AA: Episode Six - Finale

By Martin Smith
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‘When I arrived back home at Woodland, I immediately contacted Doc Dumptee’s office. I told the receptionist I needed to make an urgent appointment as I was in a bad way. She told me that there had been a late cancellation for the next day and could schedule me in if I was happy to come to the Doc’s consultancy rooms up at the palace.

‘I arrived to bedlam in the Doc’s rooms. The waiting room was full of shouting knights and snorting horses, all rushing about in different directions, pushing and shoving and tripping over each other. In the middle of the mayhem lay the Doc, shattered into a dozen pieces and oozing yellow yolk. A knight stopped and stood over the Doc and said, “Oh God! What a mess! I warned him about sitting on that wall. I said he’d have a great fall. But do you think he’d listen to me? It’s a tragedy. What a loss! To the palace. To all the king’s horses. And to all the king’s men. But what to do? Does anyone here know how to put the pieces together again?” All the king’s men scratched their heads and avoided eye contact with each other, and all the king’s horses flicked their manes and swished their tails.

‘I rushed to the Doc’s side and said to the king’s man who’d spoken, “Quick! Call his receptionist. She knows what to do.” The king’s man called out, and the Doc’s receptionist burst into the room, carrying a frying pan. She raised the pan to an intimidating height above her head and shouted, “Out! All of you!” The waiting room cleared quick smart, accompanied by mumbled apologies and neighing and sword clinking and hoof clopping. The king’s standard-bearer muttered about it being the third time he’d had to reschedule his appointment, and if the Doc didn’t get a safety net, he’d take his money and his screwed-up life elsewhere. The receptionist gave him a death stare, and he retreated with his flagpole between his legs.

‘Once the Doc had been pieced back together again, I rebooked my appointment and left. I soon became lost in the palace and passed many stairs, doors and signs pointing everywhere but the exit. I ended up climbing a narrow set of steps and walking along a dark corridor, guided by a golden light emitted from an open doorway at the end. As I approached the doorway, the murmurings of a woman’s voice came from within the room.

‘The voice said, “You must make haste, Koboldsohn, else he will be displeased.”

‘That voice? I thought. It sounded familiar.

‘Another voice, younger and sweeter, said, “Oh, how my hands sting.”

‘And the older voice said, “You’ve almost finished, my little one, but, please, make haste. He wants it completed by sunset. All of it. Else he shall disown us.”

‘No, it couldn’t be? I thought.

‘The younger voice said, “Oh, how my back aches.”

‘And the older voice said, “I promise this will be the last time. Then we shall have peace and happiness.”

‘Surely not? I thought.

‘The younger voice said, “Oh, how my heart yearns for my father’s love.”

‘The older voice said, “And so he will, my little one, once he sees what we have done.”

‘When I reached the doorway, I peeked in and, lo and behold, it was her. The queen. Sitting on a stool. And before her, on a smaller stool, hunched an infant spinning straw through a great wheel.

‘In an instant, the sight of the queen laid to waste all my hard work in reinventing myself. Neither therapy nor a name change nor a career change nor retraining could suppress the anger I felt towards her as she sat before me. I was having none of this. Here, hunched before me, was another poor soul, just an infant, slaving away doing her dirty work.

‘I rushed forward and took the child in my arms.

‘Startled, the queen said, “You! What waa you doing in the palace?”

‘I said, “Saving this child. I’ll not see you destroy another life with your wanton laziness and lack of skill.”

‘The queen stood and grasped the child’s legs and said, “But he must stay and finish what we have begun.”

‘Sneering at the queen, I said, “Finish your own dirty work, sweetheart. This poor child shall not spin another stalk of straw into gold for you or anyone else.” And I firmed my grip on the child and pulled.

‘The queen pulled and said, “But he must.”

‘I pulled harder and said, “No, he shall not. I’m taking him with me.”

‘And the queen pulled harder and said, “I will not let you take him. He is a queen’s son.”

‘I said, “Your son?” I glanced at the child in my arms. I firmed my resolve and said, “That’s even worse. No parent would treat their child so disdainfully.” And I tightened my grip and took a step back as the queen’s grasp weakened.

‘Tears flowed down the queen’s flushed cheeks as her bottom lip trembled. Here we go again, I thought, the old girl up to her tricks, playing the good old emotional blackmail card. She released a sob and said, “Let go or you will huwt him. If only you knew, you would desist.”

‘I said, “Knew what?”

‘And she said, “That he … he … he is ouw son!”

‘I said, “My son?” And then it twigged. For three nights I’d toiled for her gain. For three nights I’d spun gold until no straw remained. And for three nights I’d collapsed and laid my exhausted, hand-sore self upon the cobbled dungeon floor and slept. And it was then, as I slumbered, that she, the queen-to-be, had jumped me and had her carnal way with me. And now, in my arms, I held the fruit of her lust that I had seeded.

‘My anger strengthened my resolve, and I pulled harder. And the queen pulled harder. A prolonged tear came from what I thought was my zip, but a child’s scream filled the room, and I looked down and saw my boy ripping in half.

‘But still I pulled. Let him tear in half, I thought. Let me take a half-son back to Woodland. And let his half-brother rot under the pampered care of the palace. Yes, better a half-son than no son at all. And the boy’s tear grew in size, and his screams grew louder.

‘Then the queen played her trump card. She said, “Oh, by the gwace of God, welease him. Please! Don’t you see? If you take him, you’ll doom his destiny. Stay and he will inhewit a kingdom, but take him, even a half-him, and you’ll condemn him to life as an antagonist.”

‘I looked into the queen’s face and saw her fear. I looked into my son’s face and saw his fear, and that’s when I did it. I let go. I just couldn’t do it. Not to my flesh and blood. How could I wish anyone, let alone my child, my boy, the agony of a life as an antagonist? The boy slipped from my grasp, and the queen and our child fell backwards and landed on a mound of straw, and I staggered backwards until, with one last look at my son, I fell from an open window into the moat below. All the king’s men surrounded me, and astride all the king’s horses, they escorted me from the kingdom.

‘Now I’m a recluse in exile, although I do sneak into the realm for my weekly session with Doc Dumptee. It was his idea I attend these AA meetings. And that’s my story.’

‘Thanks for sharing, Andy. I would like to think that by sharing your story, today, you’ve made a massive leap towards becoming a protagonist. Right. Is there anyone else who would like to share?’

‘H … H … Hello. My name is Big Bad Wolfe—’

‘No surnames, Big.’

‘Sorry. My name is BB, and I’m an antagonist.’

‘Hi, BB.’

A new serial will premiere here next Sunday!