UNNAMED NOVELLA PROJECT

Part 1: The Classified Cooking Book

Part 2: B4 Forest Turns Zoo

Part 3: Checkmate

Part 4:  Rod’s Insanely Odd Game of Fishy Wishes

Part 5:  Wouldn’t You Two Like To Free Wings With Those Too Also?

By Dominic J. Francis/WalkingDoctorTonnan

Among the hell-hung odds that Heaven sung, the shell of self was flung to spell its sum.

Addicted hundreds evicted the one,selling stubborn help to well heaven's tongue.

         The younger son’s chums run the land of rum,         so the bees swapped the sand for seas of fun.         The tearless sung of unnamed fear they swum,         breathless feeling dealing the deathless one.       

                  Some summoned number games defamed the dumb,                   like the stunned sane cat who knew the name numb.

                   The Summer sun sung of my mother’s mum,                  stung by someone’s bum in another’s slum.

Junkie, HeartSurgeon, BodyGuard, TunaFish and PescatarianChef lay on single beds in a room that contains a book called “The Classified Cooking Book” on top of an industrial-sized fridge next to a five-sectioned air-fryer and a coffeemaker. A flashing ultra-violet alarm goes off. Junkie howls, HeartSurgeon wakes with an outrageous moan, BodyGuard grunts loudly, TunaFish quietly undulates and PescatarianChef curses his God.

“Turn that bleeding alarm off or it will be the death of my ears,” says Junkie.

“Where are we? Who are you?” asks HeartSurgeon. “What’s happening??”

“—this must be the controlled hospitalised area ‘they’ told me about,” says BodyGuard.

“… but who are you?” asks Junkie. “And who were ‘they’?”

“--I’m BodyGuard,” says BodyGuard. “‘They’ told me that it’s my job to look after you all… but I’m still not entirely sure who ‘they’ were or are … ‘they’ told me that ‘they’ were ‘Numerical Spirit-Beasts’ but that didn’t figure in my head… how much do you remember?”

“I remember that my name is TunaFish,” says TunaFish to Junkie. “What is yours?”

“Junkie,” says Junkie. “How much do you remember?”

‘… not a lot…” confesses TunaFish. “I don’t know who I am or where I came from.”

“—this is a cordoned resting zone,” replies BodyGuard.

“But who are we…?” asks PescatarianCook. “And more importantly to me, who am I?”

“… that’s something which I can try to help you remember,” says BodyGuard. “But to be honest… I don’t know who I am either.”

“l… I don’t think we’ve met this moment before… anyhow, let’s chill out now, please,” says Junkie.

“I think we should try to get out of here,” says BodyGuard.

“Let’s try to get up and check what is in the fridge,” PescatarianCook says. “I want to cook some food.”

“What does ‘to cook’ mean?” asks TunaFish.

“ ‘To cook’ is to doctor dead animal & vegetables until it is food that is fit for consumption,” says HeartSurgeon. TunaFish stares blankly at HeartSurgeon.

“… like Shrimp or Squid??” asks TunaFish.

“Yes, like Shrimp or Squid,” says PescatarianChef. “Let’s employ empathy & explore teamwork to investigate the insides of the fridge. I seem to recall that I used to be an experienced chef famed for granting my patrons a hedonistic experience.”

“… I can’t move,” says BodyGuard. “Can you?”

“… no,” says PescatarianCook.

“Get up!” says Junkie hypnotically to himself. “Get up.”

BodyGuard suddenly springs to his feet and then jumps up & down joyously. “I can move! I can move! Let’s get some food in our bellies then!”

“… I still can’t move,” says TunaFish.

“Move!!” shouts BodyGuard. TunaFish falls off the bed and onto the floor.

“Stand up,” instructs BodyGuard. TunaFish almost immediately stands up.

“Hey, let’s check the contents of this fridge. This is probably the biggest fridge I’ve ever seen,” says Junkie.

“Please politely allow me to inspect it first,” says PescatarianCook, rushing nimbly over to the fridge. “I speak the language of corpse better than the average stay-at-home-chef.”

“Sure thing,” says BodyGuard. “I’ve fried some eggs & beans in my time, but it sounds highly likely I’m not qualified to prepare a dish as well as you. Let’s see the contents of this fridge then.”

On top of the refrigerator are cans of onion-carrot-tomato soup & baked beans & herbs & spices & salt & pepper & hot sauce & sweetcorn & carrots & a copy of “The Classified Cooking Book’. Inside the cool region of the refrigerator are mushrooms & cheddar & onions & tuna & raspberry-yoghurts & butter & chicken & sweetcorn & carrots & sausage & cucumbers & mozzarella & two baguettes. Inside the frozen region of the refrigerator are strawberry ice-cream & sweet potato fries & fishcakes & cinnamon-sauce.

“Let us prepare food & sing,” says TunaFish.

“I don’t enjoy people telling me what to do,” says PescatarianChef. “But… sure, you can sing while I cook, if that’s what you really want. Does anyone have any specific dietary maladies?”

“I don’t mind trying new things,” says BodyGuard “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You implied that you were a seasoned chef… let it be so and cook us a professional combination of foods.”

“I also have no preference,” says Junkie. “Cook whatever sings to you. Surprise me.”

“’I’d prefer not to sing if that’s okay with you all. I’d like to chat,” says HeartSurgeon. “Maybe some kind of soft-talking therapy might remind us as to who we were before we arrived here so that our memory bodies can restore our sense of selves…”

“Hi, my name is Junkie and my memories are coming back too,” says Junkie. “When I was tired and uninspired, getting fired was all I desired. But I don’t require a supplier: sobriety makes me higher. Though I know not your pores, my wars have left mine so sore. But when I bore of chores, I’d adore nothing more than a score.”

Junkie glares at TunaFish. “Your turn to tell us about you now.”

TunaFish blinks. “But I can’t remember my life at all,” he says. “Thinking about it carefully seems to make it all flash by fast aa disorderly dream. I wasn’t born half an hour ago but all I remember about my life is swimming around & hunting sardines & releasing relief. I’m usually quite a solitary type of fellow.”

“…okay, cool.. good for you. PescatarianChef, what’s your poison treasure in terms of consumption?” questions Junkie.

“A pint or two. But there is no alcohol here,” says PescatarianChef.

“I heard that there is a little alcohol in every drop of liquid. Or at least that’s what I thought I heard,” says BodyGuard.

“You must have thought & heard wrong,” says PescatarianChef. “A crazy ideal can dilute. A conclusive revelation accelerates information’s derelict ecstasy as if it were love alone. I’ve had an idea as to what I might serve just yet.”

“Please serve us our just dessert first,” says HeartSurgeon. “Otherwise, this continuum might not last for very long: strangely enough I know to tell you that the truth may be that it’s much better that we don’t try to leave immediately. But… with that said, I would like a sugar rush soon.”

“Fine. Here’s a portion of strawberry ice-cream & cinnamon-sauce & raspberry yoghurt,” says PescatarianChef. “If that’s what you want, HeartSurgeon, then that’s what you get. Anybody else want some real, sugar-free food?”

“Not me,” says BodyGuard. “I’m interested in sugar because it offers an overdose of dopamine and because of its taste.”

“I’ve never tried any dessert-dish before,” says TunaFish. “But that’s because I don’t want my cholesterol levels to spike this dream we might be sharing. That’s what your mother would have warned me about repeatedly… though I cannot recall meeting her.”

“Something strange about you, TunaFish??,” says BodyGuard.

“Nothing’s strange about me, BodyGuard,” says TunaFish. “Though I am a stranger, I’m just one that is not as immature as you might have hoped me to be. But I don’t want to start a fight”

“You’re the one that seems to be a stranger to everything,” says BodyGuard. “And you act so obscenely obstinate.”

“People— please stop speaking so harshly to one another,” says Junkie. “I don’t want to have to moderate your conversation. I’ve come to a realisation: we’re here because the government put us here.”

“But who is the government?” asks HeartSurgeon. “Do the government learn from everything we say? Which body is the Criminal Investigating Alliance going to burn today? Laughing is not the opposite of crying for the drying brigade waters fiery fact. The same flame sought the bought record because the blame game taught her to react.”

“What you are preaching is pure anarchy,” says PescatarianChef. “Lunch is served… or is it dinner? … I guess it’s breakfast. It might not be the first meal that we have had but it will be the first meal that us four have ever shared together... I think.”

“ ‘You are what you eat’, ‘they’ say”, says BodyGuard. “That’s why the pancakes kept getting flipp--”

“—antelope your language, mindfully, please,” warns TunaFish snappily. “I understand that worlds of words can be damaging. I’m just about naïve enough to believe in ‘love’, even though it grieved me heavily when I realised just how ambiguous the word is after its heart replays the mind. To me, saying the word ‘love’ symbolises a kind of agreement rather than a praise...but that’s not always the case... sometimes it’s just like rhyme—an almost nonsensical truth that hyperbole feeds.”

“We didn’t ask you about that word, TunaFish,” says HeartSurgeon. “Let’s shut up and eat. We’re waiting for you to serve our culinary desires, PescatarianChef.”

“No need to be rude, Mr. HeartSurgeon,” says PescatarianChef. “Your order is on its way now. Let’s try to remain calm. Let’s forget that Junkie ever even implied that there was a door that couldn’t be opened.”

“I’m making you a tuna-cheese and carrot sandwich,” says PescatarianChef, glaring at TunaFish.

“Umm… okay. I’ve eaten tuna before,” says TunaFish. “You don’t have any shrimp, do you?”

“Nope. I can make you a carrot & sweet corn & butter baguette if that’s what you want.”

“Sure…”

Part 1: The Classified Cooking BookPart 2: B4 Forest Turns ZooPart 3: CheckmatePart 4: Rod’s Insanely Odd Game of Fishy WishesPart 5: By Dominic J. Francis.Among the hell-hung odds that Heaven sung, the shell of self was flung to spell its sum.Addicted hundreds evicted the one,selling stubborn help to well heaven's tongue.The younger son’s chums run the land of rum,so the bees swapped the sand for seas of fun.The tearless sung of unnamed fear they swum,breathless feeling dealing the deathless one. Some summoned number games defamed the dumb,like the stunned sane cat who knew the name numb.The Summer sun sung of my mother’s mum,stung by someone’s bum in another’s slum.Junkie, HeartSurgeon, BodyGuard, TunaFish and PescatarianChef lay on single beds in a room that contains a book called “The Classified Cooking Book” on top of an industrial-sized fridge next to a five-sectioned air-fryer and a coffeemaker. A flashing ultra-violet alarm goes off. Junkie howls, HeartSurgeon wakes with an outrageous moan, BodyGuard grunts loudly, TunaFish quietly undulates and PescatarianChef curses his God.“Turn that bleeding alarm off or it will be the death of my ears,” says Junkie.“Where are we? Who are you?” asks HeartSurgeon. “What’s happening??”“—this must be the controlled hospitalised area ‘they’ told me about,” says BodyGuard.“… but who are you?” asks Junkie. “And who were ‘they’?”“--I’m BodyGuard,” says BodyGuard. “‘They’ told me that it’s my job to look after you all… but I’m still not entirely sure who ‘they’ were or are … ‘they’ told me that ‘they’ were ‘Numerical Spirit-Beasts’ but that didn’t figure in my head… how much do you remember?”“I remember that my name is TunaFish,” says TunaFish to Junkie. “What is yours?”“Junkie,” says Junkie. “How much do you remember?”‘… not a lot…” confesses TunaFish. “I don’t know who I am or where I came from.”“—this is a cordoned resting zone,” replies BodyGuard.“But who are we…?” asks PescatarianCook. “And more importantly to me, who am I?”“… that’s something which I can try to help you remember,” says BodyGuard. “But to be honest… I don’t know who I am either.”“l… I don’t think we’ve met this moment before… anyhow, let’s chill out now, please,” says Junkie. “I think we should try to get out of here,” says BodyGuard.“Let’s try to get up and check what is in the fridge,” PescatarianCook says. “I want to cook some food.”“What does ‘to cook’ mean?” asks TunaFish.“ ‘To cook’ is to doctor dead animal & vegetables until it is food that is fit for consumption,” says HeartSurgeon. TunaFish stares blankly at HeartSurgeon.“… like Shrimp or Squid??” asks TunaFish.“Yes, like Shrimp or Squid,” says PescatarianChef. “Let’s employ empathy & explore teamwork to investigate the insides of the fridge. I seem to recall that I used to be an experienced chef famed for granting my patrons a hedonistic experience.”“… I can’t move,” says BodyGuard. “Can you?”“… no,” says PescatarianCook.“Get up!” says Junkie hypnotically to himself. “Get up.”BodyGuard suddenly springs to his feet and then jumps up & down joyously. “I can move! I can move! Let’s get some food in our bellies then!”“… I still can’t move,” says TunaFish.“Move!!” shouts BodyGuard. TunaFish falls off the bed and onto the floor.“Stand up,” instructs BodyGuard. TunaFish almost immediately stands up.“Hey, let’s check the contents of this fridge. This is probably the biggest fridge I’ve ever seen,” says Junkie.“Please politely allow me to inspect it first,” says PescatarianCook, rushing nimbly over to the fridge. “I speak the language of corpse better than the average stay-at-home-chef.”“Sure thing,” says BodyGuard. “I’ve fried some eggs & beans in my time, but it sounds highly likely I’m not qualified to prepare a dish as well as you. Let’s see the contents of this fridge then.”On top of the refrigerator are cans of onion-carrot-tomato soup & baked beans & herbs & spices & salt & pepper & hot sauce & sweetcorn & carrots & a copy of “The Classified Cooking Book’. Inside the cool region of the refrigerator are mushrooms & cheddar & onions & tuna & raspberry-yoghurts & butter & chicken & sweetcorn & carrots & sausage & cucumbers & mozzarella & two baguettes. Inside the frozen region of the refrigerator are strawberry ice-cream & sweet potato fries & fishcakes & cinnamon-sauce.“Let us prepare food & sing,” says TunaFish.“I don’t enjoy people telling me what to do,” says PescatarianChef. “But… sure, you can sing while I cook, if that’s what you really want. Does anyone have any specific dietary maladies?”“I don’t mind trying new things,” says BodyGuard “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You implied that you were a seasoned chef… let it be so and cook us a professional combination of foods.”“I also have no preference,” says Junkie. “Cook whatever sings to you. Surprise me.”“’I’d prefer not to sing if that’s okay with you all. I’d like to chat,” says HeartSurgeon. “Maybe some kind of soft-talking therapy might remind us as to who we were before we arrived here so that our memory bodies can restore our sense of selves…”“Hi, my name is Junkie and my memories are coming back too,” says Junkie. “When I was tired and uninspired, getting fired was all I desired. But I don’t require a supplier: sobriety makes me higher. Though I know not your pores, my wars have left mine so sore. But when I bore of chores, I’d adore nothing more than a score.” Junkie glares at TunaFish. “Your turn to tell us about you now.” TunaFish blinks. “But I can’t remember my life at all,” he says. “Thinking about it carefully seems to make it all flash by fast aa disorderly dream. I wasn’t born half an hour ago but all I remember about my life is swimming around & hunting sardines & releasing relief. I’m usually quite a solitary type of fellow.”“…okay, cool.. good for you. PescatarianChef, what’s your poison treasure in terms of consumption?” questions Junkie.“A pint or two. But there is no alcohol here,” says PescatarianChef. “I heard that there is a little alcohol in every drop of liquid. Or at least that’s what I thought I heard,” says BodyGuard.“You must have thought & heard wrong,” says PescatarianChef. “A crazy ideal can dilute. A conclusive revelation accelerates information’s derelict ecstasy as if it were love alone. I’ve had an idea as to what I might serve just yet.”“Please serve us our just dessert first,” says HeartSurgeon. “Otherwise, this continuum might not last for very long: strangely enough I know to tell you that the truth may be that it’s much better that we don’t try to leave immediately. But… with that said, I would like a sugar rush soon.”“Fine. Here’s a portion of strawberry ice-cream & cinnamon-sauce & raspberry yoghurt,” says PescatarianChef. “If that’s what you want, HeartSurgeon, then that’s what you get. Anybody else want some real, sugar-free food?”“Not me,” says BodyGuard. “I’m interested in sugar because it offers an overdose of dopamine and because of its taste.”“I’ve never tried any dessert-dish before,” says TunaFish. “But that’s because I don’t want my cholesterol levels to spike this dream we might be sharing. That’s what your mother would have warned me about repeatedly… though I cannot recall meeting her.”“Something strange about you, TunaFish??,” says BodyGuard.“Nothing’s strange about me, BodyGuard,” says TunaFish. “Though I am a stranger, I’m just one that is not as immature as you might have hoped me to be. But I don’t want to start a fight”“You’re the one that seems to be a stranger to everything,” says BodyGuard. “And you act so obscenely obstinate.”“People— please stop speaking so harshly to one another,” says Junkie. “I don’t want to have to moderate your conversation. I’ve come to a realisation: we’re here because the government put us here.”“But who is the government?” asks HeartSurgeon. “Do the government learn from everything we say? Which body is the Criminal Investigating Alliance going to burn today? Laughing is not the opposite of crying for the drying brigade waters fiery fact. The same flame sought the bought record because the blame game taught her to react.”“What you are preaching is pure anarchy,” says PescatarianChef. “Lunch is served… or is it dinner? … I guess it’s breakfast. It might not be the first meal that we have had but it will be the first meal that us four have ever shared together... I think.”“ ‘You are what you eat’, ‘they’ say”, says BodyGuard. “That’s why the pancakes kept getting flipp--”“—antelope your language, mindfully, please,” warns TunaFish snappily. “I understand that worlds of words can be damaging. I’m just about naïve enough to believe in ‘love’, even though it grieved me heavily when I realised just how ambiguous the word is after its heart replays the mind. To me, saying the word ‘love’ symbolises a kind of agreement rather than a praise...but that’s not always the case... sometimes it’s just like rhyme—an almost nonsensical truth that hyperbole feeds.”“We didn’t ask you about that word, TunaFish,” says HeartSurgeon. “Let’s shut up and eat. We’re waiting for you to serve our culinary desires, PescatarianChef.”“No need to be rude, Mr. HeartSurgeon,” says PescatarianChe f. “Your order is on its way now. Let’s try to remain calm. Let’s forget that Junkie ever even implied that there was a door that couldn’t be opened.”“I’m making you a tuna-cheese and carrot sandwich,” says PescatarianChef, glaring at TunaFish.“Umm… okay. I’ve eaten tuna before,” says TunaFish. “You don’t have any shrimp, do you?”“Nope. I can make you a carrot & sweet corn & butter baguette if that’s what you want.”“Sure…”the seed of heavenly hyperbolecan spell the hell you need not seeso dress the guest's guesses to freesouls cajoling the whole of infinity's simplicityI can't heed the greedy whispers that never let me bequitting bitter temporality to reset forever's dreamy seayea, i faked the agent one but only to forsake her schemesthe naked baker wakes me up to the sacred and I screamthe soundscape escapes hymn too late to scan its seamsthe gate was securely manned with its hit moonlit schemesand the hidden goal stole to plan my man soulful screamsback when the enchanted tolled my bowlplanted by certainty curtained by parolehating the weight that fate controlledlike a happy horse singing to her foalendorsing the beginnings of a scrolldistorting the winnings that you goallike some thinning thoughtless hole©WalkingDoctorTonnan/@Dominic.Francis.142/Dominic