'A Question of Now' by Sean Hodgson
Brenda O’Lox sighed: she was conscious she’d sighed live on air but was getting a little fed-up.
“OK callers, I think it’s time we put this one to bed. The show ‘Nothing is real’ featuring an actor who wasn’t a real Vulcan playing a Vulcan was a spoof piece. That wasn’t specist: that was a sketch show so please, no more calls. Now, turning to an issue that has provoked some emotional responses, a piece that was published in last month’s The Everyday Magazine ‘My First Dead Body’. A visceral piece about a young police officer’s experience nearly 40 years ago of dealing with a suicide. So on the line we have Kevin from Swindon. What are you thoughts Kevin?”
“The reason that only species-appropriate actors should play a character of a specific species is authenticity. Those ears on that Vulcan character were all cheesy and...”
Brenda cut him off “and from Western-Super-Mare, we have Carol.”
“I feel what was lacking was a description about the sound of the skull and the brain as the train ran over...”
Brenda spat out her now cold coffee and interrupted Carol “No! Carol!”
“What I’d like to hear in stories like this,” continued Carol, “is more gratuitous detail...”
“I don’t think that was the point of the piece,” said Brenda. “I think it was about the surrealness of dealing with something so shocking, and the lack of support...and in any case Carol, the actual death took place before the officer arrived so he couldn’t describe such sounds.”
“Well I could have done with more detail, that’s all I’m saying, you know, to spice it up a bit.”
“This was a real incident Carol, described from the writer’s perspective. I don’t think making it up...” Carol hung up. “Carol? Carol!” Brenda acknowledged a message from her tech assistant and said “So we have Gary from Swindon. What impact did this piece have on you?
‘I’m flabbergasted. Here at the interspecies alliance we regard ...”
“Is that Kevin from Swindon?” Brenda snapped.
“No! No.’ There was a pause, “Well, yes but...” Brenda cut him off. “And from Oxford we have Bryan.”
“Thank you very much for taking my call.” Brenda recognized the caller’s voice. “Having studied the section of railway track in question...” continued Bryan.
“Is that Bryan Steeplegate?” asked Brenda. “Better known as Blanksy?” Brenda had recently interviewed the secretive, beige painting, street artist Blanksy and felt a little relieved to have someone sensible on the show.
“Yes, er, you are correct, this is he. But Blanksy is my pseudonym as I wish to remain anonymous.”
“Sorry Bryan do continue.”
“The writer of that piece,” continued Bryan, “erroneously claimed that he needed a torch to see the body and the bits of body in the plastic bag. I think you will find that due to significant urban and industrial development nearby that section of track is lit up like Blackpool illuminations.”
“This was 40 years ago Bryan. In 1981.”
“Ahh. Yes. Ahh right.” There was a shuffling of papers from Bryan’s side of the call. “Yes, looking at my detailed maps of British Rail main lines for the years 1978 to 1987 as superimposed onto my copies of the local authority planning applications for the aforementioned area I can see there wasn’t any development nearby at the time in question. I see that would make quite a difference to the visibility levels and a torch therefore would have been required in 1981.”
“Bryan, do you having anything to say about the emotional content of the piece?”
Bryan stumbled with a response until he added “I hadn’t considered that aspect. I’ll read it again.”
Brenda looked at the clock and wondered why it didn’t seem to move but then dug deep and found the strength to say in an upbeat tone “We have Carol back with us. We seemed to have had a technical issue there, didn’t we?”
“No! I hung up! You were irritating me. But I’d just like to add I was particularly disappointed that the piece wasn’t about a serial killer or a celebrity with necrophilia issues. I know it began by stating that wasn’t what the piece was about but it could have been. I’d have been far more interested if it was. Maybe a celebrity serial killer - now that would have really spiced things up. Do you think the writer would be willing to rewrite the piece?”
“And we’re going over to Bob. Bob...” Brenda hesitated and added, “Bob from Swindon?”
“He showed far too much emotion for a Vulcan. This is insulting. I’m going to write a letter.” Bob (and Gary, and Kevin) hung up.
Brenda lined up a long piece of outro music, much longer than is usually played by other phone-in show hosts. “We have time for one more call and It’s Bryan. I mean, sorry, the anonymous street artist Blanksy again. So Mr Steeplegate, did you re-read the piece? Did it stir up any emotions for you?”
“Yes it most certainly did. I feel very stirred up. The description of the brain as a pinky white mush was woefully inaccurate. I have made a careful study of mangled brains over many years. It’s a hobby of mine, and I have detailed...’
Brenda began to zone out, glugged the remains of the coffee and filled the cup with a substantial strawberry lemon mojito.
“...photos and videos showing that the texture of the brain after such an impact...” continued Bryan.
Brenda faded up Carmina Burana as performed by the proto-prog rock band ‘Infinity of Nebulous’.
“...will, due to the viscosity and gelatinous nature of its composition, look more like a soggy haggis and therefore...”
Brenda adjusted the bass levels to full studio-rattling level and thought these phone-in shows would be alright if it weren’t for the public.
To read the piece which inspired this short story, ‘My First Dead Body’, click here
Written by Sean Hodgson
Sean Hodgson lives in Oxfordshire, with a garden that has three plastic pink pigeons because this is Faringdon, Oxfordshire. He used to be a police officer but since getting better he generally keeps quiet about that.
For more of Sean’s work, click here.