The Edge
Created | Updated Mar 27, 2003
Part Three
The Universe is a big place. I mean not semi-big or just plain large, I mean BIG. Think about it. It's everything. Everything that ever existed ever. Or is it?
Present Day (Sunday)
The Universe spun on its axis1 while the world woke up to a loved one, a hangover and the fact that they would have to go down the chemist to buy some aspirin.
Wickrain was one of those people, although unfortunately he didn’t wake up to a loved one. Not that he didn’t want to, it’s just that he was extremely unlucky with women - he had absolutely no idea why. Maybe it was his aftershave. As he got up out of bed, he glanced around his study, which was what he pathetically called his flat, to check that everything was where it was supposed to be, and that nobody had broken in during the night and stolen his collection of pickled testicles from around the world.
No they hadn’t, the dried up coffee mug and the old pizzas were still there, both with mould growing on top of them. He had no idea where they had come from, he only drank tea and he hated Italian food. It seemed to him that it was a universal rule that any bachelor living anywhere in the known universe will always have a dried up coffee mug and a mouldy pizza in their flat. He was right in fact, it was a Universal rule, discovered in 1965 by Doctor Gransfith2. And in the corner of the room, hanging from several pieces of string, were his prized testicles in glass jars.
He walked over to his wardrobe in the centre of the room, swore several times as he hit his foot on various objects on the floor that he had left there carelessly, put on his blue T-shirt and red tracksuit bottoms, then combed his ginger hair over to one side using the small hairbrush that he later found out he had used for a toothbrush the previous night and walked out of his study, refreshed after a good night’s sleep, happy in the knowledge that when he got to work no woman would spill vodka down his shirt, like that lady last night did after he asked her to do up his shoelaces.
He returned to his study ten minutes later after he realized bits of toothpaste were caught in his hair. He washed his hair in the sink, thanked God for the mirror in the hallway on the third floor and walked out of his flat for the second time in fifteen minutes.
As he closed the door and locked it so as to protect the prize testicles the camera that had been viewing these events from a bird’s eye view in Wickrain’s room closed its lens and retracted back into the ceiling.
