Senshi1
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Hello. Sometimes I get an urge to write, and this is the result. Comments are welcome, so without further ado, here is a story I like to call:
“I say,” announced the Queen, “the prices of public car parks these days are simply absurd!” The Queen paid reluctantly for a 10 hour parking ticket and stuck it to the windscreen of her silver Ford. With a tut, she retrieved her briefcase from the back seat, locked the door, and strode across the car park towards the bank, smoothing the creases out of her shining dress with one hand.
The Queen had taken a job in her local bank after realising that, as rich as she was, if she were to take a job like this, she would be slightly richer. So she had applied for a summer job at the Royal Bank and had been accepted.
“Good morning, Miss. Anderson” said the Queen pleasantly to the receptionist as she signed her name in the tracking book.
“It is indeed, Ma’am” replied Miss. Anderson. “I’m afraid Toby has gone sick today, Ma’am, so would you mind dealing with the accounts as well, please?”
“One is scarcely thrilled at the prospect, but one will do one’s part.” said the Queen. “What ever is the matter with the silly little man?”
“He dropped a large box of assorted cakes on his foot and broke his toe,” came the reply. The Queen tittered and walked through into the office area.
“Good morning, everybody” she said, as she sat down at her desk and took a long gulp from the mug of hot coffee that was waiting for her.
“Good morning, Your Majesty” replied the team. The Queen yawned, straightened her magnificent crown and logged on to her computer.
For the next two hours or so, the Queen answered various phone calls, put enquiring minds at rest, and ensured anxious customers that the money was just resting in their account. At about 11:40, the Queen looked at her watch and smiled to herself. ‘Only twenty minutes until one can leave for lunch!’ she thought, happily, and smiled at the prospect of her thick tuna sandwiches that waited patiently in her briefcase for consumption.
“Ring ring, Ma’am,” said the dull grey phone that sat on the Queen’s desk. The Queen picked up the phone with a sigh.
“Hello, Royal Bank, the Queen speaking,” she said in her well-rehearsed telephone voice.
“Good morning, this is Christopher Fox of Running Inc. I’m calling about an anomaly I noticed in my account…”
“Certainly, could I have your account number, please?” asked the Queen, pleasantly. Running Inc, a multinational company which owned airlines, soft drinks and even record labels, was one of the Bank’s primary investors, second only to “Extremely Ltd,” the computer manufacturer.
“Well you see,” Christopher continued, “we recently withdrew £1.2 million from our account in order to refurbish and replace some of our Boeings. Now, when we were going through our accounts this month, we noticed that you had somehow managed to withdraw £1.2 billion.”
The Queen gulped and tapped away at her keyboard. “Okay Mr. Fox, could one have your account number please?”
“Certainly. It’s double-one, seven, one, four.”
“Double-one… seven… one… four…” the Queen muttered as she typed in the number. “One moment please, Mr. Fox.” The Queen pressed “enter” and waited. After a couple of seconds, the screen showed the details of Running Inc. and surely enough listed Christopher Fox as its head accountant.
“Please bear with me, Mr. Fox” said the Queen apologetically, as she brought up the list of recent withdrawals for Running Inc. “Mightn’t one ask when this withdrawal was made, please?”
“Yes, it was made on the seventh of February of this year.”
The Queen thanked him quietly and, once again, tapped away at her keyboard. Unfortunately, at that moment, a faulty electricity socket on the other side of the office crackled and let off a small shower of sparks, setting fire to the carpet. The fire quickly spread, as the alarms began to sound and the sprinklers were activated.
“Goodness gracious!” remarked the Queen, standing up and dropping the telephone. Within seconds, the fire had spread at an alarming rate and completely blocked off the only exit to the office. There was a deafening explosion as the emergency gas canister, which was nearby, was engulfed by flames and consequently exploded. The Queen was thrown backwards hard against the desk behind her, where Mr. Thornton, her supervisor, was busy grabbing armfuls of important papers to shove into his briefcase.
The Queen lay on her back groaning with pain and clutching her head – she felt the warm blood trickle down the back of her neck and into her expensive lilac-coloured dress. ‘Good heavens above…’ she thought. ‘I must get out of this office!’ Suddenly overcome with the burning desire to escape, the Queen leapt to her feet and crouched behind her desk. Peeking out from behind her shelter, she saw the other office workers huddled in a corner, eyeing the flames with terror.
“Come on! Follow me!” the Queen shouted. “That’s an order!!” she added, noting the reluctant looks on their faces. The Queen stood on top of her desk – at this point, the entire floor ahead of her was burning – and bent her legs in an ironic curtsey as she prepared to take this biggest jump of her life. With a grunt, she leaped across and landed on all fours on the next desk. ‘Only one more to go and I’m at the door!’ she thought. After checking to see that the others were following suit (they were), the Queen took her second leap and landed, albeit unsteadily, on the final desk.
“There!” the Queen shouted, grabbing the office’s only fire extinguisher from the wall. The flames closed in around her as she cut a foamy path to the exit. Ramming the door open with her shoulder, the Queen and her colleagues ran out into the corridor, where they were greeted with an endless inferno of burning chairs and a thick cloud of smoke, hanging from the ceiling.
“Go, go, go!!” shouted the Queen, helping her co-workers through the door and down towards the lobby. Satisfied that nobody remained, the Queen ran full pelt down the burning corridor.
‘One is going to make it!’ she thought happily, and she couldn’t help breaking into a grin as she ran with her arms outstretched. This optimism was short-lived, however, as the Queen noted a distinct change in the texture of the floor. Whereas at the beginning of the corridor it had been firm and businesslike, now it felt mushy and unstable. A cracking sound behind her confirmed her worst fears – the floor was collapsing underneath her feet!
The Queen closed her eyes and ran until her heart nearly punched through her chest, but it was no good. Her co-workers were too far ahead to hear her calls for help as she lost her footing and felt herself plunging into the unholy flames below. ‘Who will feed my corgis?’ she thought sadly as the floor swallowed her up.
The next thing the Queen felt was a sharp pain in her arm, and a numb sensation in her legs. The Queen kept her eyes closed tightly and prayed that what came next would be as quick and painless as possible. A voice cut through the roaring of the flames, calling her. ‘Mummy?’ thought the Queen, ‘you’ve come to collect me, haven’t you?’
Your Majesty!
‘That’s odd’ thought the Queen, ‘Mummy never calls me that.’ The voice grew clearer.
“Your Majesty!!”
The Queen opened her eyes and looked up; grasping her by the wrist was Miss. Anderson, the receptionist. The Queen grinned wider than she had ever grinned before and instantly started thanking her rescuer.
“Quick, Ma’am, pull yourself up!” shouted Miss. Anderson. With some help, the Queen was pulled out of her fiery prison and back onto reasonably solid ground. Holding Miss. Anderson’s hand in a death-grip, the Queen ran for her life and didn’t stop until the two of them stumbled into the dazzling daylight, surrounded by red fire-engines and concerned bystanders. The roaring of the flames was replaced with wailing sirens, and the Queen coughed as she was led to a waiting ambulance.
That evening, sitting opposite Miss. Anderson in a local café, the Queen discussed her plans for the future.
“Are you going to keep working at the bank?” asked Miss. Anderson.
“No, I’m not,” replied the Queen. “I’ve been thinking; I’m the Queen of England. I’m one of the richest people in the world. In this job I make about £200 a week. Why on earth do I waste my time? This is by far the silliest idea one has ever had. What a dreadful waste of time.”
The next day, the Queen set out on a world cruise, and smiled, vowing to herself never to set foot inside a bank ever again.
Speed Queen Metal
By Senshi Q. Malone
“I say,” announced the Queen, “the prices of public car parks these days are simply absurd!” The Queen paid reluctantly for a 10 hour parking ticket and stuck it to the windscreen of her silver Ford. With a tut, she retrieved her briefcase from the back seat, locked the door, and strode across the car park towards the bank, smoothing the creases out of her shining dress with one hand.
The Queen had taken a job in her local bank after realising that, as rich as she was, if she were to take a job like this, she would be slightly richer. So she had applied for a summer job at the Royal Bank and had been accepted.
“Good morning, Miss. Anderson” said the Queen pleasantly to the receptionist as she signed her name in the tracking book.
“It is indeed, Ma’am” replied Miss. Anderson. “I’m afraid Toby has gone sick today, Ma’am, so would you mind dealing with the accounts as well, please?”
“One is scarcely thrilled at the prospect, but one will do one’s part.” said the Queen. “What ever is the matter with the silly little man?”
“He dropped a large box of assorted cakes on his foot and broke his toe,” came the reply. The Queen tittered and walked through into the office area.
“Good morning, everybody” she said, as she sat down at her desk and took a long gulp from the mug of hot coffee that was waiting for her.
“Good morning, Your Majesty” replied the team. The Queen yawned, straightened her magnificent crown and logged on to her computer.
For the next two hours or so, the Queen answered various phone calls, put enquiring minds at rest, and ensured anxious customers that the money was just resting in their account. At about 11:40, the Queen looked at her watch and smiled to herself. ‘Only twenty minutes until one can leave for lunch!’ she thought, happily, and smiled at the prospect of her thick tuna sandwiches that waited patiently in her briefcase for consumption.
“Ring ring, Ma’am,” said the dull grey phone that sat on the Queen’s desk. The Queen picked up the phone with a sigh.
“Hello, Royal Bank, the Queen speaking,” she said in her well-rehearsed telephone voice.
“Good morning, this is Christopher Fox of Running Inc. I’m calling about an anomaly I noticed in my account…”
“Certainly, could I have your account number, please?” asked the Queen, pleasantly. Running Inc, a multinational company which owned airlines, soft drinks and even record labels, was one of the Bank’s primary investors, second only to “Extremely Ltd,” the computer manufacturer.
“Well you see,” Christopher continued, “we recently withdrew £1.2 million from our account in order to refurbish and replace some of our Boeings. Now, when we were going through our accounts this month, we noticed that you had somehow managed to withdraw £1.2 billion.”
The Queen gulped and tapped away at her keyboard. “Okay Mr. Fox, could one have your account number please?”
“Certainly. It’s double-one, seven, one, four.”
“Double-one… seven… one… four…” the Queen muttered as she typed in the number. “One moment please, Mr. Fox.” The Queen pressed “enter” and waited. After a couple of seconds, the screen showed the details of Running Inc. and surely enough listed Christopher Fox as its head accountant.
“Please bear with me, Mr. Fox” said the Queen apologetically, as she brought up the list of recent withdrawals for Running Inc. “Mightn’t one ask when this withdrawal was made, please?”
“Yes, it was made on the seventh of February of this year.”
The Queen thanked him quietly and, once again, tapped away at her keyboard. Unfortunately, at that moment, a faulty electricity socket on the other side of the office crackled and let off a small shower of sparks, setting fire to the carpet. The fire quickly spread, as the alarms began to sound and the sprinklers were activated.
“Goodness gracious!” remarked the Queen, standing up and dropping the telephone. Within seconds, the fire had spread at an alarming rate and completely blocked off the only exit to the office. There was a deafening explosion as the emergency gas canister, which was nearby, was engulfed by flames and consequently exploded. The Queen was thrown backwards hard against the desk behind her, where Mr. Thornton, her supervisor, was busy grabbing armfuls of important papers to shove into his briefcase.
The Queen lay on her back groaning with pain and clutching her head – she felt the warm blood trickle down the back of her neck and into her expensive lilac-coloured dress. ‘Good heavens above…’ she thought. ‘I must get out of this office!’ Suddenly overcome with the burning desire to escape, the Queen leapt to her feet and crouched behind her desk. Peeking out from behind her shelter, she saw the other office workers huddled in a corner, eyeing the flames with terror.
“Come on! Follow me!” the Queen shouted. “That’s an order!!” she added, noting the reluctant looks on their faces. The Queen stood on top of her desk – at this point, the entire floor ahead of her was burning – and bent her legs in an ironic curtsey as she prepared to take this biggest jump of her life. With a grunt, she leaped across and landed on all fours on the next desk. ‘Only one more to go and I’m at the door!’ she thought. After checking to see that the others were following suit (they were), the Queen took her second leap and landed, albeit unsteadily, on the final desk.
“There!” the Queen shouted, grabbing the office’s only fire extinguisher from the wall. The flames closed in around her as she cut a foamy path to the exit. Ramming the door open with her shoulder, the Queen and her colleagues ran out into the corridor, where they were greeted with an endless inferno of burning chairs and a thick cloud of smoke, hanging from the ceiling.
“Go, go, go!!” shouted the Queen, helping her co-workers through the door and down towards the lobby. Satisfied that nobody remained, the Queen ran full pelt down the burning corridor.
‘One is going to make it!’ she thought happily, and she couldn’t help breaking into a grin as she ran with her arms outstretched. This optimism was short-lived, however, as the Queen noted a distinct change in the texture of the floor. Whereas at the beginning of the corridor it had been firm and businesslike, now it felt mushy and unstable. A cracking sound behind her confirmed her worst fears – the floor was collapsing underneath her feet!
The Queen closed her eyes and ran until her heart nearly punched through her chest, but it was no good. Her co-workers were too far ahead to hear her calls for help as she lost her footing and felt herself plunging into the unholy flames below. ‘Who will feed my corgis?’ she thought sadly as the floor swallowed her up.
The next thing the Queen felt was a sharp pain in her arm, and a numb sensation in her legs. The Queen kept her eyes closed tightly and prayed that what came next would be as quick and painless as possible. A voice cut through the roaring of the flames, calling her. ‘Mummy?’ thought the Queen, ‘you’ve come to collect me, haven’t you?’
Your Majesty!
‘That’s odd’ thought the Queen, ‘Mummy never calls me that.’ The voice grew clearer.
“Your Majesty!!”
The Queen opened her eyes and looked up; grasping her by the wrist was Miss. Anderson, the receptionist. The Queen grinned wider than she had ever grinned before and instantly started thanking her rescuer.
“Quick, Ma’am, pull yourself up!” shouted Miss. Anderson. With some help, the Queen was pulled out of her fiery prison and back onto reasonably solid ground. Holding Miss. Anderson’s hand in a death-grip, the Queen ran for her life and didn’t stop until the two of them stumbled into the dazzling daylight, surrounded by red fire-engines and concerned bystanders. The roaring of the flames was replaced with wailing sirens, and the Queen coughed as she was led to a waiting ambulance.
That evening, sitting opposite Miss. Anderson in a local café, the Queen discussed her plans for the future.
“Are you going to keep working at the bank?” asked Miss. Anderson.
“No, I’m not,” replied the Queen. “I’ve been thinking; I’m the Queen of England. I’m one of the richest people in the world. In this job I make about £200 a week. Why on earth do I waste my time? This is by far the silliest idea one has ever had. What a dreadful waste of time.”
The next day, the Queen set out on a world cruise, and smiled, vowing to herself never to set foot inside a bank ever again.
