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Shabba Ranks was sitting on the bed in his deluxe beachfront bungalow in Koh Phangan, Thailand, not knowing what to do with himself. There was a knock at the glass door at the rear of the building.

Ranks rose and padded towards the door in his towelling slippers. He could make out a small, squat figure through the frosted glass. It was still knocking; slowly and feebly. He opened the door.

It was what appeared to be a young girl, although she was very hard to age. Her face and hair were almost that of a middle-aged woman, but she was so small and childlike, she cannot possibly have been full-grown. Despite her diminutive stature, she was squat and dumpy. She made a strange moaning noise, not unlike a person who is extraordinarily drunk.

“Yeah?” enquired Shabba Ranks.

The girl moaned some more and then extended her palm. It was very dirty and Ranks instinctively took a step backwards. Was she diseased? Was that why she was acting so strangely?

The girl moaned again and lifted her palm slightly. Was she begging?

“What? What do you want?” asked Ranks.

Again the girl moaned and the Jamaican dancehall star grew frustrated. “Whatever you want, the answer’s no,” he spat.

The girl slowly lowered her hand, turned and staggered off. Ranks shivered and then closed and locked the door.

After three or four minutes, there was another knock – this time at the front door. Ranks was immediately suspicious, but he couldn’t ignore the person. Once again, he rose from the bed and padded towards the door.

Ranks turned the door handle and then before he could open it even a single inch, there was a huge force and it was knocked wide open. Ranks stumbled and looked up just in time to see a fist en route to the middle of his stupid, fat, homophobic face. For just one moment – perhaps less than a picosecond – he felt the soft texture of velvet, but that quickly gave way to far less pleasing sensations as splintering bone savaged the flesh of his nose.

Ranks sank to the floor like a recently-popped helium balloon. Just before he lost consciousness, he thought he glimpsed a russet-coloured doublet, but he could have been mistaken.

A short time later, he awoke. No-one was there and he was aghast to discover that the bungalow no longer contained any cling film.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that all this happens a few years in the future when cling film has become a much sought-after commodity.


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Posted by Alex On March - 30 - 2013

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