Prelude - part 3

Pi trudged into the room. It smelt of dampness, of loneliness and of shortlived love affairs. The wallpaper was shabby but clung to the walls enough for it to stay there, the bed low and uneven. He shuffled his mushroom feet across the tatty carpet, parked his meagre belongings on the floor and rested his fungal body on the matress. Drawing breath, he looked at the torrents of water dribbling down the exposed glass of the smallish window.

Opening his bag, he drew out a packet of cigarettes from which his extracted a pungent half-smoked tab-end which he deposited in his mouth. For some reason, a vision of the obstinate woman whom he had just crossed verbal swords with suddenly flashed into his mind. He shuddered, loosening the odd spore, and lit what remained of his cigarette. After a few unsatisfying puffs, he rummaged about his bag once more, quickly locating a near-full bottle of vodka (this was not difficult as Pi now travelled with little clothing - three days worth of clothing could last Pi about two weeks, much to the annoyance to those who passed mearby). He unscrewed the lid, put the bottle's mouth to his lips and sipped. Then he sipped once more and rapidly moved to a swig before settling on a more frantic glugging action. In no more than twenty-five minutes, what was once a nearly-full bottle of vodka was now a totally-empty bottle of vodka.

Pi stood and swaggered/staggered towards the dressing table. Planting himself firmly and chaotically on the seat in front of it, he gazed at his reflection in the vanity mirror. How had it come to this, he pondered, but all too quickly he remembered. Luckily, the amount of vodka in his system made this recollection brief... he was distracted by a cockroach scuttling across the floor and soon began to think back to the old days. Thoughts of Karine Carrot and Jacques Pomme de Terre filled his mind. Thoughts of the happy days before they had all been translated into English when Pi Le Champignon would battle nobly for the world. It was never the same after the move to go global: Kerry Carrot and Jack the Potato lacked the gravitas, the style and the poise...

Suddenly, Pi realised it was dark outside. How lon had he been sitting here? An hour? Two? Several? There was no clock and no way of knowing. He stood, or at least tried and shambled across to the bed. He thought once more of the woman below, flopped onto the matress and drifted effortlessly into a deep, deep, alcohol-fuelled sleep. That he was fully clothed, still wet and in a room fully lit by electric light bulbs did not seem to bother him. For now he was tired and his little mushroom body needed its rest.

Prelude - part 2: At the Hotel

"I would like to book a room" said Pi.

"A room?" asked the woman.

"Yes, a room" replied Pi.

"Do you have te necessary papers?"

"Does that matter? I have money - isn't that what you want?"

He looked at the woman. Her face was craggy, like the outside of a poorly kept municipal building. She caught his eye and then swiftly looked away. Shuffling, she muttered "it isn't as simple as that... I'm sure you know this". Once again, she caught his eye. This time, he felt uneasy, as if her stare had somehow unearthed several of the things that he'd like to keep to himself.

He maintained her stare. As the seconds ticked by, he felt that it was he who was now the powerful one. "My money is good for so many. If it is not good enough for you, then tell me so. It will not be long before i find someone for whom it is good enough."

She sighed. Pi could have sworn that some of the air that emanated from her lungs had been sat there for at least ten years from the way that it smelt. "So", he asked, "what is it to be?".

"You can stay for now. But if your papers are not in order soon, you'll be wishing your money was not so good. I'll need three weeks rental in advance" (Pi's face evaporated) "three weeks or you'll sleep on these drenched avenues instead."

Pi shrugged. He hated his bluff to be called... "OK". He sighed once more, swiped the keys from the reception bench, picked up his bags and stomped up the stairs in a fungal huff. She would pay for this. The would all pay...

Prelude - part 1: Return of the mushroom

The rain fell. It fell from the skies to the ground endlessly. Rain like he had never seen before... endless, endless rain.

He stood underneath the shop's awning, nervously scanning the rain drenched environment he found himself in once more. He knew these streets so well - when he was younger, tis was his playground, his school, his home. But that was then... and this was now. The cocoon-like feeling of safety he had derived from this place was gone forever. This place had changed and so had he.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and steadily exhaled the smoke. It laid heavily on his lungs, as if to accentuate its toxicity. Even after he had more than emptied his lungs, they still felt poisoned. Damn, he thought to himself, why had he ever started up with these things? He pondered this thought for a second, but then remembered exactly why. It would take him a long time to forget these reasons properly and, in truth, he was grateful at this time that he had been able to forget if only for a brief second. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth once more, stared at it for a second as if he had no real understanding or recognition of it and flicked it into the gutter.

Pi the mushroom (for it is he) looked out into the rain once more. He saw the tacky hotel, cheap in both price and morals, remembered how little money he had (and how choosy he could not choose to be), pulled his raincoat a little tighter still, crossed and the road and entered the hotel.