and going in the time since he had left judging by the list in front of him. It seemed reasonable to assume he had signed out in the first place. “I must have been angry at the time,” he said to himself. The stars, on the ceiling this time, spelt out ‘Yep’ in agreement. Again though, Kraneth showed a complete, and somewhat worrying, lack of awareness. The words had disappeared again by the time he took his eyes off the page. For a life form that had nothing to fear, Kraneth felt strangely uneasy. He tried to take his mind off this feeling by searching the desk. Not that there was a lot to search. Sure, it was an impressive desk – proud, sturdy, not out of place. Rich, dark brown mahogany. Three drawers on the right hand side. It didn’t have one of those green writing surfaces inlaid into the top though. Kraneth found that disappointing as he pulled open the top drawer. He found what he was looking for immediately. The day diary was the only item in the drawer; another leather bound book not unlike the one lying open on top of the desk. The day diary was red though, and as Kraneth leafed through the pages he saw that almost every page had been written on. It was the neatest handwriting he had ever seen, and probably the smallest too. He turned to the last page. In Earth terms, the last entry had been three years ago. Most humans would just see this as a sign of whoever kept the diary getting bored; teenagers do it all the time. In God terms it was barely a blink of the eye. Except… put like that, it meant the entire population of Creators bar two had been wiped out in the blink of an eye. Kraneth didn’t read any more. He didn’t look in either of the other draws. He certainly didn’t notice the stars move to form the words, ‘Cloud later on. Don’t say goodbye then’ on the walls around the entire perimeter of the room. Why did he not do any of these things? Because he had left the Time Study and started to run. “Three years? All of this has happened in three Earth years?” Any of the anger and irritation Kraneth had felt previously was long since gone as he burst into Quogvern’s room. However, despite his state of anxiety, it became clear it could very well return soon. “Is that all it is, less than three years? It feels like an eternity,” said Quogvern in a miserable tone of voice. “So what took you so long? You walked didn’t you? I bet you just walked all the way there. What’s up, didn’t you take me seriously enough before?” “I bloody well ran all the way back.” Quogvern ignored Kraneth and looked at the red book tucked under his arm. “What does it say in there?” “I don’t know,” Kraneth replied. “I haven’t looked at any of it apart from when the last entry was made.” He was met with silence, but the look on Quogvern’s face suggested he would do well to open the book up and start reading. Kraneth didn’t read aloud, choosing instead to ‘um’ and ‘ah’ at various times in response to continued gasps of pain from Quogvern. He assumed her condition was getting worse, but it didn’t seem to be deteriorating to the extent that she might suddenly fade away and rejoin the particles she helped create. Kraneth then reflected that, having failed to establish the exact nature of Quogvern’s present condition, he was in no position to be diagnosing how long she might have left to live. He refocused on the tiny words littering the page in front of him. A few minutes later he eventually looked up. “It would seem our Athroon was not following his own guidelines,” Kraneth said, a note of triumph distinguishing his words. “From what I can tell he made repeated trips to Earth but failed to sign in or out in the blue book.” He looked at Quogvern, daring her to doubt him. “I glanced down the list while I was in the Study. I never saw his name.” “So he was having a bit of fun on Earth. Can’t say I blame him. I doubt he ever had any fun here,” said Quogvern. “What did Athroon use to do with all the entries he put into this diary?” asked Kraneth. “And do you think you could answer without highlighting my ignorance of the matter?” Quogvern might have grinned, though it was more likely to be a grimace. “I wouldn’t dream of it. He used to enter all of the information, from the red book and the blue book, into the Study. The Study has a kind of consciousness, not that you’d probably noticed. It takes in all the information, helps keep everything running smoothly.” “What for? We’re Gods, I thought that was our job.” “It is, but we get bored, don’t we? So we come up with something that will do our work for us. There’s nothing like ‘bumming around’ watching the world go by.” “Hmm,” said Kraneth, hoping he sounded more intelligent than he felt. “Athroon found he liked Earth more than he liked this place. But it seems the human way of thinking started to get to him. More specifically, the British way of thinking. After a while all of these entries mention nothing but the weather. Some of them are fine, but towards the end it’s non-stop. It’s essentially meaningless!” Quogvern seemed to relax all of her body in one instance. “There we go then. He’s just been entering complete garbage into the Time Study. I suppose the fact that it didn’t have a record of him spending so much time on Earth just confused the situation even more.” “I’ve spent a lot of time on Earth,” said Kraneth. “Why haven’t I affected it?” “Because aside from you not being the day diarist, the Study probably didn’t concern itself about you. Much like the rest of us. Stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about what you’re going to do to change this situation.” Kraneth snorted, which caused Quogvern to pull a face. “What can I do? I’m not filling in the day diary if that’s what you’re suggesting. And even if I did, how would that bring the rest of us back to life?” “Oh, it’s too late for that now. We’re gone, finished, except for you. The Study’s consciousness has been addled by all the talk of weather and a lack of any meaningful data. Its internal clock is all over the place; it keeps stopping and starting. The system tray can’t cope and it’s passing the burden on to us.” “So why haven’t I started feeling it yet?” asked Kraneth, as puzzled by the situation as he had been when first introduced to cryptic crosswords on Earth. “Because it’s playing havoc with our backs and you’re the only one of us who’s a bloody invertebrate,” said Quogvern angrily. “The universe’s internal clock is stopping and starting and it’s only a matter of time before that lot,” by which Kraneth assumed she meant the people of Earth, “start getting affected as well. It’d be a terrible shame for there to be a universe just sitting here empty, wouldn’t it?” Kraneth had to get out of his seat. He began to pace around, because he had spent most of the last five years on Earth, and though he hadn’t made many friends or even really succeeded in immersing himself into the culture, he had grown rather fond of the place. “So I ask again,” he said eventually. “What can I do about it?” “I’d have thought that much was obvious,” replied Quogvern, sounding calm and looking almost serene. “You need to get inside the Universe’s system tray and reset the internal clock.” Kraneth continued pacing. He found staring at the floor helped concentrate his capacious mind, and also stopped him from tripping over anything that might be lying on the floor. “Is that all? Not that I even know how, of course. What a ridiculous situation…” His voice trailed off, and he waited for some kind of disparaging remark from Quogvern. None came, so he said: “Do you want to offer me any help?” She couldn’t, because she had chosen this moment to die. Kraneth was a God on a mission, and he didn’t have anyone to help him.
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