The Accident: Part Six. Mme. Guillotine.

by | Jul 14, 2023 | Uncategorized | 0 comments

“Good news, young fella, you’re alive. A bit of a mess but you’ll pull through, thanks to the wonders of medical science.” He raised his eyes at the last comment. “So now we can get on with the process. May I have the details please?

My body froze at the news and his request for the information. I began to have doubts. However, I cast my mind back to our time in Melrose, when she danced alongside the pipers and Freemasons. The pain returned, despite the fact I was immune to the impact of the Corsa in this state. I pulled out one more memory, just for old times sake, and to confirm my decision.


I was lying on the bed on the sixth floor of the Amman Kempinski Hotel. My anticipation was feverish, as I was to meet her and her sister in reception, our finally moment, she called it.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door I wasn’t expecting anyone, so ignored it. Seconds later my phone sounded and a WhatsApp message appeared. I’m here, open the door.

I jumped off the bed and opened the door. The rest is history. The pain intensified just as Himself spoke up again.

“Come on lad. I haven’t got forever I have an appointment with an Indian train driver and two dozen of his passengers. He fell asleep at the controls, the dead man didn’t work, and he ran a red signal,” he groaned, bouncing on the POANG like a kid at a party.

“Sorry, yes. Train driver?” I was still distracted by the pain.

“Yes, Hindu he’s going to be gutted that when he finds out there’s no reincarnation.” An ironic smile cracked his pink features.

“Fourteenth of July 1789 please,” I said as if ordering an ice cream cone.

“You’re taking the mickey. Who do you think you are? Robespierre?” His smile broke into a laugh. ” Do you know? He was the only human who truly got me? For three months, before he met Madame Guillotine, France actually got it almost right. The Cult of the Supreme Being was as close as anyone has got to getting it right.”

“No, erm sorry. It’s one of those dates that you remember from school. I stuck the year on by mistake, it should be 2020.” A feeling of relief flooded through me as the dull ache subsided.

“So, that’s almost three years to the day? What about time?” He snapped, checking his ancient handset.

“Around eleven a.m.” I replied.

“In that case, off you go and enjoy the rest of your life. You only get one.” With that, he did one more human cannonball act and skipped out of the door.

The dim strip light grew brighter and, when it was almost blinding, it exploded leaving darkness. A few seconds later, I was sitting in a Peugeot van overlooking the Coquet Valley above the beautiful town of Rothbury.

I had my phone in my hand and it displayed her avatar, hiding behind a red, white, green and black flag. No messages were visible. Immediately, I left the page and selected Facebook. I located the same avatar and pressed unfriend.

Suddenly the darkness returned and I found myself lying in a hospital bed. Tubes and wires were everywhere and machines beeped and chiroped like a digital dawn chorus. I felt a different kind of pain, as if a very large man was standing on my stomach.

Through the agony, I had a strange feeling, like the one when you go upstairs or in the garage and forget why you’re there. I dismissed it and thought about my beautiful Princess. She must have been worried sick.

“Ah, you’re awake, Bro.” A familiar voice shattered my thoughts.


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