Free Forever After (a dark and funny fantasy novel) by David Jester Page B

him.
                  He sighed heavily and stood up to leave, cutting through the centre of the park, keen to avoid the outskirts where Martin Atkinson’s body was probably moments away from being discovered.
                  He shot a glance at the bullies and their victim as he moved to within ten feet of them. None of them paid any attention to him. Dean was still calling the shots as he stood over his anguished victim.
                  “Now, let’s jump on top of him!”
                  “Wait, why?”
                  “We’ll wrestle him! Come on, that’ll show him!”
                  Michael barely suppressed a smile as he moved past with quickening steps.
                  “ Dude , that’s not wrestling.”
                 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
    6
     
                 
                  Daytime television, where the banal, the pointless and the idiotic combine to create a torrid and unmemorable concoction of watered down humanity that isn’t fit to show to those who choose their TV time.
                  Angela Washington loved it. She loved the mindlessness of it all. The topics unfit for human consumption that became fantastical during the day when all the kids were at school and she could stand and do the ironing whilst looking down, in her own modest and introverted way, on those worse-off and less intelligent than her. It made her smile, even when she had nothing to do but housework, and that was the most important thing.
                  When the doorbell sounded she was still smiling. She put down the iron, still fizzing a vapored dragon breath into the already humid living room; untied her apron, tainted with trails of flour and eggs from cakes currently rising in the oven; checked her appearance in the mirror above the fireplace, flicking a saturated stray hair from her forehead; and went to answer the door, humming happily to herself.
                  She wasn’t expecting anyone but had a few friends and neighbours that liked to drop by unannounced.
                  Through the peephole she could see two figures standing at the door, their height and size seemingly uniformed. She sighed, anticipating salesmen or Jehovah's witnesses. She opened the door regardless, deciding it was too late to rudely turn her back, having exposed her silhouette through the smeared glass in the door panel.
                  The men at the door were wearing black suits, black ties, black shirts and black tinted sunglasses. Their arms were folded behind their backs in a formal manner.
                  “May I help you, gentlemen?” She couldn’t see any briefcases, bags or leaflets, but also couldn’t see their hands. Nor could she gather their intentions from their blank stares.
                  “Angela Washington?” One asked.
                  “Yes,” Angela answered politely.
                  The two men exchanged a blank stare and then looked back at Angela -- her left hand still lightly grasped the door frame, her right toyed with the back of her tight ponytail.
                  “May we come inside?” Two wondered.
                  Angela swapped a stare between the two men. “Why?” she inquired with a hint of curiosity.
                  “We have a few things we need to discuss,” he replied.
                  Angela ducked her head in between them and threw a gentle wave to her neighbour across the street, passing by with his small Jack Russell tugging mentally on the lead two feet in front of him. He threw a wave back and hollered a friendly greeting.
                  The two men watched the neighbour closely, only turning back to Angela when he had escorted the dog down the driveway and was trying to usher him