Guess Who?
Plot- ss has new world
with SS men to keep order between people. He gets told of uprising to kills of
ss members one by one until bill is left who then causes an uprising to bring
dictatorship.
Chapter 1
Clink. Whisky tunnels between the ice cubes as Sergio
Soloman refills the crystal glass. He sits in comfortable silence on a slick
black leather chair in the centre of the heptagonal room, absorbing the
business below of the contrasting lights against the dark evening backdrop in
his high up office. Quite jazz music played through the speakers situated
unnoticeably in the room, drowning out any evidence of life outside the walls. He
feels distance from the people of Solomanearth; a self-sufficient island
orbiting Earths fiery remains, which had been destroyed 12 years earlier in the
Great War.
Shuttle lights reflect off the mirror walls of the tall city
buildings as they twist and turn between them, lighting up the entire perimeter
of the island. Sergio raises his skeletal finger and presses at a remote on the
contemporary desk, making the panoramic window to tint. He leans back content
and swigs from his glass. After letting out a sigh of alcoholic infused vapor,
he set the glass down quietly and turns his chair to face the desk. Again he
presses his finger to another button on the remote, this time a screen form and
lights up before him. Using the same finger he swipes and taps at the
ultramodern computer, whilst steadily swaying in time to the smooth sound still
spilling from the speakers.
He is interrupted by the ring of the telephone on the desk
corner. He looks but ignores the consistent noise it makes demanding him to
answer. Instead he presses at a different button on the remote making the jazz
music louder. After a few seconds the ringing stops, it has gone to answer
machine. A voice starts to speak through the phone in a spine-chilling manner.
Immediately Sergio turns down the music and listens intently.
“Soloman Island is under threat. One of your officers is
planning an uprising. As the governing body, you are responsible for
eliminating any threat on Soloman Island. You have 24 hours before the
rebellion. Good Luck.”
The phone beeps three times to signal the end of the
message. In a frantic panic Sergio presses at many buttons on the telephone in
attempt to redial the mysterious caller and find out more. The phone hisses
back a monotone transcript informing Sergio all his messages had been deleted.
Sergio rises suddenly and throws the phone to the office floor. He clasps his
head in his hand and rubs at his bushy eyebrows.
He lets out a grunt of anger; turns sharply back to the
desk, swipes his fist across the surface pushing his whisky glass tumbling to
the ground and leans both arms on the shiny black counter. Lifting his head, he
looks straight across the room at a white board stuck on the wall. On it are
twenty-four a4-sized photographs of the Secret Service members. He assigned
each one the role to protect the island in secrecy of the people, after many
months of intense training.
It was a perfect system, the citizens where unaware of who
was in the Secret Service so dare not act out as anyone could be authorized to
punish them. There had been little crime in the 12 years of life on the island
the only two crimes committed had been punished through death. The criminals
were blindfolded and forced to walk from the northwest edge of the island where
they fell to their inevitable end. This was channeled live an example to the
citizens.
Sergio hurries to the board and examines each SS member. The
sound of an envelope dropping forces him to jerk his head in the direction of
the door. He darts over curiously and picks up the brown paper. Inside he found
a letter made up from newspaper cuttings, he holds it up and mutters the words.
The SS member who threatens you,
Never leaves the home night or day,
This is your only clue,
Their hair the colour grey.
Calmly, Sergio paces back over to the white board, picks up
a magnet and pins the mysterious letter next to the images of Paul, Peter, and
Susan. After one last glance at the three SS members, he turns sharply picking
up his coat from the back of the leather chair, slinging it casually over his
right shoulder and leaves.
Soon
to be Mrs Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud
Coal
Through the Letterbox
By
Francesca Radley
Receiving
mail in the morning is similar to receiving a gift at Christmas. The excitement
you feel as you tear to reveal the mystery inside is magically fulfilling.
Every morning around 08:30AM; I regress to the former years of my childhood, gallop
down the stairs dressed in my Disney pyjamas, to the front door in search of
what the man in the red suit has left for me. The only difference being at
Christmas I leave cookies and milk.
Last Monday
morning my mailman left me a rather unpleasant gift, and as I opened the large
brown cardboard envelope, all joy fled from my face. A restraining order. A big
blue slip of A4 paper demanding I stay a minimum of one hundred feet from
Edward Christopher Sheeran. The gift I held was worse than coal, and in my eyes
completely ludicrous. As I read the official looking document my heart sank and
my fury grew.
According
to the devil that was my restraining order, which stood between my future
husband and I, at the concert which I had attended on Saturday 11th
October 2014, I waited outside the stage doors of Leeds Arena for a total of
four hours and twenty-one minutes after the event finished. This was referred
to as ‘abnormal behaviour’; however, what this paper failed to specify was that
I had recently purchased over £120 worth of official Ed Sheeran merchandise and
was patiently waiting in the hope that Mr Sheeran would sign it for me. It also
fails to mention how rude Mr Sheeran was that evening, as he made no effort to
scribble his name across any of the overpriced goods, nor did he even come out
to greet me as I stood, cold and tired.
The
document then went on to say that my behaviour at Mr Sheeran’s secret book
signing on Wednesday 28th October 2014 was unjust and mildly
discriminating. Apparently, arriving three and a half hours prior to the event was
scheduled to start in order to reserve a prime position in the queue is unfair
to those waiting with disabilities. In my defence; I had paid a considerable
amount more for my ticket as they sold out too quickly, meaning I had to
purchase mine through a dealer, whereas the disabled had a pre-order system in
place so they had an unfair advantage. I was merely balancing the playing
field. Furthermore, my insistence on having a photograph with Mr Sheeran
despite security guards’ advice not too has been considered ‘an invasion of
privacy’; well I’m sorry to inform you Mr Sheeran but your photographs are all
over the bedroom walls of most teenage girls in the country. Equally, I had
just bought the new IPhone and requested a screensaver, so I was killing two
birds with one stone.
As I
continued to read the restraining order I had been given, I was most displeased
to discover that Mr Sheeran had not been grateful for the multiple personalised
birthday, Christmas, or Valentines cards I had been sending him for the past
five years. I had gone to all the effort of editing images to make them look as
though we are a couple. I had written love poems inside. I even went to the
trouble of paying the extra two pound ninety-nine to have them delivered to his
home address in London after it was leaked, only to find out he is unappreciative
of my offerings and hard work. The document refers to these letters as
‘fan-mail with disturbing content’ to which I take great offence. What the
document conveniently left out is that I have not once received a letter back
from Mr Sheeran, which is extremely ill-mannered and not the kind of quality
one looks for in a potential partner/lover/fiancé.
An example
of ‘stalker-like behaviour’ is the 10th of July 2015, when,
according to the restraining order, I stood outside Me Sheeran’s childhood home
in Suffolk for two hours. Apparently this was considered ‘harassment’ to is
parents who where inside the property at the time. However, what is not taken
into consideration is the fact that I was participating in a family weekend break
and we were hiking through the countryside. I happened to stop for a breath
outside the house and recognised it from my background research into Mr Sheeran.
The behaviour the law should be concerned with is not in fact mine but rather
Mr Sheeran’s parents who not once invited me in for a cold drink or sit down,
despite my best efforts to get their attention through the kitchen window.
Perhaps I will bring that story up over Christmas dinner with them once Ed and
I are married.
In my opinion,
this restraining order is unjustified and completely unnecessary. It is a waste
of the laws time which tax payers are paying for, not to mention unpractical
for my future plans to marry Ed. How on earth will he manage to propose to me
with one-hundred feet between us? Additionally, it will be a complete nightmare
when it comes to settling down and starting a family. I guess we will have to
deal with the petty issues it brings when we get there, but for now I have
another autographed document to hang with my Ed Sheeran collection.
