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Wizards’ World War (s.2) Dispatch 15: Down Time


Tweet of the Day: Strings of Retaliation- 5a- Office

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Season 1 Dispatch (s.2) 1Dispatch 14Dispatch 16

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Housing Estate, Harlow, Essex, UK, 28 July, 09:32 hrs GMT

I felt too tired to sleep or do anything else but wonder around the tiny flat in a daze. It was a hole in a wall in an estate where everybody knew everything but said nothing. And the hole was crowded. Owen snored loudly in the couch, a bit of drool ran down his cheek. Every inch of the place was covered with small picture frames, quilts and potted plants. It looked more like the home of a lonely grandmother than newlyweds off caravanning in the Midlands.

A kick of adrenaline woke me as I heard a knock on the door.

“Could someone open the bloody door, I have my hands full here,” said Martin from the other side.

I opened the door, and there stood Martin with a large plastic tray of bacon sandwiches and three cups of coffee. My stomach growled loud enough for the kids playing footie on the street to hear. I liberated the tray, sat down at the round plastic dinner table and swallowed half of it before Martin could even say a hello.

“Hungry aren’t we?” he said with a deep bass chuckle.

“Yeeam,” I managed to say between hot mouthfuls. I poured lukewarm coffee down my throat. “Good stuff.”

“For the hungry, rocks will do,” he said. He dropped a collection of newspapers on the table; the Mail, the Times and the Sun. The Sun’s banner headline caught my eye.

MODERN JOAN OF ARC SLAYS THE DRAGON

Below was a top down grainy picture, taken from a surveillance drone, of me on the back of a dragon. Zombie Owen mumbled his way from the couch to the little table, stuffed a sandwich in his mouth and grabbed the paper.

“What’s this?” Owen grabbed the paper from my hand, “Angel of St.Paul raises city’s spirit? And ‘He had the sweetest, kindest eyes you’ll ever did see’. Isn’t that nice,” said Owen with a deep dimpled grin.

Martin scratched his beard, “Seems like you two are celebrities now; the sword maiden and the song bird.”

‘Funny,” I said.

Martin rested his chin on his hands, “And useful.”

Owen and I looked at each other, “Useful how?” I asked.

“We need allies, Gwen. Even with that sword of yours we can’t take on the Prince and his minions by ourselves. He is shredding the veil between worlds to bits and sooner of later nastier things that dragons will come through.”

Owen eyes grew wide, “Nastier things that giant, flying fire breathing lizards? Really?”

“Yes, really,” said Martin. “Mankind has forgotten what it is to be just another pray animal. If the barriers fall, the whole world will be plunged into darkness.”

“Don’t forget fire and brimstone while you’re at it,” said Owen. He injected a tinge of confidence in his words, his way of lightening the mood.

“Stop it!” I said.

“But,” said Owen.

“No buts about it. And Martin is right,” I looked at the bedroom. Excalibur rested beside the bed. “We can’t do this alone.”

“So what do we do?” asked Owen. This time the tinge of confidence turned into the sour undercurrent of  despair. It receded after I stared at him.

Martin stabbed the Times front page with an index finger. It  showed an ashen faced Prime Minister touring the devastation.

“What about him?” I asked.

“Throw a lifeline to the drowning man” said Martin.

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