click for thisisUll.com Home page.. click for thisisUll.com Forum... click for thisisUll.com Live Events...
  Sponsored Links


  Sponsored Links


  thisistheworld.com


  Friends


  Contributors Guide


Economist Style Guide.
Economist Style Guide.

  Contributors Guide

Learn to speak 'ULL

Fiction
Last Updated: 13/04/2005 13:13:04
Welcome To Hellville - Part 6
By Rich Mills
Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.

Alan relaxed back from the machine and letting his head flop backwards, closed his eyes, and stared into the void at the back of his eyelids. Opening his eyes and raising his head back up to its correct position, he panned the room.

Two demijohns of home made wine, one heavily stripped and now almost bare looking cannabis plant, waste paper bins made out of waste paper (an ecologically sound business plan that came to nothing), a few month's copies of heavily supplemented weekend newspapers, and one gross of Good News Bibles.
He frowned and snorted, shaking his mane he realised the foolishness of that purchase. He'd had the idea of signing them and trying to sell them door-to-door or outside the local Holiness Hall as the Sunday school was chucking out.

The bible symbolised corruption in all its forms, from the embossed white plastic son of God image on the cover, to the word processor-purified text on the chlorine bleached recycled paper. And all edited by anybody and nobody over time, copyright 1999. Not even a 21st Century edition, not even of these times. What a waste of money that was, thought Alan.
On top of the box of bibles a blue file bulged with newspaper clippings. Alan reached over and flicked the file open. An avalanche of recent news history poured onto the floor, sliding over each other like a net full of near dead fish released onto a rolling deck. A live one flicked and fluttered at his feet, he grabbed at it in hope of breathing new life into the old news. The headline, Second Gumming, he said out-loud.

It was a story from America about a guy who claimed to be Jesus Christ.
No real originality in that, but the guy really seemed convinced of himself. He was a New York City Street Vendor, and had been arrested for not having an up-to-date vendor's licence. When the police brought him in, they found that he was carrying twenty signed copies of the New Testament.
In interview with the police he freely admitted he had signed all the books, although he accepted he hadn't written the New Testament, he thought that seeing how the ideas and principles within it were attributed to him it was his right if anyone's to make money from selling them.

His time in the confessional media spotlight didn't stop there. When the story got out, the news hounds got on his scent, and he became a minor media ripple in New York, settling for his own cable slot on Channel 667.
For one hour each week, he now rants across the air-waves, claiming he is a vampire initiated into immortal limbo while nailed to the cross. Satan in the guise of a Centurion, fell at his feet and began to gorge on his paternal power. After what seemed an eternity of self-abusive blood letting later, the Modern Media Messiah claims his thousand year reign is now at an end.

Here we come to the headline's punch-line, as the Son of God has no teeth, no fangs with which to tear into his little lambs, and to top it off he's a thousand years out in his calculations.
He claims it was all the work of the C.I.A or some such covert intelligence agency who oil the cogs of the evil power monger's pan-global corporate machinery. They kidnapped him in an alien space-craft, smashed his teeth in with a hammer, planted a bug up his arse, and dumped him in a crop circle that half a dozen drunk design students were trampling into place.
Next to the article was a picture of the latest new Messiah, wearing a T-shirt which bore his new Millennium logo, and slogan. The logo was of a vertical band, surrounded by a circular band, which was itself circled by three arrows all pointing anti-clockwise.

It reminded Alan of a universal symbol from a washing machine, or some such household electrical appliance. Symbolising pull/push on/off and turn to set washing cycle! That's what Alan saw in the symbol, not a symbol of a new Age, for a new generation. Then again...
Underneath his new merchandised brand label, the catch all slogan said Sins Washed Here. No points for originality, but a 5.9 for artistic impression. Alan threw the article back in with all the other snippets of would be truth, and drove his hand into the pile for another one.

Continued Welcome To Hellville - Part 7 By Rich Mills.. Next Page

Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
Six steps up. All I could see was an entrance and no way back out again. I was only ten years old when Grandmother dragged me up the stone steps into the orphanage. 'They'll take good care of you, Sammy,' she said. I wanted to believe there was a tear Read more...

Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 5 By Rich Mills
I slept the long sleep, dead to the world; I lost a day in there somewhere. Now refreshed I'm ready to start transcribing what I've found. The two VHS video tapes seem to contain a variety of TV programmes. I'm going to get Keith down to give these the Read more...

Fiction - The Death and Birth and Death of a Legend
By Bob Spence
Goober liked to be busy. Some people could handle doing nothing, not Goober Walton. Running the tidy but ancient gasoline concession suited. Suited well. It was orderly and everything clearly had its place. Some would say it looked almost military in its order and for that it Read more...

Fiction - Feller's in Cut By Maurice Fairfield
Well that's her gone. You don't remember me do you? I'll have a pint while you're thinking about it. It's me Jack, Harry Fergus's son. Here for the funeral. Thought I'd see her get put under. Not sure why. It's always a laugh though, watching a parson doing a Read more...

Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Nine By Steve Rudd
Life is a race against time, didn't you know? Sometimes I'm worn out by my own energy, but as we four walked first towards Langtang, right on through the cosy cluster of weather-beaten buildings and then so far past the village that even the strangely surreal Read more...

Fiction - Fishheads By Michelle Dee
Monstrous silver and blue -green severed fish heads emerged at the forefront of her mind. Open, close, open, close the gaping mouths. She fancied there were others behind it. Each time the razor sharp teeth were bared she looked into the blacker than Read more...

Fiction - Firm but Fair By Mark Pollard
Cry-Baby Jim Breaks. He pioneered it, they say. And the hushed, almost ecclesiastical tones of Ken Walton had heralded it's entry into Saturday afternoon folklore: the bright lights of Blackpool and Great Yarmouth, down to the lesser reputes of Ilfracombe and Skegness had all borne witness Read more...

Fiction - Puzzles By Denis Price
I've got a really nice room, when the door's closed I feel ever so safe and warm. It's quiet as well, just the swish of the wind in the trees outside. I like the trees; they hide the big tall fence. My watchers say the fence is there to keep me safe, and that's their job too, they're always there Read more...

Fiction - COLD WAR TALES- THE CUBAN MISSILE CRISIS
By Denis Price
The piercing insistent wail of the siren woke him. `For Christ`s sake now what!` Over the tannoy the smooth expensive voice intoned languidly that this was only a drill and that all personnel should continue with their normal duties. He groaned and thought, this is my normal Read more...

Fiction - Scrawls Of The Unexpected By Mark Pollard
Professor Colin Pillinger, lead scientist on the Beagle II programme, was calm but well pissed off inside. He had been clinging to the idea that his £35 million Mars Probe was stuck in a crater, waiting for some narrow rays of sunlight to banish the shade for a few precious hours each day in order that Read more...

Fiction - A Short Story - The Beaver Stalker By The J.E.M. Cult
I stepped out into the cold frosty air. I pulled my muffler tighter round my hands and crunched across the frozen grass. Today was the first day of the beaver season- and by golly, I was sure gonna get me one. I love beavers. I can't help it. There's just something about stroking that damp fur that sends me Read more...

Fiction - The Art Of Being Alone In A Crowded Bar By Rich Mills
What music are you into, man? The American exchange student who had earlier introduced himself, without any regard for Jean-Paul's need to be alone, suddenly threw a curve-ball of a question in his direction. Well I listen to... What followed was a definitive list of bands from Jean-Paul's wide ranging rare vinyl Read more...

Fiction - Old Tired & Completely Rucked By Martin Dale
Of course, I used to be big league me. Right up there with the bigwigs I was. Every game I'd be out there, working my socks off for the club. I'd be at the bottom of every ruck, in the thick of every maul, I'd cover more of the pitch than anyone else on the team. Pretty good really, now that I come to think about it, Read more...

  What's Happening?
Search          
  Chill Out
  About Us
  
  More...

Legal Disclaimer   Privacy Policy   Contact Us   Advertise Here     Top of Page.
The opinions expressed here are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the positions of www.thisisUll.com.
  Webmaster Comments?   © 2003 to 2008 www.thisisUll.com, All Rights Reserved.