666 Chips Part 5.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Fifth installment. The Events of June 6th 2006, captured in words and served to satisfy your hunger for reading.

Submitted: January 07, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 07, 2008



Read Part 1 here

and Part 2 here and part 3 hereand part 4 here

I have that post sunbathing high, confused I try to track recent events. I am sat on something comfortable but while intrigue pokes me, I wasn't ready to look yet. I feel giddy and puzzled, every thought resounds mystery. My spine was well supported and I could feel my new and very uncomfortable black shoes, tight on my feet. The depth of the carpet was thick and had that feel of quality, I am playing games with my senses, I need to just open my eyes. Memories of getting ready and lacing the shoes too tight, returns, I run my hand through my hair, it feels dry and styled. Before opening my eyes I rub them, making a wish against the optical lamps. The first thing I am aware of, is a green light, I shade my eyes. The large opal glass lamp was throwing a generous glow over a velvet table, which featured a solitary black shape in its centre. The box has small bronze hinges and reminds me of a small treasure chest. I think about flicking the gold clasp, to investigate the contents but aware of an electronic sound, pause. It was the low hum of a motorized camera hiding in the corner, although cloaked in dark, the lens reflection also gave its position away. I test the acoustics and cough into the empty room, it responded in a way that told me the room was bigger than than the ill light was suggesting. I looked at my watch, one minute to midnight, a sober wave washes over me. I was here, ground zero, this was the table where the game would take place. Nerves snap at my legs, like an over keen puppy, I rise from the chair still unsure of my eerie surroundings.

This was it, do or die, not only death but eternal damnation. Call it denial, but for some reason the benefits of seeing out the rest time in hell starts to appeal. I know my thoughts are nonsense but they are entertaining and distracting me from a harsh reality I was happy to avoid. I pondered what we actually know about hell? Is it not a topic of the arts, glorified and fantasised, the facts of the land may be totally different. Of course religion puts its own biased boot into the place but wouldn't it anyway! I experience a flash back, an Asian mouth, slips and slides around my body, not one tongue but two. I stretch the image in my mind, reliving the sensual movements. I then curse, saliva exiting my angry mouth, what the fuck am I thinking, I am here to win this game. I know my preparations have been, well, tampered but I was ready, bring the game on. In the distance, I hearthe midnightbell toll, sixty seconds to shake off any lingering worries and prepare for victory.

To my left, the sound of a key being turned, grabbed one hundred percent of my attention. As the door fell ajar, a woman began walking towards me. Backlit by a bright light, it was almost spiritual watching her approach. She was dressed in a dark grey suit, approximately sixty years old and while not attractive, very presentable. Her silk tie was standard MGM attire with the hotel logo proudly displayed. Her hair was locked into place by heavy spray and a tight bun, as she got closer her smile relaxed me. News of postponement? All a big mistake? Wrong guy? Quote me happy I thought. “I have a fax for you,” she says her eyes pinning me to my seat. I accept the folded piece of paper and mutter an insincere thanks, as she returns to the door. Mary O'Shea, I repeat the name to myself, perplexed I wonder why her name badge is more important to me than the message. “Sorry, can I get a drink of water,” I ask, with a raised voice, to make sure she hears my plea. “My instructions are to make sure you stay in the room,” her sentence concludes with a door being forcibly shut. My brief period of relaxation was over, I held the piece of folded A4 paper in my hand. Mary O'Shea, it was more than a name, it seemed to be resonating in my memory, not a recent memory but there was an annoying familiarity I couldn't place.

The texture to the fax paper was thin, cheap to touch and the ink transferring all over my sweaty fingers. With an un-swallowed lump of anticipation, bruising my throat, I begin to read the note. After my event packed evening, at least I was here and on time, my adversary, on the other hand was informing me of an unexpected delay. “Take off delayed from the Hamptons, will be approximately ten minutes late,” unbelievable the lord of darkness, subject to New York air traffic control problems. Positives, I had a new arrival time, I felt any extension of freedom, welcome. Negatives, it was just a short delay, the heads up poker, still due to happen. I felt liberated by the new schedule, and caring not for the camera that tracks movement of my swaying body, I pace the dark room. Wasn't it Sister Mary O'Shea who had held the youth evenings in Macreddin, back when I was a rebellious teenager? Concluding part 6 coming soon

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