A man called Hank
folder
Original - Misc › Humour
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
645
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › Humour
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
645
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
A man called Hank
The story I wrote when I was bored (and yes I know its terrible)
The year is 2202, things are much like they are today, except smaller and the batteries last longer. Civilization plodded along, surviving world war 3, various plagues and Busted’s 3rd album. After the 3rd world war ended in 2098 (know to many as the really great war, not because it was great, but because historians give things stupid names, battle of the budge anyone?) the international government was formed and began governing the world, 3 years later it was scrapped, the official reason was never made public, but the general feeling was that quite frankly, it was shite. The old systems were brought back. Human life continued on eventless for years until one day a signal was received from a distant galaxy, however once the signal was interpreted, it turned out to be nothing more than a techno dance song from a distant planet, so finding intelligent life was still an unchecked box in mankind’s “to do” list.
The hero of our story, if you can call him a hero, is called Hank. Not a very futuristic name, but he was not a very futuristic person. He lived in a small flat, on the 104th floor of apartment block 23A. His three room flat would have looked halfway decent if he had splashed out on a nice coat of paint, a nice set of curtains or maybe even a few paintings, however he seemed to think that a suitable décor would be a brown (which was originally white) sofa and a red carpet that was at least 2 times too big, so it curled up against the walls, the only trimming of the carpet Hank could be bothered to do was to chop off some large chunks to make a pair of curtains. As for the walls, he decided to paint them a cheery yellow colour, only to seemingly get bored and forget to finish the job as only half of the first room was painted, and even at that the paint job was patchy at best. But enough about the squalor in which our hero lived in, and let me describe the man himself. Hank took less care of himself than he did of his flat (if that is possible). He showered rarely (as his flat didn’t have a shower, or running water) and wore the same clothes habitually. He wore an orange “wild-cherubs” t-shirt, who were his favorite band, his grey jeans were frayed at the end and a size too small, in fact whenever he had money in his pockets (which was rare) you could actually distinguish and count correctly the coins contained within with relative ease. His black boots once looked smart, but the sheen had long left them and now they were dirty scrascratched and the original laces had been replaced with a pair from a now long lost pair of trainers. His face was warm and cheerful, or it would have been if it could be seen behind his long black greasy hair that dripped down to his shoulders. His eyes were large and of a striking blue colour, and would have been the cause of a great many complements if they could be seen. He was quite a tall man, standing a proud 6ft 2, and he was quite big with a noticeable beer belly which he named “mount miller”.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Somewhere in the darkness, under a pile of clothes probably, Hanks alarm clock was going off, but he had long given up the effort of trying to find it. He tossed the dirty cover off and rolled off of the bed, his landing being cushioned by a pile of clothes and old magazines. There he lay for another 15 minutes until the sunlight had managed to creep its way across the wall to reflect off the door handle and into his eyes, he had to get up. After an epic battle to pull up his jeans and fasten the button at the top, he walked straight out of the door, put on his shoes, grabbed his synthetic leather jacket, and went off on his way.
This was not the future you or I might have imagined, no flying cars, no robots, just the same as today, except bigger and louder. Roads were no longer crossed on foot, which was suicide, traffic came in a continuous stream at neck-breaking speeds, thanks to the use of computer controlled “auto driver”. Cars only stopped at traffic lights, pedestrians could not be detected (at least not in time to prevent a red stained wax work on your speeding car) so alternative means of crossing had to be found. At every street corner a footbridge had been built to allow passage over the road, it was wide enough for 4 people to walk side by side and was about 10ft off the ground. They had originally been painted a proud emerald green colour, however time and neglect had meant that most of the bridges had began to rust. Most tenement buildings had over 100 floors, some even had suspended parks between them, your typical swing park was now usually 30 floors up, suspended between two buildings, over a road filled with speeding cars. This may not have been the future you imagined, but it was still the future after all.
Hank strode into his work a good 10 minutes early by his standards, which really meant he was a good 20 minutes late, but no one really seemed to care. He worked cleaning cars in “Crazy Chucks vintage car wash” which basically meant that Chuck was so tight fisted to splash out on the automatic carwash that every garage, petrol station, mechanic and house had, needless to say business was slow, and the money came even slower. “If a jobs worth doing, there’s probably a machine that will do it faster” is what Hanks dad used to tell him, and most people agreed, but Hank didn’t really care, he just got paid (not a lot though) to stand about with a soapy sponge and a bucket, if a car ever did come in he just took his break. He was just scraping through life without a care in the world, it wouldn’t be long before that would change.
Bodies were sprawled across the mall, trails of blood and entrails could be found everywhere, usually leading to some darkened corner where the unspeakable was happening. A sole survivor remained, standing tall and proud amidst the chaos, his large bulky auto-cannon held in the ready position, just like he was trained. His enemies were dangerous, but he was fatal. He took a quick glance at anuckyucky shopper lying at his feet, he could tell what had kicked this poor guys bucket from the type of wounds he had. It was as he had suspected, Martians had finally shown some bouncing boys and decided to invade. An evil grin cracked along his war torn face, this would be fun. With only the precision a well-trained soldier could perform, he ran from cover to cover in search of his prey. He knelt down behind a turned over bench, checking his gun was fully loaded and operational, he peered over the bench to see a sight that shocked even him. There in front of him was a spectacle that no twisted mind could ever conjure, (hold on….) feasting on the innards of a deceased human was none other than a vile monster, a creature feared, rightly so by many. It was none other than, the deadly, the evil, the foul Bette Midler!
* CLICK * Hank turned off the movie, he couldn’t stand it when movie directors resurrected old actors for movies, although he did applaud the directors choice in the evil Martian creature. He began to plan out his night in his head, whilst having a game of pocket marbles with himself. But that was brought to an abrupt end as there was an unusual knock on the door, not that they way the door was knocked was in anyway odd, the fact that someone wasn’t also yelling, “Where the fuck is this months rent?” made it odd. Hand still in his pocket, he trudged his way through the filth towards the door, it was times like these he wished he cleaned a little, he couldn’t keep passing off his dump as a “walk in art piece symbolizing the claustrophobic and dirty society we live in”, and calling the rat that he shared his flat with him “Mickey” wasn’t cute, or very clever. He forced open his door, in the process the door manages to push clear enough of the rubbish to allow a small part of the carpet to see the light of day. “Wow my carpets red” Hank though to himself, but his musing was interrupted by a familiar, but unwelcome voice spoke. “Hey Hanky panky, what ya doin this evening?” It was Tom, the effeminate bandana wearing tosser from the car wash. “I’m busy not being gay, you should try it” Hank replied, its not that he didn’t like gay people, in fact no one really cared anymore, sexuality in the future wasn’t really an issue, apart from those few people with an unexplainable attraction to custard, which I wont go into in anymore detail. Hank just plain didn’t like Tom, or most people for that matter, he would just use whatever he could to get a cheap insult in somewhere, nice guy ehh? “Oh Hank, your such a tease” he said with the campness only a professional hairdresser could match, Hank recoiled for a moment as Tom reached into his pocked, thankfully only producing two tickets, “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the wild cherub concert tonight wi-“ his words were cut short as Hank quickly snatched the tickets from Toms hands. “Wow, maybe you’re not so bad after all Tom, aside from the fact you’ve been ridden more times than the donkeys at Blackpool” Hank said as he grabbed his jacket and bolted down the corridor, leaving his door wide open and Tom still standing at the doorway, his hand still outstreached, staring at the empty space Hanks body was occupying moments before. “with me…”
The queue outside the stadium wasn’t that big, Hank only had to put up with pushy “100% authentic” t-shirt sellers for about half an hour. He couldn’t wait to get inside and see the band, he remembered bunking off college to see them during their “last ever tour-part 3”. Come to think of it, how old were these guys? They were well past their prime 20 years ago. A mixture of high potency medicine and a stubborn refusal to die kept this band going for so long. In fact the name “Wild Cherubs” was pretty ironic now, they were neither baby faced or wild, the wildest thing they did on stage now was go on without a pacemaker. All that aside, Hank was still eager to see his favorite nearly dead band orm,orm, and this was to be a night he would never remember (due to copious amounts of alcohol) but followed by a day he would never forget.
To be continued….
The year is 2202, things are much like they are today, except smaller and the batteries last longer. Civilization plodded along, surviving world war 3, various plagues and Busted’s 3rd album. After the 3rd world war ended in 2098 (know to many as the really great war, not because it was great, but because historians give things stupid names, battle of the budge anyone?) the international government was formed and began governing the world, 3 years later it was scrapped, the official reason was never made public, but the general feeling was that quite frankly, it was shite. The old systems were brought back. Human life continued on eventless for years until one day a signal was received from a distant galaxy, however once the signal was interpreted, it turned out to be nothing more than a techno dance song from a distant planet, so finding intelligent life was still an unchecked box in mankind’s “to do” list.
The hero of our story, if you can call him a hero, is called Hank. Not a very futuristic name, but he was not a very futuristic person. He lived in a small flat, on the 104th floor of apartment block 23A. His three room flat would have looked halfway decent if he had splashed out on a nice coat of paint, a nice set of curtains or maybe even a few paintings, however he seemed to think that a suitable décor would be a brown (which was originally white) sofa and a red carpet that was at least 2 times too big, so it curled up against the walls, the only trimming of the carpet Hank could be bothered to do was to chop off some large chunks to make a pair of curtains. As for the walls, he decided to paint them a cheery yellow colour, only to seemingly get bored and forget to finish the job as only half of the first room was painted, and even at that the paint job was patchy at best. But enough about the squalor in which our hero lived in, and let me describe the man himself. Hank took less care of himself than he did of his flat (if that is possible). He showered rarely (as his flat didn’t have a shower, or running water) and wore the same clothes habitually. He wore an orange “wild-cherubs” t-shirt, who were his favorite band, his grey jeans were frayed at the end and a size too small, in fact whenever he had money in his pockets (which was rare) you could actually distinguish and count correctly the coins contained within with relative ease. His black boots once looked smart, but the sheen had long left them and now they were dirty scrascratched and the original laces had been replaced with a pair from a now long lost pair of trainers. His face was warm and cheerful, or it would have been if it could be seen behind his long black greasy hair that dripped down to his shoulders. His eyes were large and of a striking blue colour, and would have been the cause of a great many complements if they could be seen. He was quite a tall man, standing a proud 6ft 2, and he was quite big with a noticeable beer belly which he named “mount miller”.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Somewhere in the darkness, under a pile of clothes probably, Hanks alarm clock was going off, but he had long given up the effort of trying to find it. He tossed the dirty cover off and rolled off of the bed, his landing being cushioned by a pile of clothes and old magazines. There he lay for another 15 minutes until the sunlight had managed to creep its way across the wall to reflect off the door handle and into his eyes, he had to get up. After an epic battle to pull up his jeans and fasten the button at the top, he walked straight out of the door, put on his shoes, grabbed his synthetic leather jacket, and went off on his way.
This was not the future you or I might have imagined, no flying cars, no robots, just the same as today, except bigger and louder. Roads were no longer crossed on foot, which was suicide, traffic came in a continuous stream at neck-breaking speeds, thanks to the use of computer controlled “auto driver”. Cars only stopped at traffic lights, pedestrians could not be detected (at least not in time to prevent a red stained wax work on your speeding car) so alternative means of crossing had to be found. At every street corner a footbridge had been built to allow passage over the road, it was wide enough for 4 people to walk side by side and was about 10ft off the ground. They had originally been painted a proud emerald green colour, however time and neglect had meant that most of the bridges had began to rust. Most tenement buildings had over 100 floors, some even had suspended parks between them, your typical swing park was now usually 30 floors up, suspended between two buildings, over a road filled with speeding cars. This may not have been the future you imagined, but it was still the future after all.
Hank strode into his work a good 10 minutes early by his standards, which really meant he was a good 20 minutes late, but no one really seemed to care. He worked cleaning cars in “Crazy Chucks vintage car wash” which basically meant that Chuck was so tight fisted to splash out on the automatic carwash that every garage, petrol station, mechanic and house had, needless to say business was slow, and the money came even slower. “If a jobs worth doing, there’s probably a machine that will do it faster” is what Hanks dad used to tell him, and most people agreed, but Hank didn’t really care, he just got paid (not a lot though) to stand about with a soapy sponge and a bucket, if a car ever did come in he just took his break. He was just scraping through life without a care in the world, it wouldn’t be long before that would change.
Bodies were sprawled across the mall, trails of blood and entrails could be found everywhere, usually leading to some darkened corner where the unspeakable was happening. A sole survivor remained, standing tall and proud amidst the chaos, his large bulky auto-cannon held in the ready position, just like he was trained. His enemies were dangerous, but he was fatal. He took a quick glance at anuckyucky shopper lying at his feet, he could tell what had kicked this poor guys bucket from the type of wounds he had. It was as he had suspected, Martians had finally shown some bouncing boys and decided to invade. An evil grin cracked along his war torn face, this would be fun. With only the precision a well-trained soldier could perform, he ran from cover to cover in search of his prey. He knelt down behind a turned over bench, checking his gun was fully loaded and operational, he peered over the bench to see a sight that shocked even him. There in front of him was a spectacle that no twisted mind could ever conjure, (hold on….) feasting on the innards of a deceased human was none other than a vile monster, a creature feared, rightly so by many. It was none other than, the deadly, the evil, the foul Bette Midler!
* CLICK * Hank turned off the movie, he couldn’t stand it when movie directors resurrected old actors for movies, although he did applaud the directors choice in the evil Martian creature. He began to plan out his night in his head, whilst having a game of pocket marbles with himself. But that was brought to an abrupt end as there was an unusual knock on the door, not that they way the door was knocked was in anyway odd, the fact that someone wasn’t also yelling, “Where the fuck is this months rent?” made it odd. Hand still in his pocket, he trudged his way through the filth towards the door, it was times like these he wished he cleaned a little, he couldn’t keep passing off his dump as a “walk in art piece symbolizing the claustrophobic and dirty society we live in”, and calling the rat that he shared his flat with him “Mickey” wasn’t cute, or very clever. He forced open his door, in the process the door manages to push clear enough of the rubbish to allow a small part of the carpet to see the light of day. “Wow my carpets red” Hank though to himself, but his musing was interrupted by a familiar, but unwelcome voice spoke. “Hey Hanky panky, what ya doin this evening?” It was Tom, the effeminate bandana wearing tosser from the car wash. “I’m busy not being gay, you should try it” Hank replied, its not that he didn’t like gay people, in fact no one really cared anymore, sexuality in the future wasn’t really an issue, apart from those few people with an unexplainable attraction to custard, which I wont go into in anymore detail. Hank just plain didn’t like Tom, or most people for that matter, he would just use whatever he could to get a cheap insult in somewhere, nice guy ehh? “Oh Hank, your such a tease” he said with the campness only a professional hairdresser could match, Hank recoiled for a moment as Tom reached into his pocked, thankfully only producing two tickets, “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the wild cherub concert tonight wi-“ his words were cut short as Hank quickly snatched the tickets from Toms hands. “Wow, maybe you’re not so bad after all Tom, aside from the fact you’ve been ridden more times than the donkeys at Blackpool” Hank said as he grabbed his jacket and bolted down the corridor, leaving his door wide open and Tom still standing at the doorway, his hand still outstreached, staring at the empty space Hanks body was occupying moments before. “with me…”
The queue outside the stadium wasn’t that big, Hank only had to put up with pushy “100% authentic” t-shirt sellers for about half an hour. He couldn’t wait to get inside and see the band, he remembered bunking off college to see them during their “last ever tour-part 3”. Come to think of it, how old were these guys? They were well past their prime 20 years ago. A mixture of high potency medicine and a stubborn refusal to die kept this band going for so long. In fact the name “Wild Cherubs” was pretty ironic now, they were neither baby faced or wild, the wildest thing they did on stage now was go on without a pacemaker. All that aside, Hank was still eager to see his favorite nearly dead band orm,orm, and this was to be a night he would never remember (due to copious amounts of alcohol) but followed by a day he would never forget.
To be continued….