HAGGIS: The escape from blue tit home

Sonny-Jim

It had been four days. Four measly, droning days of chatting, sitting, watching the telly box and hiding pills. Today was the day the telly box was on about, the day of the big storm that was broadcast to hit the town at 12:15.

Haggis had perfected his camouflage.

He was sat in the communal area, blanket over his lap, flat cap tilted to mask his eyes. He had a piping hot mug of tea on the arm of his old-timey chair that read "Best Grandad Ever" with a walking stick resting on the other side of the chair. The props had been easy to pinch off of the oldies, he had swiped the mug from Mr. Morgan whose eyesight was so poor he was none the wiser with a strikingly similar mug Haggis had found, he performed the old switcheroo after hastily writing "Rest Grandad, Never" onto the duplicate mug. The walking stick, however, took some planning. Haggis had noted the routines of each resident in the home, the visiting hours of their families, toilet breaks, daily scheduled haemorrhoid checks, that kind of thing. There was always a carer present in all parts of the building except at 12:30 PM when the girl who looks after Mrs Appleseed snuck out of the emergency exit for a quick cigarette break. Haggis had thought about utilising the emergency exit for his escape but was under the suspicion that Sonny-Jim had surveillance covered. He wasn't the kind of man to lock someone up like Haggis without his personal hand in ensuring he stayed put. Thinking of this, Haggis snuck into Mrs Appleseed's room during the ten minute window, performing a painfully slow army roll to avoid the CCTV in the hall and switched her walking stick with a rod he had carefully constructed the night before using all of the thread from his tweed jacket, solidified with the careful dowsing and drying of skin ointment from the compulsory tub each resident had in their room. It was like taking candy from a baby and the old crow was none the wiser. The blanket, on the other hand, was a gift from his so-called son and arch nemesis Sonny-Jim, it had been in his room when he had arrived and Haggis used it only to keep up appearances.

               He looked up at the clock that was planted on a beam in the middle of the room. It was 11:59. Almost time for action. Haggis shakily grasped the shaft of Mrs Appleseed's walking stick and counted the seconds.
5..
4...
3...
2...
1...

In one calculated swipe Haggis hooked the stick around the leg of the passing resident. Old Mr. Johnson tumbled helplessly to the ground onto his brittle bones.
Twelve o'clock, like ruddy clockwork the greedy git Haggis thought, old Mr Johnson was always the first to get his questionably pink slurry from the canteen at noon.
An audible snap emitted from Mr Johnson's hip as he made contact with the ground, a nearby carer's head darted round to see the incident, she clenched her fist into as much of a fist possible with her ridiculously long, red painted nails and slammed it onto the alarm point at her side.

"Code coriander, code coriander, patient accident, patient accident." Came the fuzzy automated voice from the tannoy system.

Haggis picked himself up off the chair, feigned a crooked back and hobbled slyly away, leaning on his stick and grasping carefully onto his mug of tea as a legion of lousily trained first aiders burst through the staff room. Before the door slammed shut again, he wedged his stick into the door, pulling himself through and kicking the stick away before the door shut and locked automatically behind him.

               Haggis surveyed his surroundings, it was a blandly decorated, greasy wallpapered room, a couple of patchy couches up against the far wall with the odd amenities you'd expect to see in a staff room. A vending machine, a shabby kitchen area and bam in the middle of the room next to a murky window with Burberry curtains - the security terminal. Haggis's eyes narrowed. He hobbled over to the terminal, placing his cup of tea down on its desk and powered it from sleep mode.
PASSWORD
Haggis' face scrunched up on one side in contemplation. He only had a few minutes, a few seconds maybe before someone came back in the room. He clicked the button below the input box that read "hint". A small speech bubble appeared on the screen that read:
Homer
Haggis had almost begun to rack his brain for his extensive knowledge on the ancient Greek Iliad but he stopped himself and typed:
Simpson
The terminal unlocked and sprung to life, Haggis quickly located the resident files and deleted himself from the system, he also disconnected the terminal from any external communications to cease all remote surveillance of the facility before pouring his tea over the terminal and placing the mug carefully back on the desk on its side. He looked over at the glass panel above the staff room door where the clock was still visible, it was 12:13. He snapped his head back round to the curtains around the window and tore them off of their rack, he fought his tremor and tied one sheet of curtain around his waist and the other looping through behind him. He then shakily climbed up onto the desk, careful not to knock the mug and opened the window, looking down at the pavement ten stories below.
"This better ruddy work." He grumbled.
The staff door squeaked closed behind him.
Haggis stiffened more than his various medical conditions had already done so and he turned around.

"Hello, old friend."
A man stood outlined by the frame of the staff door, he wore a lab coat and had an extremely generic looking face. A face so generic Haggis would know it anywhere.
"Sonny-Jim." He spat.
Sonny Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol, the dingey light of the grey clouds outside glinted off of it as the wind began to whistle sharply from the window.

"Get down from there Haggis, we don't want another accident, remember Stalingrad."

"I should've known. I should've known you was working for 'em. It was the generic face. I should've known." Haggis replied.

"This time I'm not letting you get away." Hissed Sonny-Jim.

He squeezed the trigger on his pistol. Haggis quickly opened his mouth and angled his head, the bullet ricocheted off of his titanium denture he was awarded for outstanding service in the face of danger during the war. The bullet pinged off into the coffee machine, lighting a spark within its machinery and in seconds the whole room was a fireball, lit by the years of fermented fart gas that littered the facility.

The sudden explosion blew haggis straight out of the window. He plummeted down towards the concrete below.

"It would only have taken a few more ruddy seconds!" He wheezed.

Haggis closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
Falling...
Falling...
Falling...
And all of a sudden, he was weightless.

"It's about time this old boy met his maker." He sighed.

Haggis opened his eyes. He was gliding blissfully through the air above the town, he saw the facility in the distance.

"Wait a second." He said, looking behind him.

The curtains he had tied around himself had caught the current of the storm perfectly. The wind filled in a huge bag of air behind him, propelling him to safety.

"It worked! Yeah, take that Sonny-Jim!" He cheered as he was blissfully propelled into the distance.

               A few hours later, Haggis was sat in his hip and happening old man lad pad watching the telly box, this was going to be a memorable episode of "the news". Live on the scene a reporter was describing the anti-social criminal damage carried out by the residents of Blue Tit Ten Story Nursing Home where 3 criminals were arrested on site. A strange man with a gun who was posing as a doctor was found on the scene with two accomplices identified by their walking stick and "Best Grandad Ever" mug had been arrested under charges of arson and disturbing the peace. Haggis sipped his cup of brew and chucked to himself.