Fly on the Wall

Fly on the Wall

I look around the entire cell that we’ve all been stashed inside like some kid’s toybox, though in this case judging by the characters in here it’s about like a bloody toolbox.

“A right looking motley crew we all are,” I say out loud to no one in particular.

“And you are?” Comes the question from a balding man in his forties. He looks more suited to working behind a desk in some stupid office. Judging by his pin striped suit it must be very respectable and super important.

“Mike.”

“Mike what?”

“My surname aint important.”

I lean back hoping that this guy isn’t too pissed off, I was never that great at starting conversation. Luckily doesn’t look the kind to knock a guy just for not giving him the answer he wanted, infact  he couldn’t knock out a good wank in his state. He’s extremely sweaty and his suit sticks to his rounded shoulders like a another skin. He looks worried, maybe the reason he’s here is because he’s seeing another woman and after the furtive act of passion, he returns home to his wife and 2.5 children to continue playing happy family.

“Does anyone know why we’re here?” comes the voice from a fat matronly woman.

“Didn’t anyone get that letter?” says the youngest in the group; a little guy with unbelievably pale skin, who seems unfazed at the darkness of our cell.

“The letter telling us we stand a chance of winning fifty thousand pounds? Absolutely, I must have received it yesterday morning no less,” spoke the smallest of the group. A squat little fella with thick glasses. God what a section of freaks this group is. I’m thinking of my quiet night in watching litters of nameless, talentless idiots parade across the stage attempting to impress the judges. The prospect of this reminds me why I chose to go to this stupid place rather than be stuck indoors on a Friday evening.

“So why the flying fuck is the door locked? Has anyone tried to phone the police?”

“No signal,” I reply to the sweaty man.

I stand up and wander about the room, in fact several members of the group get up an check for possible ways to escape the shop that we both have been confined within: a small jewellers called Magpies set deep within the heart of a London shopping mall. There was of course no other way out expect the front entrance which had been locked the minute we crammed into the small building.

“It’s a bank holiday as well” said the other woman in our group: ginger and frail in a way that suggests a serious nervous disposition.

“This has got to be some sort of joke,” I said maybe we’ve been selected as the new candidates for overnight security,” I force a laugh.

“My wife will phone the police in a few hours, I’m sure of it.”

“So…who are you all?” came the small weedy guy. “My name’s Josh.”

“Len,” I answered.

“Nigel,” said the suit.

“Mindy,” responded the fat woman.

“Lyn,” said the nervous woman.

“I suppose we’d be better off waiting,” said Nigel.

“What?” said Mindy.

“Well do you have any other idea?”

“I suppose not.”

“Look, rather than flapping around like a group of headless chickens, we’d be better off just waiting, someone is bound to notice that we’re gone. Like I said, my wife knows that I’ve gone to the shopping mall, she’ll expect me back and before you know it the rozzers will be helping us out of this hole.”

Time passed. I thought about picking my nose, but I didn’t, there was a tense silence which Mindy attempted to break by making idle comments about what the weather was like outside. In the end I told her to shut up about talking about the outside world. Eventually Lyn chimed in.

“I need to use the toilet.”

“Oh fuck, that’s just what we need, where’s the toilet in here Lyn?”

“But I need to go!”

“She’ll have to like, pee in the bin,” said Josh.

I watched her get up, little Lyn, she wasn’t really old, just very small and timid like a small house dog that’s afraid of its own bark. We watched her waddle over to the corner of the shop where the till was kept until she crouched down and let loose a high pressurised stream. She must have stored that bastard up for a while. Afterwards we watched her, while pretending not to have noticed the whole ordeal, get up and sit down with the rest of us. Eventually the whole room stank of piss. An hour passed and I checked my watch it read eight thirty, and as I did that someone’s stomach growled. Nigel got up and yelled.

“For Christ’s sake,” he kicked the door of the shop; it made no dent any one heck of a noise. “What the fucks going on?” he picked up the shopkeeper’s chair and threw it at the windows, not even a scratch.

“This place is totally bullet proof,” Josh said in awe.

“It’s a jewellers shop, this place has to be done up like Fort Knox.” I said.

“So your wife hasn’t called?” Josh said to Nigel.

“Shutup!”

“What’s that thing underneath the door?”

Mindy got up and took a look at it, and picked it up. It was a brown envelope.

“Ladies and Gentleman. Do no be alarmed. Your chance to win fifty thousand pounds has not been a lure, you will win the grand prize of ten thousand pounds when I, the fly on the wall, decides which one of you I will choose to nominate. Your stay will not be comfortable one, obviously, but that is because the pain and discomfort will remind you of your task: to confess your deepest darkest secret! This secret could be very worst, or the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done. Failure to do so will result in your stay being extended to Tuesday. Remember, I can hear your every word, and escape is impossible, so you may as well surrender yourself.

Your friend

The Fly.”

“Dude’s a psycho!” said Josh.

“Understatement of the year, douche bag,” I said.

“Can this guy really hear us?” Mindy said.

“It’s the same font as the letter he first gave us….Times New Roman,” Nigel said looking at the letter.
“We may as well cough up our secrets,” I said.

“Ooohnoo! I’m not airing my dirty laundry for some pervert to hear.”

“Lyn’s  right; he’s probably stroking his little pecker right now over this,” said Mindy.

“But what other option do we have, none of us has ever seen us before. We’re complete strangers and we’ll likely never see each other again.”

“Josh, you might want to go and make a fool out of yourself, but I don’t.” said Nigel.

We sat down at this point and argued. It turned out that Josh had a point, it was obvious that Nigel’s wife wasn’t going to phone (it was now almost eleven at night). So we decided to sleep on it. Perhaps we’d feel better about it in the morning. Or maybe all of us were secretly hoping that this was one enormous bad dream and that we’d wake up, safe and sound in our beds the next morning. Needless to say we didn’t.

We began to confess the next morning.

Because Josh was the first to suggest we confess he was voted the first.
 
CTRL+ALT+URINATE

I’m back from therapy, or this time I didn’t go, or did I? I can’t remember. The 48hr World of Warcraft binge makes it nigh impossible to work out the name of the day let alone the time. My room is bathed in a holy aura of LCD, pixels and the occasional flash of green from the 20th century shrine who’s technological grandpa single handedly beaten the Nazis, or something like that. While I take a short break to visit the toilet (my first since 3 hours ago) I notice that my room needs a clean: instead of getting the usual moss coloured floor it’s a cardboard floor or grease-stained pizza boxes which scream “ON HOT AND ON TIME” or “STRAIGHT TO YOUR DOOR!” The garish designs making an interesting collage which doesn’t clash with the colours from the computer. It seems a shame to clean my room, but it’s time I did, maybe after I go to the toilet to empty my piss bottles…

Josh looks around at us. He appears to be shaking. Is it junkie shakes?

“Well, t-t-t-that’s my life.”

“Fuck, no wonder you wanted to go first. What a fuckin’ loser!” I laugh.

“You were in therapy for online gaming?” Mindy said. “That’s so sad.”

“You g-g-et used to it, in the end I q-q-quit going.”

“Heh, look on the bright side, at least this is forced cold turkey. Should be interesting from a medical perspective.” Nigel said.

“God help you, seriously I mean that,” said Lyn.

“I-I-I think it’s your t-t-turn, Lyn.”

“Me? But, I’m…boring.”

“Surely you must have something to confess for fifty grand,” I said.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said quietly.

The Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want…

Dear Mr and Mrs Kingsley

Thankyou so much for your kind thanks and especially for the fruitcake which you baked for me and my house sitter, as for your terminally ill sister I shall be sure to mention her name in the prayer list during my Sunday Services back in the village of Ashleigh Salter. I hope you’re are beginning to settle in well in my old house, and I hope you find the surrounding area to your liking. As for your previous letter in which you expressed distress asking me “where is the WC?” I can only tell you that the Winchester Cathedral is within 45mins driving distance and is a great day out for the whole family, being old and close to my appointment with the almighty I regrettably have not visited it for several years but I will tell you that it is worth seeing and is a great day out for all the family.

In him

The Rev. Charles Sterling.

“That’s it?”

“Yes Josh, that IS it” she said in a strange voice.

“That’s not a confession, that’s…”

No said anything after Lyn stood up lifted her skirt and showed us her real confession: her dick winking at us.

“Can anyone beat that?” she said.

“What you mean to say, is that can anyone beat a tranny priest?”

“All schematics.”

“OK, looks like I’ll have to play my hand; God help me for doing this.”

“He w-w-will, in the form of a chick with a dick,” laughed Josh.

Radio Gah Gah

There are about several different shades of blue on the ceiling and I’ve grown bored counting them. You can only do that so many times. I play with my bellybutton. It feels funny in a tickly sort of way. My cot walls seem big, I wonder if I could climb them? I think better of it, no matter how fun it seems, I’d get a smack. I pick at my “booties” ickle dark blue feet that keep me warm and snug. My nappy keeps everything else warm, tight and dry. I let out a fart which seems to echo around the nursery as my “mumsie” comes in to change me. I decide now is the time to let go, let the brown river of turd come squirting out. The comfy embrace of the nappy keeps me safe. “Mumsie” rubs her nails up my podgy, hairy belly and down the insides of my large thighs. “Mumsie” is actually Sian, or maybe her name is Chantelle? Either way she begins to change my nappy. She lovingly wipes the shit from my erect cock. This is the part of the dress up that I always enjoy.

I felt sick, the idea of a grown man buying prostitutes when he could be screwing his wife?

“No I know why your wife hasn’t phoned the cops,” I said.

“She doesn’t know, alright?”

“Except the chicks that you do it with.”

“Specialist escort service, you can get all sorts: obese, anorexic, OAP all sorts of fetishes are catered for, for a price of course.”

“Jesus,” Josh said.

“This money had better be coming, I could lose my fucking job in the bank over this.”

The most awkward silence I have ever known filled the room. More awkward than the time I was found asleep in the middle of a school playground, during one of my funny turns.

“Len, your turn” said Nigel.

“Not yet mate, I’m still thinking.”

“I’ll go, I think I may as well reveal my true identity,” said Mindy.

Growing Pains

Dear Mindy Knowsitallictz

I’m a 11 year old kid who’s just started at secondary school, at first I thought it was pretty cool but lately it’s really started to suck, in fact I hate school now. A couple of weeks ago this older bigger kid in the year above me called Darren has started to follow me around and wait for me at the school gates, if I don’t give him money he beats me up. He’s now also started to follow me around school stealing my dinner money. It’s now so bad I’m considering taking a knife to school to cut him up.

Yours sincerely

John Giles

Dear John Giles

Bullying can be a horrible experience for anyone, but taking a knife to school is certainly not the answer, your best course of action would be to tell your teacher or the school headmaster. However, in the interests of public safety I have alerted the police and you should be expecting a visit from the plod, John Giles of Bishop Otter Comprehensive, Chichester West Sussex. That will teach you, for planning to knife my darling son!

“Holy crap,” I said.

“Yeah, letting your son pick on a little mite,” said Lyn.

“No not that, Chichester, I had a fuckin’ coma just walking through that dump, god knows what it must be like living there.”

“I don’t know, I live in Maidstone.”

“So…uh, what happened to the k-k-kid?”

“John Giles? I think he ended up in a mental ward.”

“Fuck.”

“So yeah, the money would be nice to make sure my Darren can emigrate to Outer Mongolia. I hear this John Giles is pretty handy with a knife nowadays.”

“I always wondered why you never gave anymore advice on the Daily Star.”

“Well when the editor gets numerous death threats it’s pretty much given that you’re considered a liability. Bombs threats were also starting to come through the calls as well.”

“There’s only one person left, Len.”

“OK, OK, but you guys more or less have already heard my story!”

Me, Myself and the Fly-on-the-wall.

Right now everything doesn’t seem too clear, it looks as if I might have my funny moments again. It’s like I’ve got my headphones in and right now the music is a bunch of hyenas on base, all talking and never stopping. There’s nothing more confusing and disturbing than schizophrenia. Imagine J.R.R Tolkien’s Bilbo is happy at home in his little hole in the ground and then suddenly its crammed with retarded little dwarves. That’s what my head feels like right now. I think I’d better go for a walk, the Filipino army will be looking for me soon. Finally I think the walk has managed to calm me down, and the medication is making me sleepy but at least the voices are calming down. I wake up and find myself being prodded by several school kids. Curse my insomnia! One of them says: Look mummy! A funny man asleep in the playground. What is it you little snot nosed brat? I like to sleep naked!

Silence in the room, it looks as if everyone has run out of words to say.

“Well there you have it, fucknuts, we’ve all told you our stories!”

Slowly the outside shutters begin to open.

The Fly

We at Television Entrance were founded on the principle of cutting edge entertainment, and that’s exactly what we did. We brought you such reality TV delights as “Green for Glory Hole” and “Ultimate Bug Fights: UK version!” However we were running out of money fast. Believe it or not, “borrowing” ideas from foreign channels actually does cost quite a bit of time and effort, not to mention money. So we at Entrance decided the next big thing was another reality show with a twist, we actually imprison our contestants. Of course the wet-blankets out there will consider this bad, but our cameras picked up the juicy, juicy details of their confessions which even if it doesn’t make UK viewing we can still sell it on the internet to the next bidder. This should provide us enough money for our next projects. After listening to each and everyone’s confession we’ve decided on a winner. We lift up the security shutters to meet the winner, but we realise that several things have gone wrong on this low budget set. Nobody checked to see if anyone had actually gone inside the building, and nobody was checking the hidden camera stuff cuts and all. So when we finally go inside to meet the individual who has won the money with the most lurid and awful confession ever, we realise that we’ve been had. The winner is actually the same person, and the person is a chap named Len with multiple personalities and insomnia. Ladies and Gentlemen of the board, I do believe we have found the format for our next Reality TV challenge.