1) He knew it was going to be a shit night before it started. Pre-drinks at Nick and Martin’s was always fucking awkward ‘cause their living room was next to Cocky Rob’s bedroom. And you could always hear him fucking some girl. Or faking it by himself. Slowly he peeled himself from his bedroom floor. He sniffed his palms. The carpet’s smell, something like hamsters wearing wet trainers, had rubbed off on his skin. He surveyed the tangled bomb-site around him: crumpled clothes and cans. He noticed the foot first. Small and pretty. Then the body wrapped up in his bed.
Eve Wersocki Morris
2) He prodded the figure, quickly withdrawing his hand as it groaned. A deep, masculine groan. A sound that only a certain level of testosterone could produce. Shit. He seized his lacrosse stick from under the bed, shivering as he did so. Gone were the clothes he’d worn for clubbing; in their place, a Borat-style mankini. What the… Ah fuck it, that was the least of his worries. Whipping back the sheets he almost shat the thong-like string biting into his arse. There, snoring softly, lay the owner of that attractively feminine foot. It was Malcolm, the checkout guy from Sainsbury’s.
3) He had met Malcolm the day before, while doing some shopping. He had asked to see some ID due to the red wine sauce in a ready meal. It had seemed a little tenuous at the time. “I’m Malcolm, by the way,” he had purred. Oh, and how Malcolm’s eyes had roved openly over the unflattering picture on his driver’s license. Had there been lust hiding in them? Probably not. Then what was this flirty cashier doing in his bed? Not only that, why was he dressed as Bugs Bunny? At that moment a loud knock came on the door.
4) Approaching the door warily, lacrosse stick in hand, he opened the door a crack. A nervous looking, and slightly blue tinged face appeared in the gap. “Umm, Andrew, I think you should see this”. Andrew opened the door fully, revealing his housemate Sam daubed from head to toe in blue paint with a curly white hat jauntily perched on his head. His expression was anything but jaunty.
“Certainly a sight for sore eyes”, Andrew smirked.
“Not me!” Sam grabbed Andrew’s arm and marched him over to the large window looking out of their fifteenth-floor apartment in Lenton tower block. “This.”
5) Andrew eyed the filthy window dubiously. “I’ve seen outside before, thanks.”
“Just-” Sam gestured violently to the window, but Andrew ignored his insistent flailing and interrupted.
“I’ve got more important things to do than take in the view. Also- how is your paint still so perfect, the morning after? Is it- is it still wet? Did you retouch your smurf costume when you woke up? Why?”
Sam rolled his eyes so hard it sent the bobble on his hat shaking. “Dude, just shut up and look out the window, oh my god.”
Andrew let out a deep and heavy sigh.
6) “Okay, you win,” he said as he pressed his forehead against the glass, which felt nice against his throbbing skull. “So what am I supposed to be–”
Hovering over the apartment next door was a UFO.
“Oh…” was all he could say.
“Isn’t it AWESOME!!!” said Sam, suddenly ecstatic. “I’m going to head over and get abducted. Thought you might like to come along.”
Andrew slid to his knees. “I’m still drunk, right? It’s a drunken dream.”
Malcolm groaned again.
“So…who’s Bugs?” asked Sam. “We do need to bring a human sacrifice. I wonder if aliens like Looney Tunes.”
7) “Let me…change first” Andrew managed to splutter, ignoring the tempestuous thoughts in his mind.
Sam skittered out. “Be quick.”
Door locked, Andrew hurriedly changed into more comfortable clothes (what had happened last night?!) and activated his Handheld Corporter. Yes he bought it back in 2050, yes, it could only teleport within 1km, yes it wasn’t that reliable, but it was his best bet. Was that the low battery indicator flashing red?
Ignoring it because there was no time, he keyed in the only coordinates he remembered, and pressed TELEPORT…
…to find himself in a white room that he didn’t recognise.
8) He looked around, momentarily startled, and with panic considered the possibility that he had dialled the wrong number. A familiar photograph on the glistening counter caught his attention, and, with a pang of relief, remembered the renovations that had started just after he had left for Uni. Feeling slightly disorientated, and increasingly hungover, he ran through the new, spotless kitchen.
‘Mum!’ he shouted, ‘Are you there?’
‘Andrew? Fucking hell, is that you?’ a familiar voice echoed from upstairs. ‘You better not have used that bloody teleporty thing again!’
Sighing with relief, he belted up the stairs and into her bedroom.
9) ‘Have you seen this?’ his mother said as he walked in, not even turning round to check if he was okay, you know, her knowing how dodgy that teleport could be and everything. He could just about make out her long hair flapping in the wind; she was leaning as far out of the window as possible without falling, peering off to the right somewhere. Andrew sighed.
‘Is it the UFO? That’s where I was trying to teleport to.’
‘UFO?’ She looked round at him, confused. ‘No, I mean the Roberts’s Christmas lights. It’s like bloody Trafalgar Square over there.’
10) ‘Let me see,’ he said, squeezing into the window. The Roberts were known for going a little, well, Christmas crazy. He could do with a little ‘normal’ crazy after the craziness he’d already dealt with.
10) Alas, it was not to be. The Roberts had outdone even themselves in the most bizarre display he’d ever seen. Thousands of multicoloured lights covered the house’s exterior, arranged in strange symbols and flickering with nauseating frequency. What’s more, gigantic searchlights encircled the property.
Their purpose became clear when three UFOs descended from the clouds to hover mere feet above the residence.
‘Shit,’ muttered Andrew.
How will the story continue? YOU have to decide. Email [email protected] with ’100 Voices’ in the subject box to be allocated your episode number.