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HippoHead · 08-01-2008, 02:44 PM

synopsis: An inlook into an insane prime minister's first day on the job! There are deaths, smarties and failed humour!
1
Murder Me

- SEPTEMBER 12 2009 -

“This book is terrible. It doesn‘t even have any pictures!” the prime minister seethed. “Fiction novels should at least make sense!” On saying the word ‘sense’, he chucked the Bible out the window.

“Mister Stravon?” said Fred.

“Mister Brunswick?” said Charles.

“Err… that’s Belswick.” Fredcorrected.

“Potato, potato.”

Charles Stravon had just been elected as the new Prime Minister of Great Britain, much to the astonishment of his new assistant, whom he had met mere minutes ago. They were in his lavishly decorated office, Charles behind his desk, and Fred in front of it. In the short space of time they had spent together, Fred had been made to answer Charles’s stream of baffling questions.

“Prime Ministers are an extraordinarily sensible race, right Fred?”

“Err…”

“Smile and nod, Fred,” said Charles, apparently not really asking for his opinion.

Fred did so without question, though his eye twitched.

“Excellent,” said Charles, beaming. “Truly. Now - to business!” He leaned back in his chair until it emitted an unhealthy creak. He then banged his clunky shoes onto the desk’s varnished surface, and asked, "does this mean I get my head imprinted on this country's currency?" His eerie grin intensified.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, Freddy Fred, you know what I mean! New Prime Ministers get their faces traced onto pound coins - or bank notes." He pondered for a moment. "Yeah, I think I'd like to have my face on a ten pound note. I'd say twenty 'cause it's a more impressive sum of money, but it's not as common as a ten pound note. I want everyone to be able to appreciate the elegance that is me without my face looking cheap by putting it on a five pound note.

“See? I'm not just a pretty face! You know… what with my chiselled cheeks, this perfect black hair and fantastic physique.” He checked himself. “And this delightful suit highlights all of my best features - which is to say - all my features." He smirked. "No wonder I was voted to be the next PM. I'd vote for me!"

Fred said nothing, though his brain was screaming.

The door burst open, and many agitated and anxious-looking cameramen rolled their equipment into the room, their superiors barking orders at them. Charles slackened his body into relaxation and smiled pleasantly at the newcomers.

“Prime Minister,” said a red-dressed woman with a forced smile. “It’s an honour.” She stuck out her leathery hand, which Charles shook vigorously.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said cheerily. “And to the rest of you, I invite you all for a drink afterwards downstairs. Not work-orientated - I daresay we’re all going to have had enough of politics by the time the day is up.”

There was a ripple of appreciative laughter, and their expressions of admiration lingered long. They would stain him forever.

The cameras turned and tilted towards him as he straightened his tie and asked his make-up artist how he looked. She ogled him passionately and attempted to measure her words carefully before blurting out, “you look gorgeous mister Prime Minister.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” he said, after hazarding a guess at her name.

She smothered his face with a few last brush strokes, then pranced away.

A massive man strode up to Charles and squeezed his hand as everyone got into position. “I’d just like you to know that it’s damn decent of you to make a thank you speech specifically for your voters. Most other Prime Ministers include it in the self-glorious reports made on them as a casual extra.”

“The public are damn fine people for electing me. I owe them a thank you at the very least.” He smiled, and the huge man gave him a congratulatory clap on the back.

“Okay, everyone except Mister Stravon get out of the shot!” called a small, harassed woman at the front. “Thank you! We go live in five… four… three…” she counted down the rest of the numbers on her fingers before…

Red lights on all the cameras flashed on and Charles began his address to the nation:

“Britain… salutations to each and every one of you. It has been a hectic few weeks for us all. I have set up this broadcast specifically to thank all of you for your choice in who will be the next Prime Minister. My opponents were worthy adversaries, there is no denying that. And my respect goes out to both of them… and to my predecessor, who was a fine manager of the country. I can only hope to do half as well as he did, though I assure you that I will put in nothing less than one hundred and ten percent.

“I aim to stick to every one of my policies and promises. More funding towards education, the opening of new university courses to those who are unsure of which path to take, more support for teachers, the list, as most of you know, goes on. I act today, ladies and gentlemen. Not tomorrow orthe day after, but today. Today, we get started on society’s issues… ”

The monologue went on for quite some time, the people in the room giving approving looks. They nodded at each other, actually impressed by his dull speech. Their smiles compressed him like tentacles and their excited murmuring stung him like jellyfish, though he managed to soldier on, and continued to speak in his deep, pleasing voice.

“And… we’re out,” said the small woman from before. “Good job, everyone. We meet downstairs in the lounge at five for the celebratory drink.” She could not resist a smile. “Courtesy of Mister Stravon.”

“Gladtopaythebills,” he replied, his voice sugary with poison.

There was more delicate laughter as everyone bustled out the room. How was it even funny?

When the door closed, and the only ones left in the room were he and Fred, he literally vomited into a conveniently-placed potted plant. The memory of their contaminated, moralistic words bubbled and fizzed, burning through the plant’s soil like acid on flesh. Fred looked uncomfortable.

“Those disgusting parasites,” hespat. “Slithering and scrambling over each other in an attempt to get into my good books. We must teach the deludeda lesson, mustn’t we Fred?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“Well… you soon will.”Heleaned back in his chair, the groaning judder from its spine lowering in pitch as he slowly descended. He appeared happier once he had flushed the memory of polite socialisation out. Looking at Fred properly for the first time, the demented grin he bore was discarded for a pained grimace. "You're wearing the same suit as me."

Fred hesitated. "Suits are generally entirely black with a white shirt, sir. There's not much to copy."

“Still… you may be my underling, Fred, but you are not my twin. Do not wear that suit anymore. Lest I succumb to looking as horrific an atrocity as you."
Fred blinked.

"Now," said Charles. "About that 'my-face-getting-imprinted-onto-a-ten-pound-note' business..."

"Err, sir..." began Fred as he claimed the square spectacles off of his faintly wrinkled face, "that applies to royalty - to whomever is Queen or King - not the Prime Minister of Great Britain."

"What?!"

Charles shot forward and glared at Fred with his fidgeting, green irises. "I'll just have to become queen, then!"

"Err, sir you can't-"

"You saying I'm not fit to be queen?! I think I'd make a damn good queen! In fact - write this memo…" He stood up, now pacing impatiently up and down the bright, sun-drenched room.

Fred sighed and took out a small notebook and a pen.

"Tell the people of Britain… that I should be elected as their new queen. I'll introduce the same policies - only better!" He stopped pacing. "What are my policies, Fred?"

"Look, sir… you don't get elected to be - ugh - queen." He stashed his notepad and pen back into his pocket. "You have to be part of the Royal chain… which unfortunately you are not."

"Pah. Fine!" He collapsed back in his chair, adorning a crestfallen frown. "Probably more work than it's worth, anyway." The attempt at convincing himself looked ineffective.

"Sir, if we could please begin?" sighed Fred. "I have a busy schedule. And that means that YOU have a very busy schedule."

"Smartie?"

"Excuse me?"

"Smartie… would you like a Smartie?" Charles's arm was extended across his desk, holding out a small tube with shells of coloured candy lodged inside.
Fred stared. "I'm fine, sir."

"Meh." Charles shrugged and tipped its entire contents into his gaping mouth. "Rffh llffh mma ppouuntt uunnz."

Fred raised a silver eyebrow.

Charles chomped heavily on the sweets, his crunching hindering dialogue. Once enough had passed through, he cleared his throat and said, "I like the pink ones!"

Fred smoothed his slick hair back as a way of relieving his electrifying stress. "I'm pretty sure that Smarties are all the same flavour, sir."

"NO THEY'RE NOT THE SAME!!" Charles bellowed, jumping up and slamming his fists down on the desk.

Fred recoiled.

Charles's gaze dropped down to the pink Smartie he was holding, examining it’s curved shape with his spindly fingers. He began to enlighten Fred on why they were not the same flavour in a soft, almost quavering voice, "the pink ones have a peaceful aura about them. Like the blue ones. The blue ones are quite nice, as well… but I don't like the orange ones," he added violently.

"The orange ones have a strange aura about them - an uninviting one. The sort of feeling you get when you think you're being watched. That kind of aura." His face snapped back up to Fred. "Which one do you like bestest?!"

"Err… I - I think the blue ones are best."

"You can't say that! You can't have those as your favourite! Those are my favourite! I already said I like those ones bestest!"

"Well then… I suppose I like… the green ones best." He braced himself.

The Prime Minister stared at him for a few seconds, his face unreadable. "Yeah, they're quite nice. Not the best, but harmless enough." He dropped back into his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk.

"Right…" A forced smile flashed across Fred’s lips before he took a yellow folder out of his briefcase. He flicked through the various documents. "First up, you need to go to the Cabinet Room and start conversing with the other party members about the new policies you‘ve introduced. It's rather important."

"You know what's really important?" said Charles, his famous smile materialising once again. He did not wait for an answer. "This. Right here. Now. 'Cause you know what we're doing?"

"Err-"

"Bonding, Freddy boy. We are bonding. And that's important, Fred. We could be the best of friends!"

"Wha-"

"No, no. Don't say anything." He strode up to and embraced his assistant. "Your tone of voice irritates me, Fred. You don't have to act so formal around me. We're buddies after all."

"I… err… don't really have an informal way of talking, sir.” He struggled out of Charles’s grip. “This is how I am." He looked very alarmed. "Not really what you would call a 'people-person'. My social conduct is restricted to business."
"Oh, but that's boring. Life is short and work's no fun! You should have fun in and out of work! Don't be ruled by your career, you boring, boring man!"

"I choose to be boring." Fred’s smile was small.

Charles threw himself back into his chair once again, and Fred began to monotonously read out a list of incredibly boring issues that needed undertaking from a sheet of paper. Charles phased in and out of conscious thought as his assistant rambled on.

"In donation with… introducing new laws such as the… issues to do with… funding of the new… that Elvin office is under close observation… murder me. Murder me, Charles. Do it. Do it now. Take that gun from out of your pocket and pump its lead into my heart."

"What was that?" said Charles, sitting up quickly.

"Umm... I was just giving the percentages of votes we've been receiving on murder me. You've done it before. You can do it again. Taste my panic like you did with the others. Splinter my existence and shred my soul. Murder me, you fool. Murder me! MURDER ME!"

"I can't take it anymore!" Charles jumped up from his seat and whipped out a silver handgun. “Not one more word about it! Not ONE! I’m sick of people saying it all the time!”

Fred dropped his briefcase. "Now, Charles. Relax. Keep calm. Think about what you're doing!"

"Stop saying those words! 'Murder me, murder me, murder me!' Always the same thing! That's what you all say! And you never stop. You never, ever stop. Until it's done - this is the only way!"

Charles’s hand was trembling, and the gun shook.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" said Fred honestly. "Charles - murder - please - me."

The trigger was pulled. There was no sound; somehow the gun had been muted. But the exploding impact the bullet made on Fred’s heart was proof enough that it had activated.

Rapidly spreading from the burned hole in his shirt was a diameter-increasing crimson circle. Fred gaped at the piercing, the light in his eyes dimming, and his hand scrabbled helplessly at the wound. Without a sound, he fell forwards - never to contradict or question Charles Stravon ever again.

Charles looked mortified by what he had done. Within seconds, however, he put on a mockingly sympathetic face. "What a tragedy. And I'm going to have to clean it up!" He pressured his foot down onto Fred's limp back. "I told you to stop. You asked me to murder you, so that's what I did.

“All of you always ask for the same thing, don't you? It's weird. You Murder-Me-Mutterers always ask me. No-one else. You people keep demanding it, so I continue to obey it." He bent down until his lips were pressed against Fred's earlobe. "I actually don't mind," he confessed in a sinister whisper. "Killing makes me happy."

He hoisted the body over his shoulders, groaning under the weight, and crouched slightly as he stomped towards the wardrobe, located at the left hand side of the room.

Turning the golden handle, it opened with a small creak. Inside of the wardrobe was a dusty collection of old coats, crumbling boxes and forgotten jackets. They had been piled all the way up to the ceiling.

"Beautiful," he remarked. He dropped Fred inside, who was coincidently just the right height to fit in. "Well isn't that something?" However, the deceased Fred kept drooping out of the doorframe. Charles had a difficult time trying to cram him in there.

Fred’s face fell forwards and his limbs hung out as Charles desperately attempted to shut him in there. Fred’s corpse was behaving like a set of irritating, gravity-obeying brooms that refused to stay put.

The clicking of high-heels against the wooden floor out in the hallway sounded - indicating an approaching secretary.

"Hurry and get in there!" Charles murmured, now physically hitting Fred until his body started to tenderise - but still he toppled out of the doorframe.
The clicking got louder and clearer...

Charles's face was scarlet and his teeth were bared. He was cramming Fred in with tactless force.

The secretary was now outside the door.

In a baleful whisper, he growled "if she sees this, then she dies, too."
Miraculously, Fred's body cooperated. Charles just about squeezed him into the wardrobe. Slamming it shut, he turned to face the hallway door just as the handle was pulled down.

HippoHead · 08-01-2008, 02:46 PM

"Morning, Mister Stravon," chirped a blonde, curly-haired woman.

"Yes, indeed.” he said breathlessly. His expression then tightened. "There a reason why you can’t knock before entering a room? I don't recall summoning you!"

The secretary spun round. "I just thought I'd… everything okay, sir?"

"Yes. Fine, yes… stop staring! I'm fine!"

"Sorry, sir. It's not my place to be concerned about another human being. I am, after all a mere secreta-"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard all this the last time I saw you."

The secretary gave him a stern look, then pushed her gently descending red glasses back up her petite nose. "I didn’t say this last time, but you're not at all like you seem in the tabloids, sir. You're more arrogant… ruder…" She cocked her head to one side. "And a little shorter."

"Thank you."

"And definitely less sexy."

"Thank you, Margaret."

Rather than correcting Charles, (her name was Francesca) she marched around the circular room, aimlessly checking different parts of it out for no real reason. "And more ignorant. I bought this lovely new purple dress for my first day with you as prime minister and you never even noticed it."

Charles was always cranky after an interrupted murder. "Just get me a drink."

"Tea?" suggested the secretary at once. "As a secretary and a woman in a man's world, tea is the obvious, stereotypical, household wife-ish thing for me to do."

"Why are you a secretary if you don't like the job?! And no. Get me a scotch."

"Pays the bills. I'm out to spread the word - show career women that being a secretary is not really a career, but house chores plus cash. And it's a little
early don't you think?"

"Don't lecture me. Drink. Now."

"Yes, sir."

"Mind your tone,” Charles snapped. “You forget who you're talking to.”

"So-rry." Her bottom lip quivered. "It’s just that… I got some difficult news this morning." She moved towards the liquor room, which had been placed next to the wardrobe.

Charles did not bother to ask what the news was.

"By the way," she said, her hand on the liquor room’s door knob. "Where's Fred at? You two should be putting your heads together and working hard.
Yet I don't see him… he came into this room. I saw it. Where's he gone?"

"Away."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Urgent business,” Charles replied, as he struggled to remember his previous conversation with Fred. “Something about a - an office I think."

"Ah yes. That 'office' case," she groaned on extracting a glass bottle filled with dark liquid, "that's a unique case. Elvin the building’s called. Have you heard - "

"Pour the drink."

Her eyelid twitched. She took out a short glass, splashed the scotch inside, slammed the door shut, strode over to Charles and thrust the glass into his eagerly-awaiting hand. "You hang tight to Fred. He knows his stuff."

Charles took a swig and shook his head violently. The burning taste revitalised him. "That's the stuff.” His face brightened. "Oh, my old buddy Fred! You seen how he dresses?" His eyes shifted over to the wardrobe across the room. "I think he needs a new wardrobe." He tittered.

"Right…" she walked away with a phoney smile, intending to put the bottle back. "Weirdo," she muttered. She twisted the circular handle on what she thought was the liquor room…

"Not that one! That's the wardrobe, not the liq-"

But she had already opened the door. The secretary gaped in horror at the body inside. Charles pulled something out of his inside pocket. There was a moment of dreadful silence. She died before she could draw one last breath. A bullet in the back.

"This is going to be hard to explain," Charles groaned, thoroughly annoyed that he had another body to hide. "I'll just say they ran away together - two birds with one stone."

He grabbed the Secretary’s ankle and hauled her into the liquor room. She fit in with less fuss than Fred and his wardrobe. "Lubbly-Jubbly," he cried jubilantly. He clapped his hands together and booted the door shut.

"No more murdering today," he promised himself. "I've got to be extra careful now." He straightened his tie, ironed down his blazer with his hands, and headed towards the cabinet room, for what would surely be a heavily debated meeting. Charles Stravon was going to introduce some very bizarre laws indeed.

Protecar · 08-01-2008, 04:58 PM

I gotta say, I liked it very much! There was a lot of humor and I was definitely enjoying that angle of it! I was literally laughing out loud at the first half.

That said, the morbidness was working too. Just one small thing or two(since I can't really find anything else to critique on): it's completely unrealistic that the woman would retrieve the liquor and then go and open the wrong door to put it back.

Also, her mannerism towards Stravon was rather unbelievable too. I mean, I'm not British and no real experience with Prime Ministers but I seriously doubt his secretary comes in and fills his ear with such a level of condescending disrespect like that. If you were going for more humor, I think the story would be better off without it. After he offs the first guy in a fit of dementia there is really no going back to humor(for me anyway).

Otherwise, really good! I enjoyed it!

HippoHead · 08-01-2008, 05:38 PM

Cheers, Protecar. Very helpful - I will certainly work on those points!

point 1: I will mention that the 2 doors are right next to each other and completley identical in design. Then again, I can simply say she opened it for a different reason (smacks head)

point 2: Maybe tell the reader that these 2 have known each other a while - maybe even met outside of work? Actually, I like that - it could show everyone that he will kill anyone, no matter who they are or what their relationship with him is! (scribbles that down)

point 3: The humour after the death is something I have mulled over, but I think it's important that the reader realises that this death has no real impact on Stravon - he simply does not care. ... meh, to be thought about!

Appreciate the critique, it was a long chapter - let me review some of your work?

SparkyLT · 08-01-2008, 07:10 PM

I had a hard time getting through it for some reason. having said that, it was hilariously morbid, which I love. and if it's the first chapter of a book, I'm curious as to where it'll go.

you know, I'm terrible at critique-ing, but if this satisfies you, check out http://www.writingforums.com/fiction...i-trilogy.html please?

STAYCALM49 · 08-01-2008, 07:42 PM

I agree with the others. Very funny black and satirical farce. I have a few minor but positive criticisms that should help you improve it. First in response to Protecar, I can tell you that the Prime Minister' secretary would (and does) condescend to the Prime Minister as do all senior civil servants (see Yes Prme Minister for classic example). The senior civil servants have no respect for those in office.

Secondly, you should always type two spaces after a full stop, and there are some typing errors so use the spell checker.

Thats the only criticism I can offer. It is extremely well written like an adult Terry Pratchet. I really like your style of writing its very fluid and unusal with a real comical kick to it, well done and good luck.

Protecar · 08-01-2008, 08:50 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by HippoHead

Appreciate the critique, it was a long chapter - let me review some of your work?

Well, if you wouldn't mind, this is actually the first piece of my writing I have posted on here, feel free to brutalize it as much as you would feel it deserves: The Wanderer Thanks in advance!

HippoHead · 08-02-2008, 02:03 PM

So she CAN be condescending! Then feck editing, I'll leave it at that.

I am troubled at hearing how it was difficult foryou to get through it, though, sparky. I try to make meh work easy to read. Meh. More critiques, children!

Violent Messiah · 08-03-2008, 04:26 AM

OK, first off, this needs to be said...

"“This book is terrible. It doesn‘t even have any pictures!” the prime minister seethed. “Fiction novels should at least make sense!” On saying the word ‘sense’, he chucked the Bible out the window."

That little piece right there was money, and let me know something wonderfully deranged was going to happen. I'm pleased to say I wasn't disappointed. It was a darkly amusing tale, and kind of scary knowing that a country could actually elect an actual "needs-to-be-in-a-rubber-room-and-straight-jacketed" looney into office and not even be aware of it. Good stuff.

The characters were quite fleshed off right off the bat, even the two with the 'deadly cameos'. I especially liked the awesomely twisted Charles and his lines were classic. The whole bit with the Smarties was great and if his earlier behavior about the ten pound note didn't clue the reader in that he was bonkers, that did it. Your dialog flowed quite well, I thought, and had no problem following who was saying what, even without the names, because you defined their personalities so well.

I didn't find anything wrong with the secretary being just barely subtle about her disrespect to even the Prime Minister, especially if she was getting pissy about his attitude towards her. The same can be said for mistaking the liquor room for the wardrobe, as they were next to each other and by that time she was nearly seething, so not thinking straight.

The only things I could even think to point out was a few scattered instances you forgot to use the space bar, such as 'hespat' and 'Heleaned'. Plus, there might be a bit much name repetition between Charles and Fred for a two person conversation, but that's just a personal thing.

All in all, a pleasure to read and I'd read more, just to see how far off the deep end Charles will go and how big of a body count will he rack up.

Oh, and my link to what I need some good critiquing on is:

http://www.writingforums.com/critiqu...-prologue.html

HippoHead · 08-03-2008, 02:13 PM

The body count does indeed increase! He puts a grenade in someone's pocket for instance! :F

Charles will get more psychotic the further through the booky wook you read, but sadly, less amusing - just an angry little madman... anyways...

I've never known any novel to need 2 spaces after a full stop, but I certainly ain't ading 'em now - over 300 pages in! But cheers, nonetheless.

As for various word hybridisation - that happened during the upload, it's not in my word document - guess I didn't catch them all. Curses..

p.s - glad to see I've got the first paragraph right at last! It's been warped many times.

More critique's people - I'm undecided on what to change!

Candrah · 08-04-2008, 03:16 PM

Sorry, cant think of anything else to add critique wise.

Great story hippohead - you kept surprising me with the humour. I'd be happily reading away and then... Queen Stravon, smarties...? I really enjoyed this and I also disagree about putting 2 spaces after a full stop. Its kind of out of date now I think.

Anyway, nice story, good luck with it

Mithras · 08-04-2008, 08:01 PM

“Err… that’s Belswick.” Fredcorrected. <<< Need a space

“Those disgusting parasites,” hespat. “Slithering and scrambling over each other in an attempt to get into my good books. We must teach the deludeda lesson, mustn’t we Fred?" <<< Need a space between "deluded" and "a", and I would change "the deluded" to "those deluded fools", "the deluded" sounds like a vampire movie title XD

He grabbed the Secretary’s ankle and hauled her into the liquor room. She fit in with less fuss than Fred and his wardrobe. "Lubbly-Jubbly," he cried jubilantly. He clapped his hands together and booted the door shut.

I love that line. Anyways I had to read several times to find those errors

HippoHead · 08-05-2008, 02:42 PM

That's fantastic and all, but the merging words happened during upload to this site! Blame the uploading, not my shoddy spacing abilities!

sylvia.cheers · 08-12-2008, 04:25 PM

You're a good comedy writer. I enjoyed it and wouldn't mind reading some more. Is this part of a bigger thing?

PSFoster · 08-12-2008, 10:05 PM

Pretty darn good HH. I love offbeat humor, and crazy people are so much fun!