Those Who Live in Grass Houses

Daisy

Daisy

His face wrinkled with glee and his long, bony fingers tangled themselves in a knot of apparent ecstasy as he described his plan.

“Yes, yes, an exploding daisy! They’ll not be expecting that. And curiosity kills the cat, they’ll not resist. So many cats at so many daisies and then, poof! Not that I’m after cats of course. It’s a metaphor, a metaphor for all those who want to smell the pretty flower. And it won’t be a big bang, just a poof, and the air will be filled with my evil, tantalising, red and blue poison, catching in the throat, coating the membranes, eating away at the nerves, drinking the juices of life.

“Oh my darling daisies, so pretty and so lethal, appearing overnight in every garden, every cracked pavement, every forest glade. Just think of how they will fill the air, the drifting mists of purple veils, oh, the beauty of it, the sheer, wonderful conception of it!”

He turned suddenly from his insane rant to peer directly into my eyes.

“And you, you will be able to sit with me and view it all through a million tiny cameras, strategically placed to record the carnage. Oh, Mr Bond, what a happy time lies before us, how glorious a show is prepared in our honour. Just a few more hours and everything will be ready.”

He was off again, staring into space as he envisaged the calamity his damn daisies were going to release on the world. I struggled with the ropes tying my hands together but his knots were as fiendish as his plans.

“Popcorn! I have popcorn ready so we can sit at our ease as we watch, popping popcorn into our mouths as others choke on daisies. Oh, what fun it will be, just like the movies in the old days, sitting in the dark with our faces reflecting the light from the screen, totally absorbed as we watch the drama unfolding before us and munch on our eternal popcorn. I can feel it now, the butter dribbling down my cheek, popcorn spilling from the boxes and crunching underfoot. Oh, the happy days, the happy days.

He was almost dancing now, waving his arms about as he imagined the gruesome delights he had planned for his vile entertainment. And the worst of it was that it was all so completely pointless, that all this invention and planning, these months of preparing the flowers, perfecting the gases, and placing them where they could do the most harm, all was directed to no other purpose than to satisfy some insane urge in the man’s feverish brain. What drove these crazy desires, this hunger to feed on the suffering of others?

It made no sense, and, as I watched the madman capering and cooing about what was to come, I knew that humanity’s only hope lay in me, that everything depended on my releasing these bonds that held me helpless in the chair. My fingers worked away frantically at the knots.

“I know you’ll come to see I was right, Mr Bond,” he was saying. “Once the world has been cleared of these unsightly creatures, we can build anew a monument to the power of the mind, a towering edifice that declares to the universe our ultimate power and our endless reach. Nothing shall escape our influence and intent. We shall be masters of the universe.”

He stopped then and turned to look at the closed door to the room. There was a red light flashing above it.

“Hmm, trouble,” he said, flicking a quick glance at me, still held fast in the chair. “A moment, Mr Bond. It seems I am needed elsewhere for a time.”

He walked to the door and opened it, strangely backlit by the light outside, his wild hair glowing like a halo around the shadowed darkness of his face. “I’ll be back,” he said, in the worst imitation of Schwarzenegger I’ve ever heard. Then he was gone and I went back to my struggle with the ropes.

I thought this would be my chance to get free but, for once, the madman was true to his word. A few minutes passed, then the door opened and he returned. This time he was accompanied by two henchmen, big fellows with bulging arms and tight T-shirts. Their boss was looking rather different, however. He had run a comb through his hair and it now sat flat to his head, making him appear almost human. His lab coat had been buttoned too, so that it no longer flapped out like wings as he walked.

He raised an arm to point at me. “Might as well untie him, fellers,” he said. “He’s going back to his cell.”

As they went round behind me and started fiddling with the knots that seemed difficult even for them, he stood before me, arms crossed, and a grim expression on his face.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

I snorted my derision. “Not a chance, Professor. You’ll not fool me because I know who you are. I know exactly what you’re doing.”

His arms moved to place his hands on his hips. “I’m a doctor, not a professor. As you know because I’ve told you a thousand times before. And your delusion of my being some sort of insane, power-crazed genius may have survived my little performance for today, but it won’t last forever. I’ll cure you, Manstein, sooner or later. I’ll get to you and you’ll know the truth.”

“I already know the truth, you mad freak, and I’ll foil your plans yet.” His minions had untied me at last and I wondered for a moment whether I ought to make a break for it.

But then they had picked me up like a rag doll and dragged me towards the door. I yelled at the madman over my shoulder.

“I’ll win in the end, you bastard. James Bond always does.”


Word count: 993
For "Game of Thrones"  The North Remembers, Fantasy & Fairy Tale Prompts 15
Prompt: Nobody has encountered an explosive daisy and lived to tell the tale.