"The Three Annies" (or "Saving Annie Carlin") is a collection of three very short stories, originally published in The Writer's Quibble (Edition Four - "Escape"), under my pseudonym Jack Sloane.
My Daughter’s Escape
The struggle to continue bears
strong on the old man’s heart as he cocks the gun nestled in the girl’s golden
locks.
‘Mister Carlin, put down your
weapon and step away with your hands on your head!’
He looks away from his daughter, to
study the flashes of red and blue around him. The sounds are of buzzing radios
and screeching tires.
‘Mister Carlin - ,’ the megaphone is
snatched away and he feels his ears recoil against the poisoned words of the
Devil.
‘John, please, she’s your daughter
and I love her, I do, I love her. She’s pregnant with your granddaughter, for
goodness sake. Think about how your God sees this.’
The Priest’s hand quivers, his
tears joining his daughter’s on the tarmac.
She curls her hands around those
clasping the gun, feeling them cold but not dangerous, looking up at the
dishevelled old man. As the police close in she sees surrender in his tortured
gaze and softly whispers ‘Dad, I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ he replies
through gritted teeth, his hand steadying, ‘and my God will see that I’ve
helped my daughter and unborn granddaughter escape the forces of evil. He will
welcome us all into heaven.’
‘Thank you, Duane!’ yells the
Priest to the Devil before the bangs begin.
Blood from blonde and then more from
black.
Melting into the tarmac, the Priest
wonders why his daughter had been unable to escape the charms of the Devil before
God had put the gun in his hand.
My Mummy’s Escape
Teddy and I can hear my Mummy and
Daddy shouting downstairs. Mummy’s saying its Daddy’s fault I’m gone. It is.
Daddy hurt me and it made me sad so I ate Mummy’s
sweeties, the ones she eats when she’s sad. I’ve kind of escaped; I’m still
here but Daddy can’t hurt me anymore. Mummy flushed her sweeties down the
toilet but I saved them. Daddy won’t let Mummy escape; he keeps her locked in
the house and hurts Mummy. I put Mummy’s sweeties in her wine. Mummy always
drinks a lot of wine after a big fight with Daddy. Mummy, will be with me soon
and then we’ll both escape. Daddy will get into trouble for it. Good.
I don’t like Daddy.
Neither did Granddad.
Teddy, why do you think Granddad never
helped Mummy escape?
My Love's Escape
He peeks above his cubicle wall, at
his beloved Annie, bending down to read the ever present error message on the
photocopier.
Brian didn’t just love her because
she was slim, with long golden hair and the most amazing electric blue eyes,
but for everything else about her; her adorable nativity, her non-judgemental
nature and a kooky sense of humour that’d make her quite freakish if she wasn’t
so beautiful.
All the dogs in the office are
eager to claim her for their individual fan clubs, they can regularly be
overheard discussing it by the water cooler, and the sad reality is, that if history’s
anything to go by, they’ll probably succeed in their sordid mission.
Because of their consistent success
with women, and his lack of it, Brian concluded that no woman was looking for
security; they frequently insisted they were on social networks but, the sad
reality was, that women preferred the danger element over security.
Suddenly, Chloe Collins is scowling
in his direction. She’s been particularly upset since Annie’s arrival because,
despite her beauty, she’s nice to everyone without prejudice, even Brian and
his gang of mongs. Chloe can’t understand this and has assured everyone it’s
merely an act, so Annie can appear more angelic.
‘Brian! Oh my god, will you stop
staring at Annie’s arse!’
Annie glances quickly up at Chloe and
then follows her scalding gaze towards him, as he tries to hide his
mortification behind the cubicle wall.
‘Urgh, he’s such a freak.’ Chloe’s
insisting, ‘fucking hate little rats like him, looking at us like we’re pieces
of meat all the time. Don’t you hate them?’
‘I don’t really know...’ Annie replies
adorably, not wanting to be drawn into the negative situation.
‘But don’t you hate men who
objectify women?’
‘I guess…’
‘Hear that Brian, she doesn’t fancy
you, now stop staring at her, you’re creeping her out!’
Whilst Brian mumbles angrily,
picturing Chloe’s hateful face on a stick, a nauseating sound penetrates the
office hub bub; Duane Hoyland.
‘Alright, Chlo-tits!’
A spank is audible, followed by Chloe’s
giggle, ‘stop it, you stinker.’
‘If I stink it’s just because I’ve
just come from the gym, feel my bicep, go on…’
‘Oooh, it’s huge.’
‘That’s what she said,’ he chortles,
‘go on Annie, feel it.’
‘Oh, why…’ Annie whines.
‘Go on, Annie,’ Chloe insists, ‘it’s
massive.’
Brian watches painfully, nose back
above his cubicle wall, as Annie reaches up and squeezes Duane’s bulging arm,
whilst he artfully slips a hand around her waist.
Suddenly, the rest of Chloe’s crew
have appeared out of nowhere, ‘oh, Annie, are you flirting with Duane again?’
‘Why don’t you two just get it over
with?’
‘You blatantly both like each
other!’
‘What do you reckon, Carlin?’ Duane
grins horribly as Brian grimaces; both men awaiting her inevitable submission.
‘I reckon…’ she smiles seductively,
‘that you couldn’t get me wet if you threw me into a swimming pool.’
Brian bursts into hysterics, with
the rest of the office, watching Annie saunter away from a flabbergasted Duane.
She’s proven everyone wrong, and
although Brian feels foolish, there’s solace to be found in Duane’s more public
humiliation. Annie Carlin, that wonderful woman, who escaped the hounds of
mischief without needing the aid of those who loved her.
-
Tom Ashton (Originally published under the pseudonym 'Jack Sloane' in the fourth edition of The Writer's Quibble http://writersquibble.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/the-writers-quibble-4.html?m=1)
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