Click to play 9 DEAD, 6 WOUNDED
Read by Martine McMenemy & Andrew Baguley
Death:
I am one of the lesser Deaths. There is the Death of the great Kalahari Desert, who collects the souls of sun drenched wanderers; the Death of the Siberian tundra, wreathed in snow. The Death of Delhi, the Death of London, the Death of the Cairngorms- there are deaths most everywhere. For my sins, I am the death of Royal Tunbridge Wells, population 56,792.
Daisy:
Hi guys- so I guess this is my blog? Ha. Weird. Um, okay, right. No followers yet (obviously Daisy …), which is good. I don’t want to ramble on and on, but basically I’ve not been feeling too hot. For like, a long time. Like, for a really, really long time. BUT (don’t worry, no sobbing here!), I’ve decided to be positive. A positive rage. I am of sound mind and body. Like, really. Or maybe not. #crazydaisy, right? Ha.
So, um, where to start? I am Daisy Evans. I am 17 years 7 months and 18 days old. I just killed my parents, and their stupid cat, and my mum’s horse, and now I am warmed up its time to start clearing up this town…(dun dun duuuuuuuuun)
Death:
I mean, wow. Royal Tunbridge Wells is a spa town. I get heart failure, lung failure, infections, emphysema- I don’t get murders! When I showed up just in time to see Mr. Evans take a crossbow bolt to the chest? Sheesh. Blew me away. Daisy was wearing this cute little number, a floral print dress and classic green wellingtons with a Barbour jacket, her hair tied back, and she was sticking her tongue out a tiny bit as she concentrated on her next shot- WHAM! Mrs Evans, buh-bye, which at least stopped the screaming.
I always thought that love at first sight was a bit, you know, kitsch, but this girl… I followed her outside and watched her put down the cat and the horse with just this stunning intensity. Then she came inside and started writing on her iPad. I had to dash away to a heart attack in The Church of King Charles The Martyr but I made it back in time to see her pack her crossbow and what looked a shotgun into the back of her dad’s landrover. I flew alongside as she drove into town. She listened to a Michael Jackson CD as she went, and she looked so beautiful. Two murders! Two! I almost forgot to go and get Mr and Mrs Evans and send them on their way.
Daisy:
Hi again! Writing this from outside Shirley Pinkson’s house, I got blood on my dress. I means, for fuck sake. I just murdered Shirley. She was sleeping with my dad (hence what happened to my dad and his stupid cat). I mean what about family? Doesn’t that mean anything? Hellooooooo, you have a daughter and a wife. And as for Shirley, if your employee is married, maybe don’t sleep with him, you total slut? #crazydaisy, 3 down, 6 to go! She had a pet tortoise but I left it alone. I’m all heart guys, all heart. Now I’m off to the gym (you’ll see why!). Also, for posterity- the crossbow is a nod to Lionel Shriver, bit of a joke, but don’t call me Kevin alright? Not doing this for fame.
Death:
Shirley Pinkson did not die well. I mean, there are good deaths and there are bad deaths. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot. This was a bad one. I collected her and sent her on her way. Daisy seemed a bit more flustered with this one. She missed her second shot with the crossbow, even. There was a car crash, 3 dead, on the main road about 12 miles outside of town that I had to go and deal with, and after that I went back and watched Daisy, something of a highlight reel of her life. Being an incorporeal reaper of souls does have its benefits when it comes to time manipulation.
I skipped most of the childhood and pick up at 15. Precocious, is the word I would use. Not moody, just quiet and studious. And pretty. She is tall. She goes to parties, she goes to school, good things happen. Bad things happen. I can see her for who she is. To really see someone like that, to know the. I can’t remember the last time I took the time, to get to know someone properly. But enough of the past. Daisy was going to the gym, and not to get fitter.
Daisy:
Blog 3, that is me up to a total of seven! I mean, I wasn’t expecting that. FOUR dead (and I think I caught poor old Mr Kushtar with a ricochet, sorry Mr Kushtar, Biology A-levels were shit but you didn’t deserve that! Hope you are OK xxx). FOUR DEAD, and this is why: Pete Ashton the accountant was sleeping with my mum, his client, and doing so in a pretty terrible and indiscreet way. Pervy old git. He always goes to the gym on Sunday morning. Bad luck for him.
The Thomson twins Raymond and Taylor are bullies, sadists, perverts, and if even a tenth of the word at school is true, serial rapists. I know for a fact they got a 14 year old girl drunk at their farm and made some…videos. So, fuck them. Lucky me they were there and I didn’t have to hunt them down. The fourth was Jim, my ex-boyfriend.
Jim hurt me.
I killed Jim.
One more on my list.
#crazydaisy
#boomboomshaketharoom
Death:
You know those cross trainer thingies, which look really stupid? She mowed down those Thomson twins with her shotgun, turned their heads to mulch, while they were talking next to one of those. Sorry, just trying to paint a picture. Then everyone starts screaming and Daisy just calmly reloaded and took out Pete Ashton, BOOM, as he tried to disentangle himself from a rowing machine (catching Mr Kushtar and a woman named Linda with ricochets, but they were both okay).
Jim she found hiding under the reception desk. It was not pretty, but then I looked back, and, well, I’m with Daisy on this one. By the time I’d gathered them all up the police were there, ambulances, the whole deal. After a few minutes there was only one name on everyone’s lips- Daisy.
Daisy:
Last blog post guys, thanks for reading (not that anyone has yet…). This one is going to be controversial. I just killed the last person on my list, and I’m now sitting in their living room typing this on the iPad. According to the BBC news app, there has been a shooting in Tunbridge Wells. Suspect remains at large. I mean, I only left the gym ten minutes ago! That is pretty crazy. I keep refreshing it but I don’t have the wifi password so it is pretty sloooooow.
So, the thing is this - I just killed Tamara Kenly-Basil. I know, I know- Tamara is nice. Well, was nice. Tamara didn’t ruin my family, or hurt me, or whatever.
Let me explain - I liked a boy. A boy named Jim. As it turns out, Jim wasn’t a very nice boy. Jim did some bad things to me. Jim … hurt me. Jim took liberties. So I went to my parents.
My parents essentially told me, shit happens. I’m overreacting, maybe I’m making it up, maybe hey, maybe, I’m fucking making this up. Okay.
Right. So fuck them, obviously.
I go to the police. I go to Jim’s dad, Big Jim, Chief Constable Jim, the respectable and lovable face of policing, the best man in Tunbridge Wells, pillar of the community, avuncular moral guardian. I go to him and I tell him what his son has done, and he smiles and he leans in close and he says some very bad things. He says all of the bad things that will happen to me, if I ever so much as speak his boys name again.
Bad choice Big Jim. Because Big Jim doesn’t just have a son, Big Jim has an angelic daughter. Tamara Kenly-Basil.
And I just cut her throat.
#crazydaisy
#shithappens
Death:
They tracked her down, eventually. She wounded four police officers (she could have killed them if she wanted to, I think). Daisy took her own life, with her shotgun, in some inauspicious woods outside of town.
I picked her up and took her somewhere better. I said, hey, are you busy? I like your dress. Are you looking for a job? What music do you like? Do you want to go haunt a movie?
We mainly like romantic comedies, now.
I saw Big Jim last night, as I was doing my rounds. His wife left. He sat in his chair drinking and crying and swearing. I made all of the lights flick on and off and all of the windows rattle and the radio turn itself on, to static, as loud as it goes. I try and drop by most nights.
#crazydaisy
#shithappens
(c) Ian Green, 2014
Ian Green is a writer from Northern Scotland who lives in London, where he researches cancer epigenetics at Imperial College. His short fiction has been published in OpenPen magazine and performed at Liars' League London.
Martine McMenemy: Theatre Credits: Two, Present Laughter, Lady Windermere's Fan, Hello Dolly, White Christmas, An Ideal Husband, Kiss Me Kate, Bus Stop (Pitlochry Festival Theatre, various seasons), Swallow Your Pride (Torbay Pride Festival), Fiddler on the Roof (No 1 Tour), not to mention various stints as Princess & Fairy in pantomime. Martine is also a Voiceover Artist.
Andrew Baguley worked for the council in the 70s, acted in the 80s, was in business in the 90s and noughties, and is now back acting in the twenty tweenies. He may return to the council for the 2020s. His most recent project was a German TV adaptation of a Rosamund Pilcher novel where he played an unsuitable date. www.andrewbaguley.com
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