‘The Amsterdam Busters’
In the background his daily record played as his feet lightly tapped the floor to his all time favourite song, the flight of the bumble bee.
He watched the bubbles gradually slow to nothingness as they halted their journey to the top of his liquid lunch.
Like his thoughts at that moment, his pint was flat.
Jacko began nibbling the end of his pencil, the juice of which stained his Stonehenge like teeth producing a vision akin to a row of condemned buildings.
His mind wandered easily between fact and fiction as he struggled to begin a scribble for his latest deadline, a common dilemma to challenge his ravenous ego.
He reminded himself once again not to accept true facts, they becoming a barrier to the good old fashioned yarn, it’s what his readership expected, it’s what they thrived on, but where and how to begin.
Tempestuous turmoil thrashed tirelessly at his temples, his hands sweated and shook.
In his minds eye he pictured himself on a heroic mission.
There he was sat there with goggles scarf and helmet donned, steering his tragic magic carpet behind enemy lines.
The background bumble bee sounds conjuring up visions for a potentially damaging sting in the tale.
So there he was, Captain Jacko, fearlessly flying around and combat ready, high winds had managing to create a glide path in ever widening circles.
He could swoop under the radar and unseen from altitude to glide bravely at the most opportune moment, where he would drop a flurry of black blots straight from his presentation gold quill onto the enemy gathering of green goblins below.
Potential targets would frantically scatter in all directions to avoid a horrific contamination, an indelible stain.
Those unable to reach the cover of safety would find themselves splattered with each swoop adding to the panic in a rising sea of poisonous ink. That ink marking them out for special recognition, just as his search for a top scribbling award would undoubtedly require.
Bulbs flashed as photographers captured his daring raids, they lit up the night sky like threatening search lights scanning above as warning sirens blared a rush to underground retreats below.
Jacko’s magic carpet bore evidence of his past victorious exploits, they were recorded in the thinning pile of his lofty vehicle.
Splinters of pencil lodged between his boulder like teeth piercing his gums, some made there way into his digestive tract but nothing could distract his current train of thought. There was still lead in his pencil.
He nibbled more and more furiously whilst eyeing the collection of half eaten erasers left over from many a previously successful excursion into enemy territory, armed only with Ink and the most vivid of imaginations.
His process was now gathering pace, the beginnings of a story, a whopper, was now beginning to form..
He placed lead to paper as he visualised bold black ink blots landing and bouncing on an already wet surface….
They bounced effortlessly like skimming stones on the waters of a relatively calm lake, they bounced over and over in growing but perfectly timed intervals until they impacted their targets to maximum effect. Until enough damage was done.
Suddenly Jacko sat up and his hands stopped shaking, he smiled a smugly satisfying smile to himself as he sipped his now flat Amstel.
Once more he smugly began to acknowledge his own greatness, not many had had the heart to tell the other truth.
His pencil then began to flow freely as he touched down once more in a place and time called reality, he had climbed off his imaginary friend the magic carpet with tall tale intact..
Then with feet on ground he began to soar into an amazing story-line, a story line that Hans, Christian and even Anderson would have struggled to conjure up..
and so he was off…
‘The Amsterdam Busters’.
Unverified media reports are flooding into media centres of Barnes Wallis proportion…. ….Reporters, pundits and prophets…..