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Part 1
The darkness of Cooky's bedsit was briefly illuminated by tv static as he switched off his PS2 and threw down his Duel Shock Pad.
"Damn Britney's Dance Beats... I'll give you beats"
Leaning forward to flick through the tv channels, he quickly regretted his temper. Settling on a re-run of a current affairs program, 'Krad Discusses', Cooky lay back and looked up at his poster of the pop starlet, and whispered an apology.
As Krad, the young Paxman wannabe, belittled a Greenpeace representative on her predictions of the long-term effects of America's hard-fought victory over Hussein, Cooky's mind drifted away. 2 years since she left her career, and fans, behind her, where was Britney now?
"All those people.. that just.. drift away" he pondered.
The darkness of Cooky's bedsit was briefly illuminated by tv static as he switched off his PS2 and threw down his Duel Shock Pad.
"Damn Britney's Dance Beats... I'll give you beats"
Leaning forward to flick through the tv channels, he quickly regretted his temper. Settling on a re-run of a current affairs program, 'Krad Discusses', Cooky lay back and looked up at his poster of the pop starlet, and whispered an apology.
As Krad, the young Paxman wannabe, belittled a Greenpeace representative on her predictions of the long-term effects of America's hard-fought victory over Hussein, Cooky's mind drifted away. 2 years since she left her career, and fans, behind her, where was Britney now?
"All those people.. that just.. drift away" he pondered.
God, SOMEBODY should acknowledge Dr Duck's work...
BORING
Part 4
It was late. After spending 18 hours making recompense for the previous evening's blasphamy, Cooky finally felt he had played enough Britney's Dance Beat to appease his karma.
Rubbing his eyes, he fired up his PC, and crossed his fingers that Windows 95 wouldn't blue-screen him today.
Logging into his regular chat forum website, he was surprised to find a special article on the homepage. Further inspection transformed curiosity to sorrow, a forum member had been anounced dead.
"That thing in London?" He murmerred to himself.
Realising he was just in time for the start of the minute of silence and no-posting, Cooky stopped talking.
After the time had slipped by, he entered the forums. The top thread was from administrator Tony: 'Bans for failure to observe the minute of no posting: Boxcarboy. King cool. Meka dragon.'
Cooky smiled to himself. Then felt slightly bad for Meka.
He looked over the last posts in the Chat Thread:
Strafex @ 21.34 >
Well screw you too
Starlight @ 21.31 >
Just like you to blow it out of all proportion...
Strafex @ 21.30 >
Well you shouldn't have said it then.
Starlight @ 21.27 >
I can't believe you'd bring that up at a time like this.
Strafex @ 21.24 >
Yeah, what does it matter, you just said a few things that were out of line. It puts it in perspective.
Starlight @ 21.21 >
I know. I guess it puts our little quarrels in a different light.
Strafex @ 21.19 >
I can't believe what happened. Just this morning he'd posted about never winning gad. And now he never will.
Cooky left his keyboard and put on the tv: 'Krad Live: Gang Violence in the UK'
He turned the tv off and went to the kitchen.
It was late. After spending 18 hours making recompense for the previous evening's blasphamy, Cooky finally felt he had played enough Britney's Dance Beat to appease his karma.
Rubbing his eyes, he fired up his PC, and crossed his fingers that Windows 95 wouldn't blue-screen him today.
Logging into his regular chat forum website, he was surprised to find a special article on the homepage. Further inspection transformed curiosity to sorrow, a forum member had been anounced dead.
"That thing in London?" He murmerred to himself.
Realising he was just in time for the start of the minute of silence and no-posting, Cooky stopped talking.
After the time had slipped by, he entered the forums. The top thread was from administrator Tony: 'Bans for failure to observe the minute of no posting: Boxcarboy. King cool. Meka dragon.'
Cooky smiled to himself. Then felt slightly bad for Meka.
He looked over the last posts in the Chat Thread:
Strafex @ 21.34 >
Well screw you too
Starlight @ 21.31 >
Just like you to blow it out of all proportion...
Strafex @ 21.30 >
Well you shouldn't have said it then.
Starlight @ 21.27 >
I can't believe you'd bring that up at a time like this.
Strafex @ 21.24 >
Yeah, what does it matter, you just said a few things that were out of line. It puts it in perspective.
Starlight @ 21.21 >
I know. I guess it puts our little quarrels in a different light.
Strafex @ 21.19 >
I can't believe what happened. Just this morning he'd posted about never winning gad. And now he never will.
Cooky left his keyboard and put on the tv: 'Krad Live: Gang Violence in the UK'
He turned the tv off and went to the kitchen.
Part 3
"The busiest trading month of the year, and nobody saw anything. Damn typical. Ah well, there's little hope of getting any of the shoppers to come forward, but go back down there and put up a few notices. And get onto the stall-holders. Maybe with them you can be more... pursuasive?"
The superintendant motioned the solemn figure away.
"Oh, and constable, solve this one and you'll really earn your stripes."
Somehow maintaining an expression of composure, the rookie replied through gritted teeth "Yes, Sir".
Striding down the corridor he mumbled to himself. Damn corrupt pen-pusher, and still the jokes about his name. Still. 6 months dammit, you'd expect the novelty to have worn by now. And now he had to take his even less experienced partner back to the crime scene, to spend the rest of the day questioning people who would never answer him. The police had lost control a long time ago, and everyone knew it. And he'd spend the rest of the week filling out paperwork, no doubt. And his partner couldn't help with it, he was damned useless. And he knew the victim. Maybe not well, but it counted for something dammit. And he'd have to be the one to tell the family. He hated that.
"Come on Tosh, back to Camden market."
Officer Whitestripes hurled the door open and continued into the car park.
"So Mr D, you didn't see anything when the shooting took place?"
"No, like I said, I wasn't here."
Whitestripes picked up a black 'Vassacki' stiletto and sighed to himself.
"Interesting brand here. I have some friends who'd love to take a look at these..."
"Okay, okay. I was here, but I didn't see anything. I was... moving boxes."
"And him?" Whitestripes motioned to the elderly figure sat on an upturned crate, attentively hunched over a polystyrene coffee cup.
"He didn't see anything either." Snapped the stall owner.
Disregarding him, Whitestripes walked across to the old man.
"What do you know?"
"Nothing. I didn't see no shooting. You want shoe? I give you shoe."
"So how do you know there was a shooting?"
"Um... shoe? Please, take shoe now."
"Because he overheard people talking.." tried the more savvy owner, but Whitestrpies was having none of it.
Closing the old man in the back of the police car, Whitestripes turned to his partner.
"I swear, they get dumber every day, Tosh"
"Huh?"
"The busiest trading month of the year, and nobody saw anything. Damn typical. Ah well, there's little hope of getting any of the shoppers to come forward, but go back down there and put up a few notices. And get onto the stall-holders. Maybe with them you can be more... pursuasive?"
The superintendant motioned the solemn figure away.
"Oh, and constable, solve this one and you'll really earn your stripes."
Somehow maintaining an expression of composure, the rookie replied through gritted teeth "Yes, Sir".
Striding down the corridor he mumbled to himself. Damn corrupt pen-pusher, and still the jokes about his name. Still. 6 months dammit, you'd expect the novelty to have worn by now. And now he had to take his even less experienced partner back to the crime scene, to spend the rest of the day questioning people who would never answer him. The police had lost control a long time ago, and everyone knew it. And he'd spend the rest of the week filling out paperwork, no doubt. And his partner couldn't help with it, he was damned useless. And he knew the victim. Maybe not well, but it counted for something dammit. And he'd have to be the one to tell the family. He hated that.
"Come on Tosh, back to Camden market."
Officer Whitestripes hurled the door open and continued into the car park.
"So Mr D, you didn't see anything when the shooting took place?"
"No, like I said, I wasn't here."
Whitestripes picked up a black 'Vassacki' stiletto and sighed to himself.
"Interesting brand here. I have some friends who'd love to take a look at these..."
"Okay, okay. I was here, but I didn't see anything. I was... moving boxes."
"And him?" Whitestripes motioned to the elderly figure sat on an upturned crate, attentively hunched over a polystyrene coffee cup.
"He didn't see anything either." Snapped the stall owner.
Disregarding him, Whitestripes walked across to the old man.
"What do you know?"
"Nothing. I didn't see no shooting. You want shoe? I give you shoe."
"So how do you know there was a shooting?"
"Um... shoe? Please, take shoe now."
"Because he overheard people talking.." tried the more savvy owner, but Whitestrpies was having none of it.
Closing the old man in the back of the police car, Whitestripes turned to his partner.
"I swear, they get dumber every day, Tosh"
"Huh?"
Part 2
Phillip pushed through the crowd blocking his way out of Camden station.
"Look, Strafex and Starlight, they're here, and they're going at it, just like they said at that press conference..."
Phillip srugged off the enthusiastic crowd member and continued to push forward until he found himself inside a circle formed by the crowd with 2 expensively dressed men fighting on the ground. Were these those singers he'd seen on the news last night? He couldn't remember. Bypassing the two, he braced himself and began again to push his way through the crowd.
As he entered the marketplace, the crowd seemed almost as congested.
"You want shoe?" shouted a frail-sounding voice. Phillip looked around.
A short old man, his shoulders hunched forwards, looked up and shouted to him
"I get you shoe. Good shoe cheap dollar."
"Hey, I told you to move those boxes.." Picking up a green plimsole, a younger man began beating the old salesman.
Phillip turned his back and walked on.
"Phil, I've got a message for you."
As he turned, Phillip broke briefly into a familiar smile, before his expression changed into a combination of fear and disbelief.
*Bang*
He fell to the floor, pain coarsed through his chest. He looked at his chest and groping hands, stained with his blood, then up at his assailant. Now only disbelief on his face, his vision began to blur.
*Bang*
It was over.
Phillip pushed through the crowd blocking his way out of Camden station.
"Look, Strafex and Starlight, they're here, and they're going at it, just like they said at that press conference..."
Phillip srugged off the enthusiastic crowd member and continued to push forward until he found himself inside a circle formed by the crowd with 2 expensively dressed men fighting on the ground. Were these those singers he'd seen on the news last night? He couldn't remember. Bypassing the two, he braced himself and began again to push his way through the crowd.
As he entered the marketplace, the crowd seemed almost as congested.
"You want shoe?" shouted a frail-sounding voice. Phillip looked around.
A short old man, his shoulders hunched forwards, looked up and shouted to him
"I get you shoe. Good shoe cheap dollar."
"Hey, I told you to move those boxes.." Picking up a green plimsole, a younger man began beating the old salesman.
Phillip turned his back and walked on.
"Phil, I've got a message for you."
As he turned, Phillip broke briefly into a familiar smile, before his expression changed into a combination of fear and disbelief.
*Bang*
He fell to the floor, pain coarsed through his chest. He looked at his chest and groping hands, stained with his blood, then up at his assailant. Now only disbelief on his face, his vision began to blur.
*Bang*
It was over.
Part 1
The darkness of Cooky's bedsit was briefly illuminated by tv static as he switched off his PS2 and threw down his Duel Shock Pad.
"Damn Britney's Dance Beats... I'll give you beats"
Leaning forward to flick through the tv channels, he quickly regretted his temper. Settling on a re-run of a current affairs program, 'Krad Discusses', Cooky lay back and looked up at his poster of the pop starlet, and whispered an apology.
As Krad, the young Paxman wannabe, belittled a Greenpeace representative on her predictions of the long-term effects of America's hard-fought victory over Hussein, Cooky's mind drifted away. 2 years since she left her career, and fans, behind her, where was Britney now?
"All those people.. that just.. drift away" he pondered.
The darkness of Cooky's bedsit was briefly illuminated by tv static as he switched off his PS2 and threw down his Duel Shock Pad.
"Damn Britney's Dance Beats... I'll give you beats"
Leaning forward to flick through the tv channels, he quickly regretted his temper. Settling on a re-run of a current affairs program, 'Krad Discusses', Cooky lay back and looked up at his poster of the pop starlet, and whispered an apology.
As Krad, the young Paxman wannabe, belittled a Greenpeace representative on her predictions of the long-term effects of America's hard-fought victory over Hussein, Cooky's mind drifted away. 2 years since she left her career, and fans, behind her, where was Britney now?
"All those people.. that just.. drift away" he pondered.