Daily Prompt, dreams, events, humor, serial fiction, writing

The Parcel: It’s All Gone Wrong

I woke up on a stiff bed, the mattress under me, if one could call it that, was so thin I could feel the bed base through it. There was no pillow under my head and I had no blanket on, but I wasn’t cold so the lack of covering didn’t worry me. As I opened my eyes the first thing I realised was that I was under artificial lighting, I could tell by the flicker, which meant I was inside, not only was I inside but I was surrounded by vertical bars.

Oh did I skip ahead somewhere along the line and you’ve missed part of the story? Sorry let me go back a bit and see if I can find where I left off…..

…..Ok so I think I remember where I was.

I’d used the dial and ended up at some kind of yacht club which I assumed was in the USA somewhere given the accent of the few men I’d gotten close to who made rude comments at me. Whilst delivering their rude comments it was suggested I join the bunch of Aussies that were nearby. It was about that time things really started to turn to shit for me.

You see it was that time that I worked out where I was, when I was and who the large group of Australian’s were. I also worked out why they were celebrating however what I didn’t work out was why they were so happy to accept me into their little group and let me party with them, but I also didn’t analyse it, I also pretty much forgot about looking for Téa. I know that sounds kind of strange but the celebrations I found myself was not just any celebration.

Now I must say at the real time when what I was witnessing actually happened I didn’t care much about it because I was a kid in the middle of school holidays but for some people it was a huge deal. A collection of American’s, because they became the first American’s in a hundred and thirty two years to loose their silver mug. And a collection of Aussies because for the first time in history a bunch of foreigners had won the America’s Cup.

The problem, and it was widely reported at the time, was that a small number of American’s really cared about that mug and after a hundred and thirty years they got really shitty that a bunch of Aussies and their fibreglass tub with a winged keel beat them at their own game.

So in case you haven’t figured it out, after using the dial I actually ended up arriving in Rhode Island at the New York Yacht club in the year of 1983. After fights to stop the Australian’s competing, claiming their yacht was illegal under twelve meter racing rules, the American’s lost both the legal battles and the races and I had found myself in the middle of the celebrations of the winning Australian team.

No one cared that they didn’t know me, no one cared that they hadn’t seen me before and I suddenly lost interest in finding Téa in favour of partying with my fellow country men and women. I know that sounds kind of bad but honestly I didn’t see it that way at the time.

So about five hours later, some time after midnight, I suddenly found the urge to go looking for Téa. The problem I ran into was that I wasn’t quite walking straight and instead of running into Téa I ran into the local sheriff and his posse. He was none to pleased to see me in the first place but he was even less pleased to see me when I opened my drunk mouth and said both loudly and proudly.

“I know Alan Bond!”

Now as I have suggested it’s only ever a small group of dickheads who ruin it for everyone and in my silly drunken state I happened to find one small group of those dickheads who apparently hadn’t come to terms with loosing their mug to a small group of kangaroo herders. The worst part about these dickheads was that they had law enforcement uniforms on, although the enforcement of laws didn’t seem to be their primary concern.

The sheriff, a fat balding prick that looked like he’d die if he took more than three steps without a breather, yelled all sorts of expletives at me, I understood some of them but I honestly think he made up many of them. Then with his posse of tough guys standing behind him laughing he pulled off the amazingly bold move of punching me. He punched me hard right on the chin, I fell to the ground not really feeling it thanks to the alcohol content. I got up, the bastard knocked me down again.

Even in my drunken state I had learnt my lesson, I wasn’t going to show weakness to this wanker protected by a badge by staying down but I also wasn’t going to mouth off and tell him what I really thought of him. As soon as I stood up the guy spun me around and slapped a pair of handcuffs on me. The few times the love of my life had done a similar thing to me it was exciting, sensual, memorable and arousing, thankfully none of those feelings were replicated when Smokey the pissed off bear cuffed me. I was then shoved into the back seat of the Sheriff’s car and the door was slammed.

Moments later the fat arsed Sheriff climbed behind the wheel of his cruiser and we took off at speed. Looking out the side window as the sound of loose gravel pinged off the wheel arches of the car I thought I saw Téa walking towards us in the dark but I couldn’t have been sure.

Previous Parcel story here.

24 Comments

  1. This was an awesome chapter and a wonderfully unique storyline. You were cheeky in the first part, to lead us to think she had transported him into jail. However, it makes a lot of sense that he got their all by himself. I hope she can rescue him… again! : ). Bravo!

  2. I love silly! I need silly! Bring on the silly, Willy! I mean mate! : )

  3. Willy means the same as Rich? And you call us cray, cray?

  4. I don’t know another name for Richard?

  5. Lol …. your mind is so fun!
    I don’t smoke weed, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t think Willy does either. It is not good for him.

    • I wouldn’t smoke weed with Willy either but I spent too many years in the truck listening to “country over night”on the radio and there was hardly a night went by where they didn’t play Weed with Willie at least one. So pretty much every time I hear the word weed I think of Toby Keith.

      • That was an interesting research trail. I’ve never heard that song before. It’s ok that I not hear it again.

        • I don’t mind Toby Keith he’s got a sense of humour although not the best singing voice. It’s the first time I have actually seen him do the song in the presence of the guy it was written about though. I’m not a huge fan of the song because Toby has done heaps better but the fact that it was sung in front of Willie and he laughed at it tells me it’s all light hearted fun. Willie still can’t tour this country because of all the weed possession charges and his known drug problems

  6. There are some good people in country music and those two are probably two of them. It’s nice to see them having fun too! I hope you’re having fun too!

    • Well given how young Toby Keith was in that clip I’d say the good time was a long time ago.
      Willie is a genetic mutation I am sure but I don’t think Toby is and therefore he’s probably thinking “I’m not as good as I once was.”

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