3 – Tracy Talson’s Terrifyingly Treacherous Tall Tale

               Tracy wasn’t your average woman, quite the opposite, in fact. Tracy was the tallest woman in the world (quite possibly other worlds, too; but modern science at this point isn’t advanced enough to know for certain – try asking Keith). I don’t think you’re quite grasping how tall Tracy actually is; allow me to phrase it in a way you may understand. Y’know the tallest person you’ve ever seen? Well, imagine them SEVENTY PERCENT TALLER. That’s tall as balls.

                Understandably, Tracy was something of a local celebrity; she couldn’t go anywhere without being recognised (this was partly due to her bombastic, spontaneous personality and partly due to the fact that she was tall as balls). Unfortunately, Tracy’s tallness also had its negative points including (but not limited to) debilitating disability to hide, completely incompetent blending in skills and low doorframes. 

                Low doorframes were the bane of Tracy’s life. One would think that being the tallest woman in the world, Tracy would be well accustomed to her height and all the ducking under things that accompanies it. Well, nope! Were there not a huge fringe covering it, Tracy’s forehead would resemble, umm, something with a lot of bruises on it; a banana, maybe? It’s worth noting the manner in which Tracy hits her head on things. This is what the next paragraph will be devoted to.
               
               Tracy tends to hit her head in one of three ways;
1) Just walking into it – this tends to happen with particularly tall doors and other things just beyond her field of vision.
2) Hitting her crown on the doorframe – this happens when Tracy ducks under a doorframe in the expected fashion, but straightens up while still under the frame. This one hurts. A lot.
3) This, the last and most cruel punishment of Tracy’s unfortunate genetics, is when Tracy ducks under the doorway successfully, navigates through with ineffable efficiency but fails to notice that the ceiling is actually closer to sea level than her head is.

                Despite bopping her bounce on a near-hourly bases, Tracy still wore a smile. In fact, there was only a short amount of time in Tracy’s life when she wasn’t smiling; this was after her college and friend, Joe Bloggs, died. What? Well, it’s harder than you think coming up with names. Anyway, this was ten years ago.

                Now, Tracy was happily married and looking forward to her retirement in a week’s time. I say ‘retirement’ but it was more ‘compensation’. You see; the company Tracy works for didn’t have chairs or tables in the correct proportions, which, over time, caused several medical complaints. Early retirement and an incredibly generous pension deal for Tracy to keep her yap shut about the inequalities seemed like a good deal to all parties involved.

                What exactly was Tracy’s job? She was a journalist; a journalist for a bigwig newspaper. Now, let’s be clear, she worked on a weekly column not on ‘actual’ news. Y’know what? I think it’s time we got to some actual story, what do you think?

                Tracy looked at the calendar on her desk; it was ten years exactly since Joe died. She felt pretty sad but kept smiling anyway. Over the course of several hours, Tracy’s thoughts drifted to matters not worth describing. Suddenly, Tracy’s boss pulled her from a deep and meaningless thought cycle;
“Tracy? May I speak to you in my office?” said Tracy’s boss, Hal, who was an alright guy.
“Okay!” replied Tracy, trying to hide the fact that she was worried that this could well be a reconsideration of her ‘retirement’ offer; after all, who retires at thirty five?
“Great!” Hal winked. Most people assumed he had a ‘thing’ for tall ladies.
“Ookay…”
Tracy walked into Hal’s office, a bland but vital expositional sentence.
“Look, I know you’ll be ‘retiring’ at the end of this week…”
Tracy nearly punched him. He did that ‘air quotes’ thing that she despised.
“…but, I just got a very confusing call from our freelance guy…”
“mm-hm?”
“and I think he’s just quit. Well, either that or he’s gonna marry me!”
Tracy was confused because she hadn’t read last week’s story.
“So, do you fancy taking his position after you leave?”
“Well, I’m not sure; I wa-“
“COME ON! This is a perfect job for you!”
Tracy was a taken aback; she had never ever in her life ever heard Hal raise his voice.
“Oh. I’m, I’m really sorry; I didn’t mean-“
“No, it’s okay.”
“…”
“Look, I need to go; I told my husband that I’d meet him for lunch.”
“…”
“Is that okay?”
“You know what? NO. IT ISN’T.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard just fine.”
“I don’t understand… why not?”
“BECAUSE HE DOESN’T DESERVE YOU, THAT’S WHY”
“WHAT?!”
“OH, COME ON! YOU KNOW I LIKE YOU! IT’S OBVIOUS! And what do you do? You hang around with these jerks that don’t appreciate you!”
“You know nothing about my husband!”
“Well, I know enough! I really thought that after Joe was murdered, you’d try and do better!”
“There wasn’t even anything between Joe and I!”
“What?”
“We were just friends!”
“Oh.”
“I always thought you were an alright guy, and I knew you had a crush on me; but this is ridiculous! You can’t dictate who I’m friends with!”
“I think you’ll find I can.”
“…Wait, did you say that Joe was murdered?”
“NO! Of course I didn’t! That’s ridiculous! Why would I do that?!”
Tracy suddenly felt rather frightened.

                It was times like this that Tracy was very grateful to be one of the beta testers for Google Glass (Google it) this would mark the second time today that she was grateful, since that very morning, she was able to record footage of a hot builder taking his top off and play it back in slow motion. Anyway, she recorded the entire conversation and put it online. Luckily, the police were following her on twitter, so they arrived soon enough.

THE END

2 - Jerry's Late-night Coffee Spree

               It was half four in the morning and Jerry still hadn’t started writing his article. Jerry was a peculiar man; he was a writer who couldn’t write. It’s not as if he never had any ideas, it’s just that he forgot them as soon as he picked up a pen (or was near a computer, for that matter). Jerry drank the remaining half of his coffee and gazed at the blank screen in front of him. “I haven't checked my emails in five minutes,” said Jerry, to no one in particular, “I should probably check my emails.” Everybody knows that once the emails are checked, Facebook can't be far behind, particularly if you have notifications waiting. Needless to say, by the time Jerry closed his browser, it was five o'clock. Jerry leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes; he was going to need another cup of coffee if he was going to get any work done. Jerry looked at his phone on his way into the kitchen and pretended not to be upset (I don't really know why, since he was by himself); it was his ex-girlfriend, who had been texting him all day. Jerry stuck his tongue out at his phone and threw it on the sofa; he did a vocal warm-up exercise for some reason and continued into the kitchen. 

                Jerry thought for a second as he flicked the kettle on; he realised that this would be his tenth cup of coffee. “What song was that?” he pondered, wondering what song this circumstance reminded him of. The kettle boiled and Jerry suddenly remembered which song it was. Pouring his coffee, Jerry sang; 
“After ten cups of coffee, I’m thinkin’;
nobody likes you, 
everyone left you, 
they're all out without you,
having fun.” 
Jerry suddenly got all sad; even changing into his novelty dinosaur onesie didn’t cheer him up.

                Jerry took a sip of his coffee and cracked his knuckles; time to get this done! Alas, the next thing Jerry knew, his face was pressed against his keyboard and his phone was buzzing away on the sofa. Jerry groaned and threw himself towards his phone, eager to stop that infernal buzzing. Rubbing the rheum from his heavy eyes, our titular hero picked up his phone and simultaneously invented a new swear word.

                It was his ex, for whom I am far too lazy to come up with a name, and she was calling him. But not just that, no; it was QUARTER TO TWELVE. Cripes, Jerry had well and truly missed his deadline. Poor Jerry proceeded to make a noise not dissimilar to that of a pig getting circumcised. Don’t ask. In case you’re wondering, Jerry’s internal monologue went as follows;
“My ex is calling me on her wedding day,
What does she even wa-
QUARTER TO TWELVE!
WHAT?
How did this happen?
I’ve ruined my life.
Maybe I misread it.
Nope.
Well, there goes another job.
Maybe I misread it.
Nope.
My stupid ex is still trying to call me!
How insensitive is that?!
‘Hey Jerry! You’ve just lost your job; please come to my romantic Valentine’s Day wedding that was YOUR IDEA except I’m not marrying you! No hard feelings; LET’S BE FRIENDS.’
SHE ALWAYS DOES THIS.
Maybe I misread it.
Nope.
Maybe I just imagined it because I’m so tired;
I NEED MORE COFFEE.”

                Jerry ran into his underwhelming kitchen and made the strongest cup of coffee he had ever made in his entire life. While he was drinking it; he made another; and another; and another; and etc. Jerry lost count of how many cups he drank (more crucially, he lost count of how many where Irish). Hands shaking, Jerry called his Boss and said “Whatchu even, ugh; well NOT AVERYMORE! ‘Cause I QUIT. SO YOU CAN JUS GO FORGET THAT THIS ISN’T EVEN UMM GOODBYE UM LEEVIN FOREVER! I love you and I’m gonna go the the wedding and you’ll marry me insead.” Jerry felt very proud of himself; he had just solved all of his problems in one phone call.

                I feel it is worth mentioning that Jerry's full name is 'Jerry Adam Andrews' and his ex's soon-to-be husband was called 'Gerry Adam Andrews'. Their names were pretty similar, I'm sure you'll agree with me on that one; I'm just sayin' this now so you can't accuse me of making stuff up as I go along later on.

                Jerry didn't even change out of his one-piece dinosaur sleeping suit before running out of the door and sprinting his way to his local church. Alcohol, caffeine, sleep deprivation and stress can do strange things to a man. As his soggy dino feet squelched into another puddle, Jerry felt a little queasy; perhaps running wasn't the most sensible thing, considering what he had recently ingested.

                Jerry slumped against a wall, nothing more than a sweaty, queasy dinosaur-shaped mess. Just when he thought he’d never reach the church, he looked up; only to realise that the wall he was slumping on was actually a part of the church. Jerry made a gurgled noise and entered.

                Meanwhile, in the church, Jerry’s ex and Gerry were reaching the most crucial part of their wedding. “And do you, Gerry Adam Andrews, take whatever this woman’s called to be your wife?” Gerry opened his mouth and was about to recite the speech that he had committed to memory when Jerry stumbled in and shouted “I DOO!” 

                Everybody looked at Jerry in stunned silence; Jerry smiled back for a little while, but then he was sick all over the place. Jerry’s ex and Gerry gave each other a worried look; Jerry collapsed in a heap; technically, he was now a married man.

THE END

1 - Keith The Physicist Goes To The Future

                It had been two years since Keith completed his time machine. Well, either two or a thousand; depending on your measurement techniques. Keith sat in the local pub (it wasn’t really a pub, but Keith still called it one to comfort himself) playing with a beer mat (not strictly true, the object he was fiddling with was neither for beer nor a mat, he didn’t really understand what they were for – beside decoration -  if anything, they were doilies). Keith twiddled his thumbs and looked at a clock-esque thing that was on the wall; a message appeared on it reading, “Keith, your date is now fifteen minutes late.” Keith sighed; staring into the middle-distance, he thought over the series of events that had led him to this situation.

…

                There’s not a lot of people end up stranded in the future (or present; or past depending on when you are reading this); unfortunately, Keith was, is and will be one of them. Keith used to be a fantastic young scientist, but he didn’t look like it. There were three main reasons for this; firstly, he didn’t look like a scientist – no lab coats, nah, a t-shirt and jeans were fine for Keith; secondly, he didn’t look young, all the stress of his profession added at least ten years to his face and lastly, he most certainly did not look fantastic.

                Being a depressed, narcissistic introvert before it was cool certainly wasn’t as good as you might think; Keith’s scientific career peaked well before this whole ‘geek chic’ nonsense. But nothing would stand in Keith’s way; he would get a Nobel Prize! If there was one thing loftier than Keith’s ambitions, it was his talent. Keith excelled in every practice he tried, even without trying (well, apart from anything that involved either socialising or physical activity).

                Anyway, I’m sure you’ve gathered that Keith used his expertise to build a time machine in an attempt to receive a Nobel Prize; in which case, you would be correct. That’s exactly what he did. Although, there’s one factor that slowed Keith considerably – building a time machine is reeeaaally haaard; I mean, really. D’you ever build one? No? That’s ’cause it’s hard. Really. But Keith did it nonetheless, finding motivation in a trophy, fame, fortune and perhaps even a romantic partner.

                I won’t bore you with the details of how this time machine actually worked (partially because I’m lazy and partially because I’m not smart enough), all you need to know is that it did. Keith may have sacrificed his twenties but he was certain that all of his sacrifices had been worthwhile. The moment he unveiled his creation to the scientific community was almost as earth-shattering as you would think – he would get his Nobel Prize the very next day.

…

                Keith shuffled in his seat irately; he’d never been on a date before and it was starting to look like she had ditched him. Keith sighed and looked at the menu, for some reason this prompted him to remember every mistake he had ever made in his life.

…

                Keith didn’t accept his Nobel Prize quietly; quite the opposite, in fact; he had a huge ceremony – more akin to the Oscars or something. He even had an acceptance speech planned (in which he would name and shame all those bullies from school who made fun of him for being smarter than them) needless to say; Keith’s ego had got the better of him. If only you could see him that day; he made an absolute fool of himself, but nobody noticed, since they were captivated by his studies. The entire crowd could only focus on one thing; the time machine. When would they see one? All the science was sound and the technology surprisingly affordable.

                Silence fell over the crowd when Keith pulled a small, grubby object from the back pocket in his jeans. “And here it is.” He said. The audience just sat there, mouths gaping; a lady in the third row fainted and a fat man three miles away burped very loudly. Keith smiled slyly at the crowd and whispered, “See you next week.”

                I’m sure you figured that they didn’t see him next week. Keith mistakenly travelled a thousand years into the future. Now, I know what you’re thinking; “BUT WHY DOESN’T HE JUST GO BACK IN TIME AGAIN?” Well, the reasons are twofold; firstly, he didn’t really want to, since nobody really liked him; secondly, IT DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT.

                Keith actually responded very well to his predicament, until he realised the he had ben presumed dead a thousand years and now all his work was public domain. So Keith did the only logical thing; he became an alcoholic. He actually spent all his time in the pub, using his time machine to skip past the pub’s closing times. That isn’t really news, though; all the drunks in the future do this.

                Keith became something of a local celebrity and grew to be known as ‘the drunk from a thousand years ago’.  It wasn’t a very good nickname, but people are less creative in the future. Keith had been living like this for quite a while (there’s no point delving into specifics, it changes depending on who you ask), when the bartender took sympathy upon him and set him up with his cousin (the bartender’s cousin, not Keith’s).

…

                So, that takes us up to now (well, the future, but you know what I mean). Keith looked at the bartender, who shrugged. Keith sighed and stood up, plans of sleeping on a park bench circulating around his mind. Keith was actually kind of relieved that this had happened; he wasn’t looking forward to this date.

                Just as Keith was putting his coat on, a woman suddenly appeared in front of him. “Oh, hello!” she said, warmly and excitedly, “I’m Cassie, you must be Keith!” Keith looked shocked and Cassie looked at the clock, which read; “Cassie, you are forty-five minutes late for your date.” Cassie shouted a swear word that doesn’t exist yet. “Well, that’s the last time I use a time machine from poundland,” she sighed.

                Keith smiled. He had just noticed that she was wearing a T-shirt with Boba Fett pushing a katamari on it. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

THE END