"Even the days and nights must be jealous of your predictability."
Sir Whipsonfreak had the most boring, yet safe life in the town of Bunsberry. But one day his grandson Richter complained about it and to prove him wrong Sir Whipson will do the unex...
Mr. Redhawk was busy playing with the paper-weight and sighing loudly, all the while looking at the clock that sported half-past eight as the time. 'Five hours to go for lunch.'
Just as he started to twirl the paper-weight for the fourth time in one minute, his pretty secretary, Ms. Pinkhead ran inside without knocking, her face white as the talcum powder she had drowned her face in— a clear sign of trouble. She silently stood there and pointed a handset at him. Mr. Redhawk frowned and bit his lips, finally taking it from her trembling hands and plastering it on his gargantuan ears.
"Hello." He boomed into the receiver.
"Hello Mister Redhawk", a familiar voice came from the other side, making Mr. Redhawk's eyes go wide as an elephant's turd which made Ms. Pinkhead trembled even more.
" Mis-Mister Whipsonfreak!" Redhawk stammered, wondering if he was hallucinating the voice of his most regular employee due to all the caffeine, thanks to his fifth glass of tea that morning.
"Yes sir, " the voice once again replied. It was no doubting it now- the voice was indeed of Sir Whipsonfreak. Although reticent, Sir Whipson's voice was indelible because of it sounding like a rusted wind chime.
"Wh-what, why are you not in the office?" Sir Red asked, still stammering and wondering if he should be angry or curious.
"It is so sir", the wind chime spoke in a rusted melody, " I may not be able to come today."
Sir Redhawk flew from his seat in surprise and horror, "What?" He blabbered, soon as he landed back on his seat.
"I am sorry sir, it's a just... a family emergency." Sir Whipson said, nervous as a fish in a glass of lemonade. "Please forgive me."
Sir Redhawk nodded and hung up. He silently pointed the handset to Ms. Pinkhead who bit her lips and took it from his trembling hands into hers. Then, with a nod, skippered out of his room leaving Mr. Redhawk alone with his new-found curious headache.
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Sir Whipson put down the phone and turned around to meet the eyes of his torturer. He sighed and moved past him to his unfinished toast.
"Where are you going?" Richter asked, folding his arms and cocking his right brow.
"To eat my toast." Sir Whipson replied as he pulled out his seat and sat with a thump.
"Why toast? Remember how I said you need to be adventurous? I have ordered a Subway sandwich and that's what we are having for breakfast today." Richter replied, hiding his smirk behind his phone screen.
Sir Whipson sighed and threw his hand up in a mock defeat. He pushed himself up from his seat and sitting on the sofa, wondered if he should switch on the 1975 ITT 26 CVC9 Colour TV. Just as he made up his mind to switch it on, the doorbell rang.
