Death, the Devil, and the Goldfish (13 page)

A penguin. A flightless bird with rubbery skin and a penchant for black and white. And normally the kind of bird who was quite at home in the cold. As far back as Gerald could remember, he had always been a penguin, ever since he was born. But there had always been this nagging inkling at the back of his mind that kept telling him that he was meant for greater things and that this rubbery complexion and cold atmosphere comprised only a temporary setback. And one day, he might even have the distinct pleasure of stopping the world from destroying itself. But after all, that was only an inkling and Gerald was only a penguin, and so he never really put much more thought into things than that.

Yesterday had been no different than the day before, and today had been no different than yesterday. He had a sneaking suspicion that tomorrow was going to be very much the same, as well. He'd get up, eat some fish, find somewhere semi-private to do his morning business. Maybe he'd waddle around a bit and stare menacingly at other penguins who usually were not in the least bit intimidated and had long ago just taken to ignoring Gerald altogether. And then, just after lunch and a second helping of fish, he'd swim off to his cave and have a nice little nap without all this chatter going on in the background.

It was like a constant cocktail party going on and whether he wanted an invitation or not, it was mandatory to attend. But not Gerald; he had his cave.

"In fact, I think I'll pay it a bit of a visit." And with that, he dived into the water and headed straight for his tunnel, weaving a bit here and there so as to lose anyone who might think of following him.

The cave was exactly how he'd left it the previous day; he slid out of the water on his stomach and skidded happily across the ice. The ice in here was so clear that he could see into it, showing reflections and a blue swirly thing. That was what Gerald had been looking at for a while.

In the very centre of the cave there was an almost perfectly formed block of ice about twenty feet high, and each side measuring a width of about ten feet. But that wasn’t what was amazing. Although it was quite amazing that there was an almost perfectly rectangular block of ice in the centre of an ice cave within an iceberg somewhere in the South Pole, what was more amazing was the blue swirly thing that seemed to be trapped within the oversize dice cube.

Of a clear, deep blue colour, it spiraled up in a swirly kind of formation within the ice. It looked very much like it should be moving but the ice seemed to prevent motion. Gerald had waddled around the cube many times. Today was the first day he'd noticed a flaw. The cube seemed to be melting, which was very unusual, as Gerald was definitely not feeling any warmer. He waddled around to another side, which also turned out to be melting.

A thought slowly crept into his head; it felt like it had traveled a great distance. In actual fact, the notion originated from within a fishbowl somewhere in London's East End. It simply said,
duck
. And Gerald did. Just in time. The ice block exploded, unleashing the blue swirly thing, which swirled in a hyper-hurricane type of way, with bits of electrical charges thrown in for good measure. Chunks of ice flew by Gerald, then all of a sudden stopped, as if frozen in time. For a moment, everything seemed to stop; even the blue swirly thing slowed down. Gerald experienced one of those rare times when his mind turned completely blank. This was a rare occurrence for anyone, but happened on a daily basis to someone, somewhere in the world. Usually, to someone presented with an impossibly impossible situation who didn’t know what to do about it.

Gerald staggered forward a few steps as if he'd been pushed.
Nope, wait a minute
. He'd been pulled. Chunks of ice began flying back past him as the blue swirly thing shifted directions. Before, it had been spinning anti-clockwise. It appeared to have changed its mind and now spun clockwise, and in doing so, sucked anything not tied down into its blue swirlyness. Gerald turned and began to waddle as fast as he could but he didn't seem to be going anywhere. He waddled faster, but to no avail.

This is the end
.
I'm done for!

The blue swirly thing moved faster and faster and within a split second Gerald, the chunks of ice, and a rather shocked fish got sucked into the blue swirly thing and vanished.

Consequently, the blue swirly thing heaved a sigh of relief and blew itself out.

Nigel woke up on the couch and looked into two very worried-looking faces. The faces, to the best of his recollection, belonged to his roommates, Giles and Herbert.

Giles, tall and skinny, could consume large amounts of food without gaining a pound but as a consequence, couldn't hold his liquor and often ended up passing out on his bed. Although, more often than not, he fell off his bed and ended up on the floor.

Herbert was a rich kid with a serious distaste for money, so in order to get rid of it, he tended to spend vast amounts of it at a time. Herbert paid for the apartment they rented. Herbert bought all the food and alcohol consumed within a mile of the apartment. And all the crockery that laid in many bits and pieces on the kitchen floor had been bought by, and belonged to, Herbert.

Nigel rubbed his head and tried to shake the fuzziness from his eyes. He had the strong sensation that something had happened, a breakthrough of mammoth proportions. He could feel everything in the room around him; even the stuff he couldn't see from his spot on the couch was firmly etched in his mind.

"You all right?" asked Giles. "You took a nasty fall."

"What the hell happened to my kitchen?" said Herbert with a smaller trace of concern in his voice than Giles had expressed.

Nigel still felt shooting pains in his forehead, but they seemed more organized. Not quite as chaotic as before. He sat up and looked around the room. Shards of crockery littered the doorway to the kitchen.

"Did . . . did I do that?" he asked.

"I heard the smash and came in just in time to see my kitchen destroyed, and then you passed out. What did you have to drink last night?" said Herbert.

"How did you do that, Nigel? The kitchen, I mean?" asked Giles.

"I, uh, I don't really know," was the only response that Nigel could think of. He stood up, then steadied himself. "I was thinking about what a good night we had and how well things were going with Harriet and how everything was going perfectly."

The buzzing in his head turned into a low hum.

"And that's why you destroyed my kitchen? I was hoping for something a bit more melodramatic," said Herbert disappointedly.

Nigel looked around the room. Everything seemed exactly like before, nothing had changed. And yet it all felt different. It was a strange sensation, but he felt like he had control over everything. He had the distinct feeling that if he waved his hands at the couch, he would be able to move it without even touching it. He decided to test the theory and in doing so, using only his mind and a simple wave of his hand, forced the couch up through the ceiling and off to God knew where. God did know; as it turned out,
where
was actually a nude beach in the south of France where, to this day, people still enjoy sitting on the couch that some claim fell from the sky.

Giles and Herbert, who had been standing next to the couch at the time of its ascension, dusted the plaster out of their hair and tried hard to glare at Nigel in anger. This proved too difficult, as they were both somewhat afraid that Nigel would fire them through the roof, too.

Nigel smiled. He'd read about this kind of thing. Telekinesis: the ability to move things with the mind. Usually some kind of trauma or episode would bring this form of talent and power to the surface of one's mind.

In Nigel's case, everything in his life had suddenly become perfect and, in doing so, a rare power that existed hardly anywhere else on Earth had been handed to him. He couldn't help but laugh; this was life changing. This was amazing. The things he could do! He picked up Giles and Herbert, suspending them both in mid-air, which caused both of them to panic simultaneously. Nigel floated them both toward him and gave them a big hug. This day really was perfect.

Unbeknownst to Nigel and his newfound powers, disaster was fast approaching. The disaster decided to wear a particularly nice mini-skirt today, with a lovely, fuzzy red sweater. The knee-high leather boots that most would consider looked better on a hooker, but which the disaster thought rather stylish, completed the outfit. The disaster was about to ruin Nigel's life for quite a long time.

The disaster walked up to Nigel's apartment building just in time to see a couch fly out of the roof and head off toward France. The disaster flicked her long blonde hair, as if to say, "That's not the first flying couch I've seen," and entered the building.

Nigel, Giles, and Herbert had lots of fun testing out Nigel's newfound abilities. The apartment got messier and messier, as Nigel hadn't quite figured out the strength of his mind, but none of them cared as a cardboard cutoutof Marilyn Monroe sauntered across to Giles and head-butted him. This in turn sent Nigel and Herbert into fits of laughter. The laughter encountered an interruption when disaster knocked at the door. Nigel swung the door open from ten feet away to reveal the disaster in its entirety.

"Harriet!" said Nigel. "I have the most amazing news."

Harriet quickly held up a finger and flashed a look that would silence any male, human or animal.

"May I talk to you for a moment, Nigel?" said the silky voice.

Nigel stepped over the mess of clothes, traffic cones, and various broken objects.

"Of course," he said in a highly enthusiastic voice.

He bounced out of the room after the blonde hair but not before raising Giles and Herbert off the ground and sticking them to the ceiling. In response to which they both burst into hysterical laughter.

"Nigel, dear," Harriet said somewhat sadly.

"Harriet is something the matter? You won't believe what happened today!" said Nigel, still humming with newfound energy.

Harriet yet again raised a finger, an annoying habit she picked up from her mother who was highly pompous and rich.

"I have something to tell you, and I don't want you take it the wrong way, but I've met someone else."

Nigel's enthusiasm suddenly dropped a few inches.

"His name is Troy and he's a Genetic Fruitarian and you ought to know that we love each other very much and are getting married."

Nigel's enthusiasm, if it still could be called that, dropped another few feet, along with his face.

"I know this must come as a bit of a shock but it all kind of happened last night after I went home and I know that I said I loved you but a girl can change her mind. And I think it'd show a lot of understanding and maturity on your part if you'd come to the wedding. It's this Saturday at St Ethel's." Harriet pursed her lips, signaling the end of the monologue.

Nigel's enthusiasm took a flying leap off an imaginary cliff. The humming in his brain stopped abruptly, followed by two loud thumps from the inside of his apartment that he could only presume meant his roommates fell from the ceiling. Perfection, it would appear, is fleeting.

After the fits of rage subsided. After his heart started beating again. After the realization that he'd suddenly lost his power of telekinesis as quickly as he'd got it. After realizing that his day had turned into the exact opposite of perfection, Nigel found himself moping along the River Thames. All because of a disaster in a mini-skirt.