Edward the Sugar Queen

Chapter 11- I'll love him and hug him and call him George

On the way to the concert auditorium, Charlie and Edward passed through a street carnival. There were ferris wheels, dodgems, walzers. Coconut shies and plate smashers. Edward was drawn-almost by magnetic force- to one stall. The seedy looking man behind the table stealthily tucked the sherbet fountain away. It was a shooting game. You had to hit the target and knock it down. If you did, you won the big prize! Sitting lonely on the top shelf, bigger than Edward, a fuzzy-wuzzy I Love You bear. Edward leant over the counter.

"Gypsy friend, how much do you charge for an attempt to…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "win Mr Bear?"

"Two dollars," the man said impassively, exhaling cigarette smoke into Edward's face. Charlie marched up and growled at him.

Digging round in the pocket in his sequined trousers, checking his mirror-studded PVC jacket, he found his stash hidden under his whirly helicopter hat. He thrust his hand out at the man; he had a button, a paperclip, and a blue smartie. "For your two dollars I will give you a guaranteed 16th century Viennese shirt holder. A Sheffield steel multi-purpose… thingamadoodle… and-" he changed his mind and popped the smartie, eyes rattling around in his head, "and some magic money." He dropped the magic, invisible, money in the man's hand. He did not look amused. Charlie gently moved Edward out of the way and handed over the two dollars. Edward beamed as the man gave him the gun. He cocked it, put it over his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The bull's-eye. Exactly. Both men blinked.

But the target didn't move. In rapid-fire, Edward reloaded the air rifle and hit the bull's-eye again. The gypsy wiped his brow nervously. Charlie strode purposely round the back of the tent and ducked under. Behind the target boards, holding them up, were blocks of industrial concrete. He brushed past the target boards, pulled out his police gun and shot the man in the head. As the blood splattered him, he took down the bear and handed it into Edward's loving arms.

"I'll hug him and love him and call him George," Edward said happily.

*

Still in her lingerie, Bella stumbled as though drunk towards the stage door.

"Pass?" demanded the guard.

She ran a sensual hand down the guard's back and over his flabby buttocks. "I'm sure we can… come to some agreement," she said, leaning forward to lick his ear. He shoved her away, glancing at her disparagingly.

"Not with you, luv," he said. Bella shrieked and threw herself at him, tearing at his face with her nails. When she'd reduced the man to bloody shreds, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and sobbed over him.

"I know that you loved me—but it just wouldn't work out," she sniffled, voice quavering. "I'm in love with another you see."

"UrrrrHHHHHrrrRRR—Heeeelllpppp meeee…." the man groaned.

"You're such a whore," she said, before viciously slapping herself round the face. "All these men love you, but there's only love in your icy heart for one. You're such a whore—"

SLAP

"A slut—"

SLAP

"And a bitch."

SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP

The guard had stopped groaning. In a weak voice he said, "Lady, you need help."

"Shut UP!" she screeched, stamping her heel in his face. She picked herself up, wobbling, giggling, and made her way to Stevie Wonder's dressing room. The cellotape dangled from her hand.

*

"Hey man, nice bear!"

Edward turned around and glared at the five young men in hoodies who were currently tailing them. "Don't you listen to them George," Edward whispered fervently, hugging George close to his chest. "They don't know anything. We could beat them up well bad."

Charlie, who was experiencing a spasm of guilt for blowing off an innocent gypsy's head, suggested, "Just ignore them. That sort of people just enjoy attention. Ignore them and they'll go away."

"HEY! Buttlickers!"

A vein in Charlie head pulsed.

"We don't have to take this," Edward said angrily. "I never licked any butts. Did you George? You can tell me."

"Hey, do you have any money?" the hoodies sang. "I want to spend all your money… at the gar bar, gaaaaaaay baaaaarrrr!"

"And now they're implying we're homosexuals," Edward said, astounded. George looked shocked. "But, um, do you know what a homosexual actually is? Nurse Esme won't tell me…"

George shrugged, just as puzzled by these mysteries of life as he was.

"It's alright," said Charlie, his patience stretched to breaking point. "We're almost there now. Just walk with your shoulders back, stand proud, and—"

"WE DON'T LIKE GAYS."

Edward whirled away from Charlie, advancing on the hoodies, a menacing look in his eyes. George leered at them. The boys erupted into laughter.

"Wha'cha gonna do?" one mocked. "Hit us with your teddy bear?" he made kissy baby noises at him.

So Edward hit him with his teddy bear. All two tons of it. He swung George round in a terrible spin of death, hitting the gangstas with brick of fluff and fur, sending them flying. They scattered like bowling pins. He jumped on a hoodie, battering him with George. He launched onto a guy with a spliff and slapped him silly. Frothing at the mouth Edward bit him. The remaining boys he licked into submission. They ran away, shrieking like pansies.

"Ooh, sugar," Edward said, picking up a small bag of white powder one of the boys had dropped. He snuggled George and hurried after Charlie, who hadn't noticed a thing.

"—And eventually they'll lose interest." He turned back and smiled. "There you go. They've gone. I told you that you just had to ignore them."

"Uh-huh," said Edward, playing with the tie on the bag.

"Where did you get that?" Charlie asked, gesturing to the bag of sugar.

"A nice man gave it to me," Edward said. "Cuz I like sugar.

"I'm not sure that's—"

Edward downed the bag of cocaine whole.

"Oh boy," said Chief Swan. Edward collapsed sideways into the duck pond and started quacking.

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N- Gosh, there was a lot of senseless violence in that, wasn't there? Still, I'm enjoying writing Bella's descent into madness. And Edward's supposed to be the insane one!?!

I have to say something to you all; Mini Willy Wonka is a sensitive soul. He's the type that sits at the end of a bar, nursing a lone glass of sherry. Romances strangers in chatrooms to soothe his lonely heart. Writes gothic poetry musing on the agonies of life. And you've all broken his heart. He's had no responses to his marriage proposal at all, and let me tell you this, my brother is heartbroken. I hope you all feel ashamed of yourselves!