ACME — Chapter Four (REDACTED)

Sally O’Malley (a diamond unpolished, hurled into the ocean)

Lee David Tyrrell

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As Petey stood alone and cold in a bright chamber, awaiting his vision of death, his mind wandered nostalgic paths; winding memory lanes. All roads led to more precious reminiscence, more tragic regrets. He heard a sound from the adjoining room — a kind of klaxon, a kind of scream. He knew what it meant; whatever strange toy they had decided to invent, to crush his existence, was ready. Petey wasn’t sure what would eventually destroy his continuing presence, and he certainly never had any idle dream of Immortality.

He hoped a new, improved Anvil™ might be tested on him. Many thought it an honour to die at the hands of such iconic violence. But ACME had started to take things seriously by Petey’s fifth season, and he did not much care for the ray guns and odd, almost magical, instruments of pain that modern residents preferred. He assumed some similar gimmicky gadget would be the tool of his own death. The notion greatly annoyed him, so — klaxon still ringing out — his mind turned to former glories. Petey thought of Sally O’Malley.

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“Don’t you even think about it Petey, you won’t get away with it this time!”

Can life so abstract, so imagined, still be beautiful? Can it truly be as lasting in one’s heart as real, human adoration? Not ice cream advert acts of the night between silky, digital sheets, but the incapacitating stupidity that so mercilessly takes hold when you realise another is worth sharing your soul.

Let’s take the case of Petey Porksworth, for whom the query of his perceived loveliness in Sally was absolutely rhetorical. She was gorgeous — such striking outlines; bold but understated. Her colour scheme was radiant, selected from some forgotten palette, with brilliant hues that highlighted her simple, endearing features.

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To Petey, Sally O’Malley was the encapsulation of all things right — the same sweet delusion that seduces so many of us. She was smart, his foil. That was their partnership. Petey’s idiocy defined them, his stupid yet…

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Lee David Tyrrell

Fiction writer, mostly attracted to sci-fi and strange, experimental tangents. I’ve also worked as a music journalist for Clash, eGigs, eFestivals & C64 Audio.