A steward tapped Bowie on the shoulder.
"Ahh, excuse me Mr Bowie? Can I please ask you to close that window, the cabin is rapidly depressurizing, the pilot says he is losing altitude fast, in fact we are in a bit of a nose dive and the aircraft is starting to break up...plus some of the passengers are starting to complain"
"Can you wait until I've finished my smoke?" Bowie made a gesture to implicate that he was flicking the ash out the window and would do the same to the butt when he finished.
"Not a problem." The steward smiled politely and continued handing out oxygen masks.
Reale sat next to Bowie, sucking up as much oxygen as he could. Considering what had just happened, it was a rather awkward situation for the both of them.
"Nice weather lately." David said.
"Yes, quite good, lots of sunshine." Was Reale's quick-fire reply.
"Still, some cloud cover most days..."
"I've had enough of this." Reale had had enough of this. "I'm going to arrest and detain you now on charges of Murder and conspiracy to incite racism"
Bowie closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. It was a replica prayer house from Tibet which he had bought at a souvener shop. "Well, that's put a bit of a dampner on the night," he seemed like a tired man.
At that moment the two men were diverted from their thoughts when little Alex flew from the overhead compartment (where Iman had put her for the time being) towards the open window. She jammed it up nicely and the plane started to level out.
"Good girl!" Bowie exclamed and gave her a biscuit.
Nyar had finished at last. 14 pages of blood, sweat and tears (not to mention three or four other bodily fluids). Of course he had cheated a little. He had included the title page, index and bibliography in the alotted 14 pages. He had also double spaced.
The first five pages of the masterpiece went on about ducks, after that it just kind of deteriorated into mindless rambling. Still, one person's trash is another person's treasure. Just look at dung beetles for example.
He had phoned the shoe delivery guy, and he had delivered a pair of piping hot shoes direct to the door. Sans shoebox. He then rang the shoebox delivery store who promised your shoebox in 15 minutes or your money back. He placed a side order for some garlic bread.
It is at this point that one may be reminded of the five year old child who tries to glue Mother's favourite vase back together so that she may not notice that he broke it. For that five year old that broken vase seems to symbolise the end of the world. For Nyar the vase he had broken symbolised the continuation of the world, and he wanted a transfer so badly. When the big ITS had introduced Billy Ray Cyrus to Earth he was of the opinion that they were going too far. Even the most evil man/thing in the world had his limits.
Nyartholep sat sadly with his patched up vase, chewing a tea bag. The darkness settled into his house highlighting the glow of the digital clock on the kitchen counter. There was a simple, easy quietness that permeated his very soul. He wished he could stop time at this moment, and live within the moment for a while before the storm came to tear at him.
When David Bowie had first appeared at the THE STRANGEST LIVING CURIOSITIES fair in 1896 he did a bit of a sing and dance routine. Some people had complained that it hardly seemed strange at all, let alone curious. Compared with the man who had 769 fingers, Bowie's act seemed a little too non-strange.
When he next came he attached 759 extra fingers onto himself. The case was settled out of court.
In 1919 he displayed his talent for folding his middle index finger right back. It seemed people were more interested in aliens from the other side of the galaxy who had witnessed the birth of Jesus and had Genghis Khan kept alive and imprisoned in a cage. "Typical," he had thought "People only want to see things that are sensational"
This year, with the help of a friend, he had an item that he was sure would knock the socks off everyone present. An alien surgeon had suggested that he be sawn in half and have a dog's body attached to his lower half. "Boring!" David had snapped at him. Instead he had decided to read aloud a screenplay that his friend John Lennon had given him to look over.
John and David had been friends since 1432. They had shared everything together, the mumps, chicken pox, the black death, leprosy. They were so close that people often mistook them for brothers, even though they were both clearly white.
John had written a little screenplay called "Pulp Fiction". David had already explained to him that films had no talking in them yet, it was the silent age. "Then this is for their sons" John had proclaimed, "It is for the march of the generations who pick up the flag of life as it falls from the grasp of the dying" he always had a little problem of overestimating the importance of what he did, the opposite of David who underestimated his place in the scheme of things. The two were different, but like two pieces of jigsaw puzzle that fit they matched and complimented each other well.
...a voice from the loudspeakers..."and, presenting for the third time here, the one, the only.........David Bowie!!". There was muted applause and the odd boo. David hoped it was the Meenineeniumpopo's from X0-4356 for whom booing was a form of applause.
"Good evening everyone, glad you could come along..."
"GET ON WITH IT!!" a heckler cried in the distance.
"Yes..ummm...well, tonight...if I may....I'll be reciting..."
"GET ON WITH IT!!" a few more hecklers joined the chorus
"from memory...John Lennon's Pulp Fiction...in Swahili"
People started to leave even before he began. Being the trooper he is David continued on, a tear slowly inching it's way down his cheek.
Meanwhile John, who had been using the crowd as a good form of cover was getting more and more edgy. He was now as purple as a beetroot.
David stopped mid-recital and opened his eyes to see if anyone at all was still there. There was, in the middle of a thousand deserted chairs sat a fidgety purple man. It was John.
"I've failed John, and I'll always fail" David told his old friend.
"I've failed too David, I've failed you" John answered and raised the pistol he had been hiding in his jacket. He aimed for David's head and whispered "Please forgive me"
TO BE CONTINUED...
"Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God..."