Starvation lent me wings

I went to the supermarket today, dreaming of the old days when you could go into them and actually buy stuff. Those times seem to be over.

    So I wrote what's been churning in my foetid brain for a few weeks. It might just be a novella, perhaps a whole book. I'm enjoying it so far. But one thing's for certain, there's going to be blood.

                                                                         Pool

Allison stared, entranced at the huge vertical wall of blubber shaking spasmodically with his every word. How many pints of beer had it taken to produce such a monumental beer gut, now spilling from his waistband like a great stretch marked whale? She shuddered, trying not to gag.

  'It's like I told ya the last time,' Vince burped, yet at the same time miraculously guzzling from the tiny pint mug dwarfed by his florid, sausage shaped fingers, 'women can't play pool ‘cause they're rubbish.' He went on, his scientific explanation as to why the minuscule size of women's brains precluded any and all possibility that there could ever be a professional female player.

  'So there you 'ave it.' he grinned finally, his diatribe finally running out of steam. His face was hardly a pretty sight at the best of times, but now after approximately eight pints, it was just a vague approximation of a human nearly hidden behind wrinkled and mottled flesh. Alison turned away before her anger forced her to do something stupid. A big fat tub of lard he might be but Vince had friends in the pub. A pub that he would never have been interested in but for the beautiful and very expensive pool table the manager had recently installed.

  'Never mind him.' Deborah frowned. Her delicate hands were a complete contrast to her boyfriend's. To be honest Alison had no idea what she saw in him. She was still moderately pretty, if you ignored the squint. Anyway, they were friends and had been since school. Still, that didn't mean she had to like him. The him in question, leering from the other side of the crowded bar, edged on by his moronic friends, frowned, the smile gone at Deborah's stern glare. A big fat tub of lard he might be but her friend had only to turn an icy glare in his general direction to reduce him to a stumbling child.

  'Why do you want to play pool, anyway?' Deborah hated the game and always ignored it even during the weekly team match, the captain of which was, of course, Vince.

  'I'm good at it. Why shouldn't I play if I want to?' It was so unfair. She could always go to the Red Lion at the other end of the village. Hardly anybody ever went in there, due to the distance from the nearest bus stop; that and the manager's wandering hands. But at least it had two pool tables that were almost always vacant.

  'We should start a women's “B” team.' The inspiration had come to her in a flash. Why not? They could practice in the Lion and in a few weeks they could challenge Vince and the rest of the beached whales to a match, and beat them to a pulp. The mental image of a thoroughly trounced Vince was something to be cherished.

  'A beeeee team?' Deborah giggled, nearly spilling her drink. 'A B... but why not? Lardo's been having it his own way for too long.' She frowned as the practicalities became apparent. 'How many girls would we need?' That was something Alison had not considered. Vince's team consisted of six. Were there six regular women who would even consider joining? And further, risk multiple bottom bruises by practising at the Lion?

  'Margeret might. And Jane. What about Silvia, she,' she stopped herself in time, 'you know what she thinks of Vince.' that had been close, however Deborah seemed not to have picked up on it. 'That leaves one more.' No one sprang instantly to mind. Who was she going to ask? That was even if any of the others would agree. 'Vivian,' Deborah said quietly and with a malevolence that was almost frightening. She looked over to Vince with that almost sixth sense of hers, just in time to see him wink at a young and pretty girl in a mini that had dropped her handbag on the floor. 'Yes.'

Six weeks seemed to have flown by. Getting the girls together had been difficult due to their varying schedules, even after they had miraculously, all agreed. Even though unspoken was the idea that the main target of their ire was one of their boyfriends. Their first attempts at playing on the Lion's two tables, overlooked by a surprised but vaguely sickening manager had been disastrous.

  Balls flying from the table; cues dropped and stood on; missing every pocket on the table; and not forgetting that near disastrous moment when Vivian's cue had gone right through the green cloth. Surprisingly the manager had been pretty good about it, although his eyes had nearly popped from their veined sockets after Deborah had worn her shortest micro mini to make him forget. But finally, and surprisingly, they had come through it. By no stretch of the imagination could any of them be called good, but they would show the whales up when the first match happened. And of course there was no forgetting the secret weapon.