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DCFC Fans write a novel


Chris Mills

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Write what you want, a sentence, a paragraph. The only rule is you cannot finish the story.

I guess I will start it:

As the mist began to clear B4 looked around the forest, trees peering down upon him and long grass around his ankles. He could make out a brief figure in the distance. He approached with caution. 

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B4 devoured the cucumber whilst Boycie moistened his lips, and applied a bit of eye shadow.  We need a plan said B4; how are we going to deal with the red dog scum.  Boycie pulled out a little note book and went through his list of friends. A, nothing, B, nothing, C, nothing, D - Daveo!! He's good at plans and fixing things thought Boycie aloud. B4 burst out laughing.....

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Roy Davies woke suddenly.

He had just had a strange dream about Boycie, Daveo, B4 and a large cucumber.

"I think we need to lay off the cheeseburgers" he muttered.

Where was he? He rubbed his bleary eyes and  saw that he was a passenger in a car being driven by a raccoon. They were heading south.....towards Boonville in search of his creator. Roy Davies - the former goalkeeper and Private Investigator - had left Derby on a mission to find AmericanRam -the guy who had invented him and inserted him into an unfinished novel about a murder set in Derby.

They needed to intervene.....to know how the story went. 

Roy turned to the raccoon who had been strangely quiet; just staring ahead.

He was tetchy. 

"This is a bloody Ford Focus" he said.
"He gave me a bloody Ford Focus.......why a Ford Focus I'll never know.....I'm supposed to be a former premier league player.....Chris Martin drives a Ferrari, Sav gets a Lambourgini....but I drive a Ford Focus" he growled.

It had been a long and arduous drive south. The forest and mountains were spectacular as they proceeded through Jefferson National Park . This was a big country; a country of hunters and trappers; guns and rifles, bullets and bibles. And two strangers on the trail of Americanram.

The raccoon was smiling. He knew they were getting closer. When they crossed the Yadkin River and turned east near Jonesville his attention was drawn to signs pointing west towards the town of Elkin but they carried on east towards Broonville. They passed Pop Pops Grill and couple of gas stations before hitting another long stretch of open road.

"we can't just go inserting ourselves into a strange male fantasy about B4 and a cucumber." Said the raccoon".

" We just did" replied Roy " using the contrived device of a dream sequence to try and change direction. This is now a road movie. Just pray we don't meet Dav coming the other way in his Mondeo.....we could be road kill".

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Roy and the Raccoon stopped and went into a log cabin. The curtains were drawn but the room was real. The raccoon motioned to Roy and told him not to cheek him as he had had enough of his lip and he would get a piece of his mind. Although he felt a heel with no soul, Roy decided he couldn't toe the line any more and he would leg it though in the wilderness he would be out on a limb...........

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meanwhile somewhere thousands of miles away, the kidnapping plan had been executed perfectly. Ninos had been off the radar since "Martin-gate". Would his plan see him welcomed back into the fold? It certainly was an audacious attempt to win favour and regain any slim amount of popularity he once held.

The questions however were minute in the scheme of things, one man, ankles and wrists tied together sitting in a puddle of his own filth and sweat, in the corner of the rusty transit van, gagged and blindfolded, being forced to listen to "Steve Bloomers watching" on constant repeat, had a few questions of his own.

"What is happening to me?", "Who is Steve Bloomer?" and "I'm Luc Castaignos, where are my legions of fans? will they rescue me?".

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...the innerside of his back passage in an attempt to reduce the amount of sting in his ring following the planned 7:45pm curry at the Indian on the outskirts of Madrid. Not the one with the fancy name that Luka Modric was seen eating at, but the one across from the hairdressers that's owned by that guy that sort of looks a bit like a fatter, shorter version of Dale Winton. 

As he got into his car, at 7:00pm on the dot, he heard a banging sound from the boot of his vintage Ford Courteener and promptly went to check it out... 

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Having got out, he approached the boot, his hands surprisingly steady considering the nerves that possessed him. He paced forward, with a steady, constant rhythm, like a centipede with 98 missing legs. He was now facing the boot head on. He felt like a cowboy preparing for a shootout, staring down his enemy.

 

Slowly, he opened the boot, and out jumped two naked men who he instantly recognised from the DCFC fans' forum...

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Having got out, he approached the boot, his hands surprisingly steady considering the nerves that possessed him. He paced forward, with a steady, constant rhythm, like a centipede with 98 missing legs. He was now facing the boot head on. He felt like a cowboy preparing for a shootout, staring down his enemy.

 

Slowly, he opened the boot, and out jumped two naked men who he instantly recognised from the DCFC fans' forum...

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...the innerside of his back passage in an attempt to reduce the amount of sting in his ring following the planned 7:45pm curry at the Indian on the outskirts of Madrid. Not the one with the fancy name that Luka Modric was seen eating at, but the one across from the hairdressers that's owned by that guy that sort of looks a bit like a fatter, shorter version of Dale Winton. 

As he got into his car, at 7:00pm on the dot, he heard a banging sound from the boot of his vintage Ford Courteener and promptly went to check it out... 

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