Satire – Tomcat Tompkins – 123

“They’re hanging out at a gate about three miles away, you might ask the ambulance to stop off there, as I think concussion has paid a visit there too,” replied Filly who was still fuming.

The Reverend Green emitted a slight gurgle and lay flat on the floor.

“Better make them send two ambulances as I think our man of the cloth is in a spot of bother,” said Tompkins to Mandrake, who’d made the call, “Filly scored a bullseye with her boot I believe and that will be sore for a while. A properly applied ice poultice will work wonders.”

Mandrake thought about it and decided not to call. There was a banging from the study and Tompkins walked over to unlock the door. A rather flustered Colonel Mustard flung open the door and then smiled at Tompkins when he saw who it was.

“You as well?” said Tompkins and thumped Mustard on the nose. He staggered backwards and fell onto the desk, scattering the computer keyboard and red stapler, before sliding off and landing on the arms of a wooden chair, damaging his ribs. Colonel Mustard howled with pain, prompting Tompkins to pick up the phone and call the emergency services, where he asked for an ambulance, gave the address, and stated his name. He’d had enough of this pretence although he now knew who the opposition were, at least most, there were a few missing.

“Where are Dr. Black and Miss Scarlett?” he asked, “I thought they were with you, all the Cluedo characters together and all that.” He walked back over to Filly who was still glaring at the prone preacher.

Mr. Steeple was comforting Rev Green and Mandrake had found ice, which he’d placed in a plastic bag and was encouraging the Reverend to place the bag in his underwear, for relief.

“We thought they were with you,” said Mr. Steeple, “although I never knew either of them too well, more’s the pity in the case of Miss Scarlett by the sounds of it. However, if you thought they were with us and we thought they were with you, then it just goes to show how untrustworthy they are.”

Published by Julian Worker

Julian was born in Leicester, attended school in Yorkshire, and university in Liverpool. He has been to 94 countries and territories and intends to make the 100 when travel is easier. He writes travel books, murder / mysteries and absurd fiction. His sense of humour is distilled from The Marx Brothers, Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, and Midsomer Murders. His latest book is about a Buddhist cat who tries to help his squirrel friend fly further from a children's slide.

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