SPOTLIGHTS
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| And we're rolling... |
| Posted by T.G. Corke on 01.31.2008 |
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My friend Luke has been asking all of his friends to write stories centred around fictional characters called Brian. Here's my entry, I think he's eventually making a website for them but who knows.
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Brian
by T.G. Corke
Eighty-six thousand, four-hundred seconds. Every day, we endure eighty-six thousand, four-hundred seconds of our own personal tumults. Love, hate, pain, bliss, fatigue, hyperactivity, stress, sedation. You name it, I can also name it. Copernicus, Da Vinci, and a wealth of other beautiful bastards have appreciated the fragile attributes of the human mind. And now, we are all so sensitive that even the mention of puppies can preclude mass murder. Everyone knows this. It goes without saying, really.
But then, there was Brian.
On the surface, Brian was a man like any other. He was five-foot ten-inches tall and weighed just over eleven stone. He had hair golden like the butter he spread liberally upon his toast each morning, and his eyes were of a bluish hue not dissimilar to that of the tears that poured from them whenever his children greeted him. He was respected throughout the village of Smallcongealedbollockwart, a tiny fishing village in the Welsh valleys. He had everything he wanted – a lovely wife, a big pair of tits for the lovely wife, a nice car with spoilers to die for, a four-storey mansion with thirty-three acres of garden (not that much, really), and the world’s largest collection of crayons.
However, material possessions can only get you so far. Sometimes, it’s the intangibles that dictate what kind of a person you are. And sadly, this is where Brian got unstuck.
For you see, Brian was born without ‘like’.
Ponder this situation for one bloody second, would you? Imagine it – you can only love, or hate. You cannot get any middle ground whatsoever. Your personality is a hollow spectrum, an A-to-C without any possibility of a B weaving its way into the equation. For most, Marmite is a polarising condiment. For Brian, it was merely a pebble on the desolate beach of his psyche.
So, to what did he owe this malignant massacre of genetic malfunction? Well, for that we need look no further than his beginnings.
Born Brianado Opal-Fruit Mendezopolis on July the 18th, 1964, the man that would later be known simply as Brian was sired by a Greek scientist named Opak Omnibus, and was developed within the womb of a Spanish gynecologist called Valencia Vamos. The conception was a modest one, a single fornication in the traditional face-to-face manner. No aspect of the formula was out of the ordinary – penetration, ejaculation, followed by lack of menstruation. Likewise, not a thing even slightly differing from the norm in any perceivable way was evident in the build-up to Brian’s birth. But then, things started to get interesting.
Mediterranean DNA is not the same as Caucasian or Negro DNA. It has a third chromosome, the M, which contributes to factors of taste and perception. Normally, when two Mediterranean people conceive a child, it’s business as usual. However, if the parents are each from different regions of the area, the semen will mutate when it reacts with the ovaries. The result of this is that the M creates a spectrum by merging the personalities of the mother and the father, and the polar opposite of these traits over-whelms those of the original antagonists.
Brian, unfortunately, was the victim of this insatiable lust. A mere pawn in the game of life. As his parents were notoriously mundane human-beings, who never showed any inclination of sharp opinion even in the face of the most important things, it was only natural that Brian would therefore find it impossible to feel anything other than absolute, undiluted sentiment at all times.
Unfortunately, that was just the tip of the iceberg. Unbeknownst to them, Opak and Valencia were cousins. In our society, this would not be a problem. But, in the land of olive oil and rapid speech, cousins mating have a much more profound impact on their offspring. Brian was, in fact, autistic. And, coupled with his inability to incorporate diplomacy into his life, he was a tragic flea-bite on the ample arse of humanity.
On one particular occasion, in order to prove to himself that the word ‘like’ even existed, Brian scouted it in his beloved dictionary. Upon reaching the appropriate page, Brian skimmed through the lines of text in the hope of exorcising his demons. However, when his eyes made contact with that word, he fell unconscious. Seconds later, and with temporary constipation, he awoke to find that his book was on fire.
This trend continued for the rest of his days. Whenever he attempted to say it, or even a sequence of words that sounded similar to it (for instance, “would I lie, Kelly?”), he would immediately pass out and suffer multiple nosebleeds to the face. Even when others used the word, he would hear nothing but static until the threat of exposure had dissipated. He was unable to even watch as the speaker’s lips motioned this lexical smidgeon of sadness.
And that’s where our story ends, for it is simply impossible to summon the emotional stamina necessary to continue down this beaten path like a dead dog on a stick being towed by momentum itself. So, I’ll leave you with the poem that was recited at Brian’s funeral after he died of Hepatitis C last year.
“Brian, mate,
You fucking legend.
Legend.
We all thought you were well great, and that.
You were even better when you weren’t on K.
We did worry about you at times,
But overall I think the friendship worked.
Oh yeah, I’ve got to just say this.
One time, me and big Baz (big Baz mutters that he should desist in his recollection)
No, Baz, it needs to be said. So anyway, me and Bazzy B were at your house,
And we put our cocks in your mouth,
And then in each others.
You were awake, you liked it.
Oh yeah, I didn’t really need to say that, then.
Damn it, I’ve jeopardised my marriage for nothing!
I’M SORRY, SHARON! I’M NOT PERFECT. WHAT DO YOU WANT, BLOOD?
(cleared throat at this time) Anyway, rest in peace and that.”
Nikolay ‘Badger’ Evans
Best friend
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And that's a wrap. |
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