It All Went Down at the Whistling Fart ~ April Writing Madness, Day Eleven and Twelve!

 

It was now day twelve since the crepitus had appeared and shut the entire world down. Jenny still hadn’t exploded. She was grateful that it seemed as though she hadn’t caught the dastardly disease after all, but a part of her felt that it was just a matter of time.

According to news reports, scientists were stumped. Apparently all known methods of mould removal and mushroom deterrent were doing nothing to assist with their ongoing research and investigation. They could treat the fever and flu, but that did nothing to stop infectiousness or the noxiousness that was spreading throughout a person’s body. It consumed a person from the inside out, then within an hour the tell-tale green bumps would appear on the person’s skin, and burst, spreading crepitus spores out into the world.

Thankfully, the outer-body symptoms were more infective than the spores themselves. If someone got a face-full of spores, yes, they would be infected, but spores that had been lingering in the air and on the ground for some time were practically harmless, as long as they weren’t in an enclosed space. So, as long as people kept away from other people, especially when feverish and dripping from the nose, it would all be fine. Except, people were idiots, weren’t they? One only had to look out the window to see that.

Jenny stared out the window at the constant stream of people entering and exiting the bogan’s house. It was just a matter of time before the neighbours exploded. She wished the crepitus would hurry up and take them — hell, all people like them. The world would be a better place without the bogan, chav, redneck, the derelicts of society. The crepitus wasn’t very choosy, however. William Balustrade, the richest man in the world, had already been consumed by the fungus. If the ultra-rich couldn’t avoid it, the average pleb had no chance.

“…and in breaking news, energy production is at an all-time low. Utility providers in three sectors have shut down in accordance with public health and safety regulations after several crepitus incidents and others are running at a thirty-seven percent capacity. Providers are doing the best they can to keep the lights on, but consumers should be prepared for the worst.”

“I sure hope you have candles at the ready, Tracy.”

“You too, Brendan. You too.”

As those words blared from the television, Jenny gripped the window-sill so tight her knuckles turned white. Fantastic. Fan-bloody-tastic. Soon there would be no power. No hot water. It would be that horrible day all over again, but tenfold, with no food. The end was nigh.

“Hey, Jenny! Look what I made.”

Jenny groaned and prepared herself before facing Joey. He could just have easily have made a bomb, or toboggan out of his wardrobe, anything could happen with this guy. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see what he had made.

“What have you made?”

He appeared before her, proudly wearing a necklace that he rapidly pointed to. It was made of chicken feathers and had a wishbone hanging down the centre.

“I see we’re already moving toward stone age style,” she half-smiled, certain that they were moving towards a stone age life too. “I guess you finally caught a chicken then? I didn’t hear you woop about it.”

“I caught two, in fact,” Joey said, holding up two fingers. “I boiled one for its bones, and the other will be tonight’s dinneeerrrrrr!” A wide smile spread over his face as he did a little dance.

“Why would you waste a perfectly good chicken like that?”

Joey shrugged. “Fashion?” He lightly held up his feather necklace and swished the wishbone back and forth. “It’s not like the meat went to waste, it’s cooked and in the freezer.”

“Oh, well that’s alright then.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Someone’s pet is around your neck and will soon be in our tummies. Hoorah!”

Joey raised an eyebrow.

“With the amount of people exploding around town, do you really think these chickens still have an owner?”

He said it so nonchalantly. He was terrible! Jenny bit her lip and spun back around to the window, preferring to look at the blue sky, the trees swaying in the wind, and the police car creeping slowly around the corner.

Police car. Creeping slowly around the corner. Followed by two paddy wagons. Approaching the bogan’s house.

“Oh my god,” she hissed. “About bloody time!”

“What, what?” Joey was by her side in a flash. “What’s happening?”

Jenny didn’t say a word, instead she just pointed gleefully at the police cars and watched as four officers and two plain clothes detectives strode up to the bogan house, all of them wearing plastic bag protective gear, of course. An officer knocked at the door and waited. There was no response. Evidently there was a special knock the druggies were using to signify their presence and the police knock didn’t make the cut. Or they were calling beforehand and the door was only opened to people they knew were coming.

The officer nodded at the others, waited for two of them to go around the back, then kicked the door. With how decayed it was, he probably didn’t need to use that much force, but it was certainly fun to watch. Splinters flew every which way as the door swung inward and allowed them entry into the derelict house.

A woman screamed at the top of her lungs. “Cunt, quick! Move the fuckin’ money,” then a computer tower smashed through the window and landed with a thud outside. The skinny, dishevelled woman leapt out the window, picked up the tower and raced into the forest with it, followed by one of the officers who had originally moved around the back.

Yells and screams emanated from the house, a crack echoed through the air loud enough to be heard through thick wooden walls and the closed window, but soon all was silent. The skinny woman was dragged out of the forest, computer tower and all, and scowled as she was pushed towards one of the paddy wagons. The slovenly man was pushed out of the house and towards the same wagon, followed by two meth-heads who were unfortunate to be in there buying their drugs at this moment.

Then, seven children were led out of the house. Jenny’s eyes widened. Surely there had only been one child in there before, maybe two, but certainly not seven! Maybe these people were child traffickers, not just drug dealers. Christ, that was disturbing.

“Are they being arrested?” asked Joey.

“Sure looks like it. Good riddance.”

“Hmm…” Joey scratched beneath his chin, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I wonder… maybe they’ve got some interesting stuff!”

Jenny closed her eyes for a long minute, then glared at him.

“You can’t just go into someone’s house, without permission, and riffle through their things.”

“Who cares?” He shrugged. “They’ve been taken by the police. The door is wide open. They might have cool stuff!”

“Well, first off, the police are still in there — and look! That one is carrying a big brown bag. Gathering evidence. There probably won’t be anything left for you to look at.”

“Seriously, Jenny.” Joey rolled his eyes. “When they leave, obviously. Maybe they’ve got food! With that many children surely they’ve got some party pies.”

“Unless they were starving the children,” she muttered.

“Nah, a couple were pretty plump. Like fat little chickens.”

Jenny shook her head, unable to hide her smile.

“Next you’ll be crafting children traps. Making pork pies out of little Peter.” Joey nodded thoughtfully and she quickly whacked his shoulder. “No, Joey. We’re not so far gone to be considering cannibalism. It was a joke.” A sudden thought flashed across her mind and she paled. “Christ. Maybe that’s why they were keeping the children. Fattening them up. Good, God!”

“See? It’s a perfectly valid idea.”

She punched his shoulder again.

An hour passed before the police finally finished up at the house and left. They had retrieved three large bags filled with evidence and two rifles. That was a scary thought: those bogans with guns. Jenny shuddered.

“Alright, I’m off!” Joey exclaimed cheerfully and ran out the door, beckoned by whatever goodies were left behind inside a disgusting death-trap of a house.

Jenny sat by the window and waited, and waited, and waited even longer for Joey to finally realise that his quest was in vain and there was nothing of any interest over there. Surely he had seen all the garbage strewn across the place when those people had first moved in: old broken cupboards, ratty couches, a fridge that had seen better days thirty odd years ago. It was a worthless endeavour. He wasn’t going to find anything.

Returning to the couch, Jenny slumped onto the cushion and flicked through various snow-filled channels on the television. The sitcoms had gone. There were only two channels available now: kids shows and the one that had been on earlier, a channel dedicated to following the latest breaking news. The doomsday channel. Only now, the doomsday channel had live footage on display. She sat up a little straighter and stared.

In the city, thousands of people were out of their homes and parading down the streets, holding signs that screamed for freedom, for an end to oppression, for the government to take note and understand that they would no longer be held captive in their homes, starving and alone while a fake disease spread across the world.

“Idiots. All of them. Idiots,” she whispered to herself.

How could they think it was fake? People were pop-pop-pop-bang’ing all over the place! She had seen it with her own eyes. If someone exploded in that crowded, thousands more people were going to die. If someone in that crowd was sniffly and just blamed it on a cold, so many people were going to be infected. She bit her lip, tore herself away from the screen and grabbed the remote, quickly turning the power off. That was live footage. That protest was happening right now. She would not watch the beginning of the end for so many people.

“Jenny!” Joey burst through the front door, his arms wrapped around six jars of what looked like white mould. “Look what I fooouuund!” He sang.

“Congratulations, Joey. You have discovered mould.”

“This isn’t mould.” He performed a happy little jig then raced up the stairs, two at a time, hugging his find tight against his chest. “These are baby shrooms.”

Jenny’s breath caught in her throat. They were in the middle of a fungal fiasco, and he had just brought mushrooms into the house! Was he insane? That was a stupid question; of course he was insane. He always had been. She just hadn’t realised it until she had moved in with the lunatic.

“Are you crazy?” she shouted up the stairs. “The great fungus is upon us and you’re salivating over jars of baby mushrooms?”

“Shrooms, Jenny!” His happy shriek spiralled down the stairs and thwacked her in the face. “These will go wonderfully with my wine.” He jumped back down the stairs and zoomed out the door. “They’ve got food, too. Be right back.”

Before Jenny could even stop to think, to panic further over the mushrooms in the house, Joey skidded back inside with an armful of frozen bacon.

“So. Much. Bacon.” He tilted his head back and made drooling noises. “This is so great! I am so happy right now. Best. Day. Ever.”

“I’m glad you’re so happy.” Jenny winced, sending a cautious eyeball toward the stairs as though a cloud of mushroom spores could float down at any moment. “But, do you really need to keep those jars in the house?”

“Oh my God, Jenny.” Joey impatiently huffed, placing the bacon into the freezer as delicately as if the packages could shatter at any moment. “It’s not the crepitus, is it? They’re freakin’ shrooms! These babies are going to need certain growing conditions. My room is perfect.”

Jenny wrinkled her nose at the thought of Joey’s room being a perfect environment to grow mushrooms in.

“That’s pretty gross.”

“It’s perfect. And we have bacon now.”

“They didn’t have anything else?”

“Nah.” Joey slammed the lid of the freezer shut and jumped on top of it, using it as a seat. “Shrooms and bacon. What more could you want?”

“I don’t know…” Jenny flung her arms up into the air. “A stash of muffins? Coffee? Flour, sugar, milk, eggs, the necessities required for basic food creation? How could they possibly eat so much bacon without eggs? Was there anything else, at all?”

“Nah, there was none of that. Just beer. A lot of beer. Want me to catch another chicken?”

Jenny buried her face into her hands and momentarily relished the self-imposed darkness. What he had said earlier was completely true. Those chicken were likely running free because their owner had perished. There was no harm in catching them, plus, this one would be for eggs! Or maybe they could find a rooster and catch the whole flock. They could breed them, have some for eggs and some for meat. It wasn’t as though they could go to the grocery store any time soon, and even if they could, they were banned.

The grocery store… no one would be there. No one would explode on them. Blair wouldn’t be there to kick them out. There was probably so much stock inside, all of which were nearing their best-by dates, and no one could go shopping to buy it all! It was a trove of treasury goods, just waiting to be plundered.

Jenny spread her hands and stared at Joey through her fingers.

“Wanna go on an adventure?” she smiled.

“Ooh, that’s my line.” Joey grinned back at her. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We should sneak out, and go visit Uncle Blair’s.”

 

 
Helloooo! It's Day Twelve of a sudden onset of Writing Madness -- a NaNoWriMo-inspired challenge that uses the daily #freewrite prompt to help create a full story within the confines of a mere month.

 

@mariannewest's prompt for today is ~ move your money ~ and her prompt for yesterday was ~ energy production.

Yesterday was a very difficult day to get anything done due to various distractions and instances of real world infiltration. I did 800 words yesterday. As a result, I didn't really think it worthy of posting.

Today was much better! I cleaned up some of yesterday's (it was very messy), then continued onward. 😊

There are a couple of chapters I want to insert before this one. Namely, one of Joey harassing the neighbours in his usual style a few days before they get arrested. And another earlier on, a heated interaction between Jenny and the neighbours. I think I'll backtrack once the main plot has finished. It won't be long now and I need more funny-filler. So don't be surprised if the story ends, but then stuff happens from the past. 😅 Just gotta get the words out!

 

This is a very rough first draft of an upcoming book and will be tidied up and polished after this Month of Madness is finished. 😊 It might read like fast-paced-rushed-word-garbage at the moment, but it will be refined! (I over-edit like a madwoman.)

Title is a placeholder and will probably not be the final name of the book. 🤣 This story has nothing much to do with whistling but the local pub is called the Whistling Fart, things will go down there, and there will likely be a terrible amount of fart jokes. Because I'm uncultured and farts are funny. 🤷‍♀
 

Today's combined wordcount is 2,334

Total wordcount is 24,144 / 50,000

 

📝 A Quick Blurb 📚

Genre: immature adult comedy, reverse coming-of-age, apocalyptic silliness
Warning: irreverent, offensive humour

Jenny is a young lady in her mid-20's who finds herself out of work, out of home, and out of luck. An old friend from school has invited her to stay at his house until she gets back on her feet, but she just can't seem to land on them.

Every job opportunity she finds goes spectacularly wrong. The Great Fungus is spreading across the world and consuming all in its path. Then, to top it off, a solar flare renders electricity a thing of the past.

Faced with the end of the world as she knows it, Jenny has a choice. Will she embrace this apocalyptic madness... or will she, too, be consumed by the fungus?
 

 

Thank you for reading! 📚😊

See you tomorrow for Day Thirteen! 📝🤓

 

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_{Header image is courtesy of Pixabay, and was manipulated using the Deep Dream Generator.}