Pickleberry & Cannon-Head

Chapter One: page 1

Much like the many people before him, he didn't really see it coming. There wasn't any emotional foreboding, no hair rising up on his arms. No breath on the back of neck to tell him with a whispered cackle. He really should have seen it coming.

As the blade swung through his jugular with a burning rush, his body and head fell separate towards the cold concrete floor.

"Shame" He thought before his skull shattered, spraying brain matter all over the mixture of cement, water and chemicals that had just been hardened.

" I rather liked this shirt."

Chapter One: A Splendid Day In The Park

Simon Pickleberry wrapped himself up like a gift for Christmas morning. Although in his case, he preferred the reference of "fresh folded laundry" much more. Holidays and celebrations tended to be a waste of time in his opinion, not that he had a large history of going to such things in the first place. Research was limited, at least for that study. Home was an easier place. Less people, for one thing, which meant no dwindling conversations and random touching that gave him a sour burning feeling in his lower throat. That is why Pickleberry had slumped on the old brown leather couch with a book and rolled up in a blanket like a misshapen burrito. It was lucky that he was 5, 9', as there would be no other way to keep his toes warm. Blankets never seemed to be the right length. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, the moment was ruined.

He grumbled, tossing the book on the table and throwing the blanket over the arm of the couch. Shuffling his way to the coat rack in the main hall of the apartment. With a slip on of his shoes, Simon Pickleberry walked out of the shabby hole he lived in, down the flight of stairs, into the sunlight and burnt his eyeballs.

"Bloody hell." He swore.

Although the day was nice outside, he still preferred the comfort of the inside. Still it was regular time to meet up. He strolled down the street with a slight sway of his hips. 178, 177, 176 steps to Weest End Park. Every single looped day. It rather drove him nuts, this continuous schedule. It kept him fairly sane to a degree. 156, 155, 154. A turn to the right. A person walking behind him.Two streets and a crosswalk. 11,10, 9, 8 ,7.... dragged the wrong way.

"Really mate? This isn't very funny Charlie, surely you could think of something better, yeah?"

And so Simon Syphilis Pickleberry's head was chopped off with a brutal swing.