Pongo #63

Pila

I asked to be moved, because the dreams persist, but nobody has come to do the job, so I presume nobody will. When she's asleep, it's very easy to pity this husk, all couture nightgown draped over bones and white fibres, the bulge in her abdomen practically pulsing as it sucks the life from her. I realise the outside world has no comprehension of this. They think their radiant pin-up is sitting bravely in a hospital bed, breasts buoyant above the covers, doe eyes wincing bravely with pain every time the wound wakes. It's a comforting fantasy.

If you told them, all these little meerkats, up on twos, sniffing around for a glimpse, their heads would probably explode. Does not compute. You could wheel her out and show them and they'd just deny and deny that the hag you presented was the genuine article. No, they're built with more stamina than that. They'd cheerfully hold out until you brought their princess back.

I've been leafing through a medical encyclopedia one of the nurses kindly brought me. Today I stopped under "C. Cells, it would appear, while constituting the basis for life, are nevertheless at the beck and call of the universe. They develop when we need them and perish when we don't. Supply and demand, organic style. Cancer, in simplistic terms, occurs when cells divide too rapidly, or when, their time being up, they simply 'forget' or fail to die. That description applied to people would make Maren Gilligan one big tumour. Figures.

Insa

At least I know now. Well, not exactly. You could argue that I don't know at all. Up until a few days ago, my sister was whizzyhigh and firmly convinced she was Maren Gilligan, so she's not the best witness to have in a court box. I don't know, though. She had this look ' shut up, I know this sounds like a bunch of crap. Honest, though, when she looked at me and answered, I just knew she was telling the truth. Cadderine's been many things, but never a habitual liar or a particularly good actor. There's a spot of irony for the scrapbook.

So who strolled onstage, stabbed a multi-million pound franchise through the ribs while wearing a mimic costume then strolled off into the sunset? Crap, I shouldn't even care.

Andaw

My head's a popcorn machine of caffeine-stimulated thoughts right now, as the sixth cup of rocket fuel coffee disappears down me. I don't know I really don't know what's going on anymore, or at least I can't pretend any longer that I ever did know for certain.

Will I ever see this Miffy again? In many ways, I hope not. What time is it? I want to see Insa. I don't want to see Cadderine. I suppose I know what Miffy means about not wanting to do a meet and greet. Has Insa forgiven me? She doesn't know about the mask I'm putting off. I don't know what's become of Maren ' it's nigh on impossible to remember everything she gave to me initially, and anyway, how can you quantify that? - but there's another meeting I'd rather postpone.

Wait ' Maren. I could get in to see her, I bet I could. One time, her PA left a Gilligantics Ltd. ID card in my house. I think that was shortly before I received the huge burn on my right leg. Gone now, of course. Like some disfigured homing pigeon, it's no doubt returned to its master.

Yeah, I could doctor that card on my computer. The image is no problem, and the strip will swipe me in. The name won't even be looked at, I'll wager. Maybe, just maybe, I can talk to Gilligan. Ask her to let me out of the contract, ask her to get chemotherapy like everybody else, and publicise it widely, shout it so it echoes through Cadderine Harver's brain. Or else let me know for certain whether I have a choice or not. At the very least I want to find out why I'm on a bodily holiday, what happened to MG, that I'm in this state now. I don't know if reasoning is the right word, but whatever I have to do, there must be a way out of all this. Hell, I could offer her a refund.

Pila

Who's that? Who's there?

Zoom

Exclusively in this week's Zoom, the world's first interview with rising star Hellin Fova! We quiz the movie actress and pop starlet-to-be on life, the universe and those Carlon Jesen rumours. Oh, and maybe the new single too.

Miffy

The phone rings and rings and rings and I pick it, pick it up.

"Miffy, HI! This is Marinni Hyne. I'm just calling on behalf of the Jexa Joseffone show.

You called us a while back? Well we'd REALLY love you to come on for a special on umbrellas, peaches and cream, sort of thing. This whole Marley business, it's really reinvented itself. It's not only acceptable now, it's pretty much vogue, as you probably know. Anyway, the theme for the show is Meeting My Sweeper and you could expect a substantial fee¦

Her voice goes underwatery as I insert the phone's mouthpiece into my newly elasticised cunt.