headline
blazed across the newspapers on the newspaper stall attached to the
side of the grubby looking off licence. Probably didn’t sell
knives, but Jack thought it was worth a try anyway. That aside, he
wanted to get off the packed streets.
Unfortunately,
the small shop was also jam-packed. The small pitiful excuse of an
off-licence had one aisle with shelves packed full of cheap sugary
confectionary, small meaningless bits of tat and magazines
recommending everyone spend hard earned rupees on something that
sounded amazing, but didn’t guarantee it. Filled with enticing
pictures of the blossoming youth of women, but not acknowledging
that five children down the line, the young beauties would be the
size of small planets and will be abraded and eroded from years and
years of hard work. Everything went sour in the end, Jack
thought.
He pushed his
way through the amass of people in the small shop. A few people
protested as he barged his way through, but they fell upon the deaf
ears of Jack and the buyers around him, who were either looking at
magazines or shouting for some drug of some sort at the store
assistant.
Jack was now at
the cash desk.
“A knife.
Sharp. Foldable,” he demanded at the assistant.
“Hold on
buddy,” he said over the noise of the other demanding customers,
before turning his audience to the entire store, “Everyone please!
We are fresh out of all psychophysiological palpating drugs! That
means no Happy, no Excitement, no Nostalgia and no Forget! We are
clean out, so if you are after consumer PP drugs, can you please
leave and go elsewhere!”
There was
uproar in the store as many disappointed customers cursed over the
lack of cosmetic drugs. A few customers left however, many of them
prevailed.
“You’re the
only shop open! Get some more!” Jack heard someone shout.
“Your drugs
killed my husband!” yelled someone else.
“Listen! I
can’t get any more and I’ve got news, death isn’t a side effect,
it’s an overdose. I’m not at all sorry to say I just ran out of
care for you guys. I hope you see what I did there.”
There was
further uproar which the assistant ignored.
“You want a
knife buddy?” said the assistant, “Get it somewhere else. I’m not
being responsible for someone’s death.”
“Do not assume
you understand,” said Jack, narrowing his eyes, looking rather odd,
“I am much more than the normal rioter. I am worth much more than
that. And in being so, I become something that isn’t one of these
riotous morons. That aside, you need the money.”
“You look like
you could do with some Happy,” said the assistant, “Shame you’re
not getting any. Give me one reason I should sell you a knife,
Mr-the-world-revolves-around-me.”
“Because the
world revolves around me. Or at least, the world revolves around
what I’m going to do with the knife after I’ve bought it.”
“You’re yet
another hopeful out to kill our land’s father,” sighed the
assistant, “On the unlikely chance that you do succeed, do you
really think it will make a difference? Nothing will change; we’ll
just have no leader to blame the state of the land on. I’ll still
have a lack of produce to sell and I will still have the threat of
my business being looted or blown up every night by either angry
protestors or these damn neo-terrorists,” he handed over a
switchblade knife, “So go ahead and kill our land’s father. It
won’t do any difference to anything. The only people winning from
this mess are them who manage to smuggle illegal weapons here from
Union. And the guy who came up with the idea of cosmetic PP drugs.
That will be fourteen rupees please.”
“Do not assume
you understand,” repeated Jack in the same tone, handing over the
money, “You assume it is the Leader I seek to destroy. I can tell
you now that the person this knife awaits to penetrate is far more
important than our Leader.”
“Whatever
buddy,” the assistant had lost interest now, “Next
blazed across the newspapers on the newspaper stall attached to the
side of the grubby looking off licence. Probably didn’t sell
knives, but Jack thought it was worth a try anyway. That aside, he
wanted to get off the packed streets.
Unfortunately,
the small shop was also jam-packed. The small pitiful excuse of an
off-licence had one aisle with shelves packed full of cheap sugary
confectionary, small meaningless bits of tat and magazines
recommending everyone spend hard earned rupees on something that
sounded amazing, but didn’t guarantee it. Filled with enticing
pictures of the blossoming youth of women, but not acknowledging
that five children down the line, the young beauties would be the
size of small planets and will be abraded and eroded from years and
years of hard work. Everything went sour in the end, Jack
thought.
He pushed his
way through the amass of people in the small shop. A few people
protested as he barged his way through, but they fell upon the deaf
ears of Jack and the buyers around him, who were either looking at
magazines or shouting for some drug of some sort at the store
assistant.
Jack was now at
the cash desk.
“A knife.
Sharp. Foldable,” he demanded at the assistant.
“Hold on
buddy,” he said over the noise of the other demanding customers,
before turning his audience to the entire store, “Everyone please!
We are fresh out of all psychophysiological palpating drugs! That
means no Happy, no Excitement, no Nostalgia and no Forget! We are
clean out, so if you are after consumer PP drugs, can you please
leave and go elsewhere!”
There was
uproar in the store as many disappointed customers cursed over the
lack of cosmetic drugs. A few customers left however, many of them
prevailed.
“You’re the
only shop open! Get some more!” Jack heard someone shout.
“Your drugs
killed my husband!” yelled someone else.
“Listen! I
can’t get any more and I’ve got news, death isn’t a side effect,
it’s an overdose. I’m not at all sorry to say I just ran out of
care for you guys. I hope you see what I did there.”
There was
further uproar which the assistant ignored.
“You want a
knife buddy?” said the assistant, “Get it somewhere else. I’m not
being responsible for someone’s death.”
“Do not assume
you understand,” said Jack, narrowing his eyes, looking rather odd,
“I am much more than the normal rioter. I am worth much more than
that. And in being so, I become something that isn’t one of these
riotous morons. That aside, you need the money.”
“You look like
you could do with some Happy,” said the assistant, “Shame you’re
not getting any. Give me one reason I should sell you a knife,
Mr-the-world-revolves-around-me.”
“Because the
world revolves around me. Or at least, the world revolves around
what I’m going to do with the knife after I’ve bought it.”
“You’re yet
another hopeful out to kill our land’s father,” sighed the
assistant, “On the unlikely chance that you do succeed, do you
really think it will make a difference? Nothing will change; we’ll
just have no leader to blame the state of the land on. I’ll still
have a lack of produce to sell and I will still have the threat of
my business being looted or blown up every night by either angry
protestors or these damn neo-terrorists,” he handed over a
switchblade knife, “So go ahead and kill our land’s father. It
won’t do any difference to anything. The only people winning from
this mess are them who manage to smuggle illegal weapons here from
Union. And the guy who came up with the idea of cosmetic PP drugs.
That will be fourteen rupees please.”
“Do not assume
you understand,” repeated Jack in the same tone, handing over the
money, “You assume it is the Leader I seek to destroy. I can tell
you now that the person this knife awaits to penetrate is far more
important than our Leader.”
“Whatever
buddy,” the assistant had lost interest now, “Next
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