TO TINGLE OR NOT TO TINGLE ?

TO TINGLE OR NOT TO TINGLE ?  -  THAT IS THE QUESTION



As he sat there in the well padded but surprisingly comfortable chair, Tom wondered to himself - “how long ?.  Pins and needles ?. To tingle or not to tingle that is the question”.  He smiled to himself, unaware that his happy-go-lucky attitude was making those around him nervous.  Fleeting glances shot around the room, each one adding to the tension.  Outside a muffled cough echoed quietly down the corridor, hidden partly by soft footsteps and low voices.

Tom had never craved attention.  His whole life seemed like a Sunday afternoon.  He kept himself to himself and just plodded along without any real direction.  After all, the only true passion Tom ever had was reading, the noble but solitary pursuit of knowledge.  Paragraph’s and chapter’s fed Tom’s soul and that was enough.  Although how he managed to let life pass by so easily amazed even him.  However when he awoke on that cold November morning almost three weeks ago, Tom realised with eerie perception that life had come back to pick him up.

He sensed this as he swung a thin pair of pyjama covered legs over the edge of the bed.  It was cold, and the cheap brown carpet was little comfort.  There was usually very little neighbourhood activity this time of the morning, and hearing the raised voices in the street caught his attention.  As he peered out the window he could see two cars had collided, presumably caused by the ice on the road.  Neither appeared to be badly damaged.  A small group had gathered to watch as the two drivers argued about who would pay for the damage.  It was then that he noticed the dark hair’d man lent against the railings.  He thought it was odd because he seemed cautious about getting to close to the little group of onlookers.

It was still playing on his mind when he left the house and headed in the direction of the arguing pair and co.  He could hear quite clearly now what it was they were shouting.  The short bald one was insistent on the matter being taken to court so he could claim large amounts of money in damages.  And the tall thin chap with the glasses was obviously not insured because he kept trying to blame the road conditions and the bald guy’s erratic driving.  Tom laughed to himself as he neared the group, amused by the situation.  It was then that  the black -hair’d man turn and face him.  His dark overcoat fluttering around his frame as though alive with the breeze.  Tom could feel his piercing stare boring into his head, twisting, turning and scorching his mind.  It was suddenly all so clear, and he screamed.  “I must kill”.  He could feel the energy pulsing through his body as he looked down, and saw in his hand the instrument of destruction.  The cold November sunlight glinted beautifully off the barrel as he raised the pistol to take aim.  The crowd froze in fear, “easy pray for someone so focused” Tom sniggered as he unloaded an entire magazine. His voice was low, barely audible over the gunfire. “Seven target’s and thirty shot’s, don’t anyone rush now, there’s plenty to go around”.  Eight second’s was enough to bring them all down.  Tom stood there, gun still smoking, cautiously looking for signs of movement.  But there was only silence.

He turned to look at the one man left standing, the dark hair’d one.  The one who had given him the pain.  “Why do you still stand ?”, Tom growled.  “Because I am the one who’s work you have just done.  It was their soul’s I wanted, and now I have them.  Soon I will have yours”.  He laughed as he faded from sight.

Tom stood there for a moment, allowing reality to envelop him again.  He glanced down at the gun and at the hand that held it, his hand.  A hand more used to holding a book than a lethal weapon.  He opened his hand and let it fall as he dropped to his knees. “What have I become?”, he cried.  “I do not deserve to live!”.

He was still sobbing when the police cuffed him.  Still sobbing when the sentence was pronounced and Tom was placed on death row.  It was only now that he had stopped.  Sat in his comfy 10,000 Volt chair, cheerful about dying. At least the pain will stop he thought, oblivious to his surroundings.  He could feel his hand begin to tingle like pins and needles.  Growing up his arm.  It was now beginning to hurt and he screamed, sitting bolt upright.

Tom sensed the cold air as he stopped screaming and took stock of his surroundings, the pins and needles fading from his arm.  And with one almighty leap he had cleared the end of the bed and started dancing and singing “I’m alive !!, I’m alive !!”.  Tom laughed as he thought about how vivid his imagination was. “Why didn’t I twig on ?, the devil on the street corner, the gun, even the pins and needles for an electric chair !!!!.  How could I be so gullible to my own imagination”.  He said to himself as he poured the coffee.  But as the room fell silent again a shiver ran down his spine, and his hands began to shake......... an argument could be heard in the street.