Flash Friday 26/04/2013: Run From Your Life (pt. 3)
Even more ideas! This will be a serial before I know it.
Fiona strolled down the street, looking as inconspicuous as possible. This was a key attribute for her walk, as she was heading towards the house where Robin was hiding with Tony, the letter detailing the current movements of the Church of Her Advertisement. She looked behind her, masking it as if she heard something, in order to check if she had been followed. Her little charade wasn’t needed, as she was the only one on the street at this time.
She opened the gate to Tony’s house, walking down the path to the front door. She prepped the letter in her hand, her other hand opening the front flap of the letterbox when she arrived at the door.
A glossy advert, detailing kitchen repair in awful font and caricatures of plumbers, fell out of the letterbox and onto the front path.
Something clicked within Fiona. It had to do with the near-instinctual fear of spam she had developed over the past few days, but it was mostly due to her logical deduction that letter boxes were supposed to work in the opposite way. There was only one reason why a house would be spitting out spam messages, and that’s if it was crammed full of it.
Fiona darted to one of the windows, cupping her hands over the glass to block out light glare. While the knitted curtain kept a lot of prying eyes out of the house, she could make out the handbag and watch adverts pressed against the window through the gaps in the pattern. They’d been hit, and hard.
Fiona drew her phone, her finger mashing through her contacts list. There was one person she could rely on in moments like these.
“What I’m saying,” Tony said, “is that if it’s good enough for beavers, it must be fine for us.”
“They make dams with them. They don’t actually eat wood.”
“Yes they do. I saw it on the telly once. I’m sure if I bite hard enough here–”
“Tony, please,” Robin said, snatching the picture frame from Tony’s hands. “Just because we’re trapped, doesn’t mean we have to resort to killing ourselves from the inside out.”
“Well what do you expect us to do then? How about dining on the toy train set I had as a kid? I’m sure the buffet cart will be delicious.”
“Or maybe we can all tuck into a Bathtub Del Robin. I’d actually quite like to keep that as a bed, and not have to eat it. But you obviously have other plans, and teeth like a bloody chainsaw.”
“Or how about a…” Robin didn’t manage to hear the next wise remark from Tony, as his words were cut off by what sounded like a vacuum cleaner starting up, designed to take the dust off of entire mountain ranges. The sound of vicious, whipping winds came from below, as if the spam had gotten bored and decided to become a tornado instead. After a few seconds (and before Robin developed a nasty case of tinnitus), the sound wound down into silence.
“Robin,” Tony said, staying perfectly still. “Robin, what the hell was that?”
“Beats me,” Robin said, pushing against the hatch to the attic. It swung open to reveal a thoroughly cleaned home. “But it worked, whatever it was.”
After pushing the ladder down and climbing onto the second floor (which held the same relief and excitement as a moon landing), the pair got to checking out what on earth had just happened. Rushing down the stairs, the first thing that was apparent was that the door was now off of its hinges, lying on the front path as if it had given up on life. Peeking into the house was a lady that Robin recognised instantly.
“Fiona,” Robin gasped, reaching the bottom of the steps to greet her. He would have given her a relieved hug, if he didn’t see the figure standing next to her. The man wore green tinted goggles that matched his swept-back blonde hair. His white lab coat gave Robin the impression that he was a mad inventor, which was unfortunate, given that he was equipped with a vacuum cleaner for someone who not only wanted to clean a place, but declare war on dirt itself. The large hand-held nozzle fed into a large backpack that sat o the man’s back, making Robin feel lucky he wasn’t reincarnated as a spider web.
“Recyclers,” Robin said.
“Oh, so you know of me?” The man said. “Well, I mean ‘us’, really. Doing the good man’s work as usual. You don’t seem to agree, given that you’re looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“The church…they said you abduct spam priests and recycle them into produce.”
“Us? Nooo. We just take all the rubbish those meanies spread about and make it actually useful. See?” He thumbed behind himself, pointing out the neatly stacked pile of packaged lined paper. “Might drop it off at a school on the way home. Pierce, by the way. I take it you know of our enemy?”
“No. Well,” Robin said, realising his earlier mistake, “Yes. But I’ve abandoned them, I swear. Just don’t…”
“What? Oh, the vacuum? Don’t worry, I can’t use it to suck up priests if I tried. Only good against paper.” Pierce patted the nozzle. “Besides, I’m used to things turning from bad to good. It’s my daily job, basically.”
“The point is,” Fiona said, “we need to get you two out of here before they realise you’re still alive. Do you have anywhere we can go, Pierce?”
“We can always head back to HQ. ‘Course, we have to keep an eye on Church Boy over here, but I’m sure he’ll fit in. If he’s not a dirty spy, that is.”
“He’s not,” Fiona stated as fact.
“Then let’s head off before we all become spam mail.”
Robin followed the pair as they walked down the path. Too late to go back now.