Chapter 1

It was just another typical day at the office for Mark. He'd got in, made coffee and meaningless small talk with his colleagues, and settled down to a hard days paper pushing. It wasn't until 17 minutes had passed before he noticed that something was different in the office. The first thing he noticed was the smell.

The smell was instantly recognisable to Mark, it was that of a rat. not a physical rat, but a metaphorical rat. he metaphorically could smell a rat. Meaning that something was up, however that something was not a rodent infestation, it was a metaphorical rodent infestation. He decided to finish his now room temperature coffee and investigate. He knew that he would have to be subtle, and yet he knew that subtlety wasn't his forte. How could he find out what was going on, without anyone suspecting a rat (a different rat)? This rat wasn't metaphorical, it was as real as the sky is blue, (except for today because the sky was particularly stormy for dramatic effect) Anyway, Mark was actually part rat, so by suspecting a rat, they are suspecting him. literally. So Mark proceeded bravely to the staff restroom, where he rested his staff against the wall. He was acutely aware that, although he could smell a metaphorical rat, he had no idea what metaphor it was representing. That was his first course of action, to find out why this (metaphorical) rat was so pungent.

There was only one person (besides himself) in the office Mark could turn to, one person with whom he would entrust his life. This person was an admin monkey, by the name of Mr Biggles, who was quite literally a monkey. The Nameless Corporation (or TNC Ltd), where Mark was employed, had been keen to try a trainee scheme, in association with the local circus, and Mr Biggles was a product of that academy.

Mark had a thought; I believe my wife may be adulterous. He didn't give it second thought, and instead gave mr biggles a banana. After enjoying the symbolic fruit, although wishing it was an actual phallis, Derek (Mr Biggles if you know him casually) proceeded to do some filing. His nails were disgustingly long after all. Mark endeavoured to discover the issue at hand.

"Mr Biggles," Started Mark, "You're the only one in this godforsaken building I can trust, so tell me; what's going down?"

Mr Biggles, took a 'magic talking pill' in his hand and proceeded to swallow it (*FOOTNOTE* I mean obviously he put it in his mouth and then swallowed it, but I'm assuming that if you're intelligent enough to read, you'd be intelligent enough to understand that most (if not all) primates swallow using their mouth and throat, not their hands *END FOOTNOTE*). As the name suggests, the magic talking pill was a pill that could talk, by magic, and whenever Mr Biggles swallowed one, this magic power passed in to him, and he could spew forth intelligable sentence forms.

Mr Biggles choked on the pill and died. Mark cared for all of a second. He then handed the pills in to PC Greigshart who charged them with murder, they pleaded guilty, and were thus forth on death row, awaiting being placed in a glass of water, or an anus. they were not alka saltzer, nor suppositries, so this wouldnt be pleasant. This happened after the main events of the story, the events that haven't been written yet.

But, getting back to the main events of the story... As Mr Biggles choked, Mark was getting desperate. He was desperate to find out what was going down. By that he didn't mean the lift, or stairs or anything of the like, for they went both up and down, whereas Mark was much more interested in what was going down, and only down. And by down he meant "on". To put it another way, Mark was desperate to find out what was happening.

"Please Mr Biggles, before you die of chokery, tell me what you know!" he cried. But poor Mr Biggles could not speak, for the magic talking pill had got itself lodged in his throat, rendering him speechless. Reflecting on the irony, Mr Biggles waved his primate hands in such a way as to signal a filing cabinet. It was one Mark had never seen before, and had "DO NOT LOOK IN HERE!" written on it.

Firstly, Mark, pushed over the filing cabinet, in order to crush Mr Biggles. He then jumped on the cabinet just to make sure, before lifting it back up. He then re-read the sign, it said the same thing. But he still opened it. Inside there were three shiny blocks. Seemingly gold, silver and bronze. But it was in fact fool's gold, idiot's silver and twat's bronze. His first thought was, why are Fool, Idiot and Twat filing away their gold, silver and bronze? But then he remembered how messy their desks were, they wouldn't have filed them.

He tried the next drawer, expecting the unexpected. Strangely, inside the drawer was exactly what he had expected, which surprised him, since he was expecting to see something he wasn't expecting.

Slightly taken aback by this turn of events, it took him a while to come to terms with what he had seen. It was so expected that it took several seconds before Mark could process what he had seen. With those seconds now over, Mark could quite clearly see a system of filing so organised, and so meticulous that could only have been the work of one person, someone Mark hadn't seen for several years... his nemesis Tim Knott.

Tim was more organised than a WHSmith filofax, in fact, his nickname was, 'Filo'. I say nickname, the only person that called him that was himself, he always spoke in 3rd person. he was irritating, like sodium hydroxide. He had dissapeared due to an overreaction during a dispute with a very oily man, well it was an oil painted portrait. the man may or may not have been oily in real life. its difficult to say. It is worth noting that he didn't Nickname himself "Filo" because of his organisational skill. Instead it was because he had very thin skin, very much like Filo pastry. Sometimes he made Samosas out of himself, but not often, since he couldn't cook very well.

"So..." thought Mark, "The Knott returns! I wonder what he has come back for."

He knew that Tim would not have left any unfinished business, so there must be something new afoot (although not a new foot).

Mark knew about knotts. He was a keen scout. He could do all the knotts, but he never did mrs knott. Mark knew he would need to call upon his scouting skills in order to logically and rationally deduce what storm was brewing. He was no richard anguin, (only relevant if you are able to access BBC WEST) however, he was a cub scout, once labelled the golden compass, thought to be the inspiration for the popular novel, "The Da Vinci Code", by Dan Brown.

Knotts aside, Mark could still only wonder at what had brought his sworn enemy back to the office, after so long away. He needed to devise a way of finding Knott, without him knowing, but how...? He could leave a pile of individual, un paired socks and wait for Tim to come and pair them up, possibley even iron them, first. a good trap, However, Mark was wearing flippers today, as was his entire office, so there were no socks. Instead he shouted tim's name, and asked him to reveal himself. Tim did, he flashed his cock and ran away.

Mark abandoned his flippers and chased after his enemy. He knew he couldn't run properly in flippers. Chasing after Tim was no use though, for the Knott had already meticulously planned his escape route, so that Mark's extra speed counted for nothing. Still Mark tried, he ran out of the office, past the big blue door, and down the emergency escape route stairs. He saw the emergency exit still closed, and knew that Tim would never use an emergency exit at a time like this, he would use the front door. At this point, it occured to Mark, if he was ever to understand what was going on, he would have to train himself to think like Knott. He must rid himself of all disorganisation and learn to plan, and to plan well.

he planned to plan. this was a good start. and enough progress for one day. so he stopped planning all together, which in itself was a plan, but even so, he planned it to be his last plan. So he just ran as fast as his 4 legs would carry him. (yes he has 4 legs, why though, will always be a mystery to you) As he ran, the authors decided that now would be a good time to pick up another plotline, which later on in the story would collide with this current plotline, and make you, (that is the reader) go "ooooh right! so that's what that was all about"

In the oxfam shop Margaret was putting a light blue cardigan on to a hanger. She did this, as it was a white cardigan, and if sh'e have hung it on the white hanger, it would have faded into obscurity. Much like Margaret in terms of the politics of oxfam. the hanger was symbolic. Margaret was insignificant, she was the only one not getting paid.

Mildly confused about how the light blue cardigan had just turned in to a white one, she shook her head, and thought no more of it. She was tired of the oxfam shop, and while her frail years meant there was little else in her life, she wouldn't let such things upset her.

"Moureen!" she called, "Do you mind if I go for a cup of tea?" Tea was the only thing she looked forward to from a days volunteering, even the biscuits were stale. But were the biscuits stale? Or was her mouth stale? Margaret was now doubting herself, as she was still unsure of whether the cardigan was blue or white. She started to wonder... what colour really is Trevor Mcdonald??? She then thought the same of Michael Jackson, but this gave her a migraine. So the tea break really was looking like an attractive prospect!

Without even waiting for an answer from Moureen, she made her way to the tiny room at the back of the shop. Moureen probably hadn't heard her anyway, and almost certainly wouldn't notice that she was missing.

Margaret put the kettle on and sat down in the beaten up old arm chair, that had become her only place of comfort. Resting her head on the high back of the chair, she considered her standing in life, and if she'd ever taste success again. It would certainly taste better than these biscuits, of that she was certain.

Margaret burnt the roof of her mouth with her tea, she wont be able to taste anything for a while. However, this makes the biscuits more pleasant. Margaret savoured this respite, she has been working hard all day, like a prisoner of war margaret thought, but she wasnt sure whether they work in oxfam. In which case, she worked harder.

Whilst in thought, she heard a voice. She couldn't make out what the voice was saying, nor where it was coming from. She looked around, there was certainly no one else in the room, no one else would fit, and besides, she could see the room was emtpy apart from herself. Considering it to be just another symptom of her gradual madness, she got back to her flavourless biscuits and white hot tea. but was it white hot? or was it light blue! Margaret sure needed a some men in white coats. This was one thing she was sure of. The noise persisted, as did Margarets ignorance. However, due to her breakdown, Margaret was becoming more ignorant by the second, so ignorant in fact that she didnt realise she was drinking her tea through her ear, and that was the noise she could here. why does her throat burn? because its all conncected thats why.

"Margaret love, put down the tea!" Moureen had got used to Margaret's funny little ways and had guessed that it was time to go and check on her old friend. They had known each other for years, but she couldn't help feeling that Margaret was not the woman she used to know. The feeling was wrong, she was the same person, just a little bit more mental. Not just mental, but metal. Which explains her magnet paranoia. However she did buy her kitchen from magnet. She is a walking contradiction. Anyway, mental margaret as she was affectionately dubbed by her ornaments, asked Moureen for a cuddle. Moureen, refused as she didnt see dykes as a good way for controlling water flow. Margaret instead hugged the teapot, which was still piping hot, and bloody felt it, as margaret was completely topless.

Moureen knew the time was right to phone the hospital, and did so. It would be ten minutes before the ambulance would arrive. During that time, Mental Margaret managed to burn herself 7 more times, once on the cheek, twice on the forearm, twice on the left thigh, once on the right thigh and once in an area that isn't really suitable to mention (her vagina).

Margaret went without a fight. What happened after she got in the ambulance, and what she is doing now is a mystery, maybe one that will reveal itself later. Maybe not. She may be forgotten, but she cant be feel hard done by in regards to that, as she has forgotten the last 50 years of her life. Also, because she knows she is an oxygen thief.