An excitable voice fades in; Happy and cheerful in tune. Almost melodic. “Hello, hello. And welcome to the story. I’m…”
“What you doing?”
A second voice cuts the fine, artistically brilliant vocals off halfway. It’s a shuddery, half-baked tone. Like your fathers voice after a few glasses of whiskey. The point between his depressing life and his angry rants. You know, the ‘happy’ point.
“I’m not an old man. I’m 23. Can we just carry on with the narration, thank you!?”
The old man continues…
“I’m not… Keep calm, we’ve just started. Right… What you doing?”
“I’m just introducing the readers to the story. Give ‘em a bit of background. Dig up the truths, outline the main characters. You know, a bit of showmanship.”
“Showmanship. It’s not a show. They’re not watching a movie. They’re reading a book. Look you’ve ruined it already. Half of them have probably already left through your muttering. And this berks comments.”
The old man speaks to the all-knowing narrator, yet is wrong to question such a wisdomous, and powerful being.
“Wisdomous. Powerful. You’re both gone wrong. Look, just hurry up and get going. We need to start.”
And with that, the old man exits, needing a zimmer frame to carry the sheer size of his bin-lid sized head.
“I’m not old…”
“Haha. Anyway. While those two are at it, let me introduce us. I’m Ezra Lee Walker, King of the banshees. I know what you’re thinking, banshee’s don’t exists. Well, don’t tell them that or they’ll come at yer like a stampede of vultures. Pecking at your little peepers as you go crying off to the barman. “Help me, help me barman. They’re after my little lion peepers.” Haha.”
“And that guy. He’s well… He gave me a list earlier on his best features. Let’s see.”
Ezra unravels a long, almost never ending scroll that rolls all of the way down, and along the ground a few meters away.
“He’s a poet. Poet extreme he’s wrote. And he’s erm… a dance maestro, electro-pop-punk, the inventor of Hellman’s mayonnaise, Queen of Uzbekistan… What this one, Monkey Duster. Haha. What’s that? He goes around with his little fairy duster, tickling away at gorillas.”
“It’s ‘Monkey Dominator’ you berk.”
“Alright, alright. Well that Monkey Duster is my partner Walter Scum.”
“It’s Wesley Skume. I told you that before. It’s written on the top of my list. Did you even read it?”
“Yeah. I did. Anyway, I was gonna ask. What’s this one? It says that you spent a whole night half naked with a walrus, eating chips as yer…”
“Okay, enough of that.”
Waldo yanks the list from Ezra, ripping it apart as he throws the little pieces to the ground.
“My name’s Wesley!” Wayne cuts in…
“Enjoy the story.”