24 hour book - the open allotment

24 hour book project

In collaboration with if:book, The Society of Young Publishers and CompletelyNovel.com, Spread the Word has commissioned The 24 Hour Book, a groundbreaking project to challenge a group of writers to write a new story about London in just 24 hours.

This is my contribution... Contribute here...( scroll to bottom of page )

And soon enough the allotment would be transferred into a mini bartering stall, buying and selling goods to raise further funds for those fortunate enough to secure a plot. “This,” thought Sidney would lead to major ramifications. “God knows who’d turn up,” he muttered with bated breath. Local people, the curious, this arty farties, the press, law enforcement...

He stares at the smelly woman, who shrilly announces herself as Avril – “gosh, how he hates her. It takes Sidney the greatest of willpower to stop throwing up when she offers her pale, small, callous ridden, dirty fingernailed hands in a regular friendly gesture. Sidney had never offered more than a grunt and a nod, a simple acknowledgment, for he loathed her more than that rotting thing that was commonly referred to as a corpse.

“Everybody’s talking about a dead body,” he screams silently. “The dead body, a dead body, the dead body, a dead body!” Despite the harsh weather, Sidney had started to perspire – “Jacket potato,” he whispers. Sidney had heard local youth hoodlums whispering, an urban myth, but he knew so much better. The lady in the store topping up her Oyster; “give her a one way ticket Endsville..”

Sidney jumps, his mobile resonates the daft sounding Hurdy Gurdy, rattling away with the phones vibrations. Sidney loathed the ringtone, but just didn’t know how to change it.

And later...

For after all this was a traditional British allotment growing traditional British veg. It would produce plenty. Not enough to shun the supermarkets, but plenty to share out.

Sidney reminisced fondly, recollecting Derek Trotter and Uncle Albert Trotter giving posh entrepreneur Miles a guided tour of their recently cleared plot and (by chance) discovering that money printing venture – the miraculous Peckham Spring.

Sure enough a discovery would be made here none too soon. Earlier than anticipated, but nevertheless inevitable. And when that happened maybe a little hell would break loose. The snoop parade would be over, pristine uniforms, flashing badges, Hollywood suits, Panda cars, and the flashing lights, oh the lights!

Sidney would join in the search. He’d wear the campaign T shirt, run errands, whilst stifling the volcanic bile rising from the pit of his stomach.

He was violently back to good old planet earth by a hellish wail, no a shriek, he was sure he’d heard a bloodcurdling one – after all such howls frequented his dreams during large segments of what he referred to as the “dark hours.” Had the discovery been made? Sidney’s head whirred as his mind instantly replayed the dozen possibilities he had he had countless played out. The moment of truth had arrived, the body, or what was left of it had been discovered. Surprisingly he felt no fear, no shakiness, perspiration and he even found himself stretching to extend and straighten his lanky gait and posture. Just a sure feeling of what was soon to follow. Sidney was ready, he’d savour what was to happen, enjoy the torment and grief. He’d manipulate and throw many off guard. And then he’d accept his sure to come fate, meet his destiny, embrace it.

The electric signals sent another scene flashing through his mind, that of John Doe, lucid and calm, rising up to meet the bullet fired by Detective Mills that would penetrate his skull in se7en. He would as such embrace his destiny.