So today instead of #QuickFic, we are doing something much sillier – we are writing a story together!
This chap is Ricardo. He’s a blue-footed booby on a mission, to publish his life’s work, 10 Rules Of Time Travel. Only two things stand in his way – the evil Gideon Eastcastle, Ricardo’s ex-life-partner & a big-time cormorant in the publishing industry; and the fact that Gideon has no thumbs, and no ready access to dictation software.
How will it play out? You decide! Join us on Twitter and use the hashtag #Ricardo to have your say!
Ricardo: A Story In Time
‘I will have had my revenge, Gideon!’ cried Ricardo. His cry filled the shed. It rebounded off the oaken minarets he’d bought in Isfahan in 1599, and off the synthetic feather from his great-great-grandson’s wing. It pinged off his new Dualit toaster, slid behind his iPod dock, and landed in the lap of Alan Sullivan, who barked paranoidly.
George the Guillemot put out a friendly wing.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Come on. So what if Gideon Eastcastle does publish 9 Rules Of Time Travel just to corner the market in bird-written time travel guides and crush your dreams..? I’m sure you’ll outsell him!’
‘No,’ said Alan. “I had this before. I did a YouTube about living with flippers and someone ripped me off and my ad revenue totally bombed. I never recovered. It was really, really, really bad.’
‘Not helping,’ said George.
‘It was terrible,’ said Alan. ‘Really bad.’
‘Look at me,’ said Ricardo. ‘I’m just a sad sack booby in a shed full of junk.’
‘Junk? Who’s junk? I’m not junk. Are you junk? You’re junk! Shut up!’ said Alan Sullivan.
With a sigh, Ricardo pum-pum-dum-bi-dun-dummed out of Skype and closed his laptop. ‘Who’s going to take time travel tips from a bird who can’t even fly?’
‘There are,’ said George dramatically, ‘other ways of flying than through the air. You may not be able to fly, Rick, but dammit, you can travel! Through time! Think about it!’
‘But I can’t go forward,’ said Ricardo. ‘You know that. The 10th rule states very clearly that no chronoflapter should ever, on any account, go forward in time.’
Right then, there was an almighty crash, and the ornate Venetian door of the shed smacked back against the wall.
And in stepped Ricardo.
From the future.
‘Why go forward,’ he said. ‘When I can come back?’
‘Who are you?’ said George.
‘It is I,’ said now-Ricardo and futuro-Ricardo, practically at the same time.
‘Woooooooooooah,’ said Alan.
‘Pleased to make my acquaintance’, future Ricardo announced, stepping forward and extending a wing in a crude approximation of a handshake. Sort of lodged under the other wing there was a sort of box.
‘Everything you need to know is in this box. Everything you do from now on, tracked and charted.’
‘I KNEW IT!’
To be continued…