The Lying Woman, The Undetectable Spy and The Hole in the Universe

Mayhorn, a woman aged prematurely by her obsessive usage of narcotics, is sitting dazed and mostly completely confused in the corner of her living room. The early morning sun shines gently in from the one window, creating bars of dusty light onto the floor. Her two children have left for school some time ago, and she contemplates the mountain of work still to do, and the mountain of drugs still to consume. Voices she cannot hear ponder her future…….
-Did she tell anyone?
-Indeed she did. As many people, in fact, as would talk to her.
-Strange that she did not recognise the test, for I find it hard to believe she would compromise her dignity intentionally.
-Strange. Very strange. Positively ludicrous in fact. Does she not realise that this next passage in her life may well be the last chance she will ever have to find happiness and stability? To have genuine friends and allies with which to solve her lives problems. Perhaps she no longer cares of the values upon which life long relationships are formed.
-Now then, what the hell is she doing? You don’t want to take any more of that shit love! Jesus, knock it on the head. Quit while you still can! Batter your poor, fragile body no more. Mercy, have mercy on your own soul!
-Giggles. Is there no way she can hear us?
-Not directly old man, no. We could always send the spy in, as a last resort.
-Why not I say. Can it really do any more harm?
-I think not.
-Very well. Open the wormhole and send our best man in.

Later that day, Mayhorn, by now a little the worse for ware, is fumbling around her kitchen, looking for some form of subsidence that might make her feel a little more human. She eventually settles for a glass of milk, and just as she is finishing, there is a knock at the front door. Presently she answers the knock, and finds a visitor she has not seen before standing in front of her. She then realises she has seen the young man before, but did not immediately recognise him through the misty, hazy cloud of her drug aided day.
-Carl? Come in. What brings you out this way? Business, or, no, business I imagine.
-Just thought I’d pop in as I’m in the area, you know, see how you are. How are you indecently?
-Umm. Not bad. A bit, you know (points at her head and twirls her finger around, slightly crossing her eyes)
-Right (he laughs), know what you mean.
-Come in anyway. Would you care for a cup of tea?
-Nice, sure, sounds fine, great in fact, cup of tea, just the ticket.
It takes Mayhorn much longer than it should to make the tea. Eventually, with half a pound of sugar on the floor, and a small scold on the left wrist, she emerges from the kitchen with two half full mugs of a vaguely brown liquid, and hands one of them to Carl, who is examining the unusual art work in the front room.
-Oh,…..lovely, thanks. (He finds a suitable place for the mug, somewhere completely out of reach so that he may not have to drink from it) So, what’s new?
-Not much. Bit weird really, people having been telling me the strangest things recently.
-No shit. Still, probably all private stuff, wouldn’t ask you to tell me any of it.
-Oh no, its okay, it was all in the strictest of confidence though, now that you mention it.
-Funny that. Someone must want to know if you can keep a secret.
-Why on earth would that be?
-Perhaps someone is testing your morals. Trust, Mayhorn, is as big a building block for friendship as there ever was.
-Yes, perhaps you’re right. (She seems to be considering this for a moment) Listen to this. I was told that Mrs. Morgan, from twenty-seven, is actually a lesbian, who has a secret crush on Mrs. Ramsbottom, and they meet in the park after they’ve taken their children to school to discuss plans to run away together.
-Really.
-Yes, isn’t it the most? And you know that accountant chappy from sixty-two? Well it appears that his wife is going through some sort of breakdown, and keeps being rushed off to hospital at the drop of a hat. Seems she can’t even cope with the day to day running of her life without some form of medication or counselling. They say she has an alcohol addiction too.
-Fascinating Mayhorn, truly mesmerising. Has anyone shown any interest in these idol rumours that you seem to have taken upon yourself to spread? And you do it with so much earnest too. Remarkable.
-All people talk, and gossip. None of it can actually harm anyone. I like to hear of other people’s troubles, it makes me feel more comfortable with myself. (She laughs at this, much to the amazement of her present company, and those she cannot see)
The two distant spirits, who have been watching this display with great interest, begin to commentate on what they are seeing.
-What a worthless fuck wit. After all that has happened in her life, all she can say is “everyone gossips”. Only if they’re like you sweetheart. Only if they are as useless as you!
-Good job Carl. (Carl raises his hand to acknowledge his praise then pretends to flatten his hair when Mayhorn looks up. They continue their conversation.)
-So, what actually is the point of this? We found out she can’t be trusted, but so what. Lots of people can’t be trusted. Being a cunt does not make her particularly individual.
-Quite true my cosmic counterpart, quite true. I think, however, we are well within our rights to spin the little bitch out a bit.
-Why not, oh vaguely defined higher form of life that you are, why not indeed.
-Okay, Carl if you could make an exit at the next available opportunity. (Carl acknowledges this, and again he has to fain some cosmetic readjustment to avoid suspicion.)
-Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay Mayhorn. I must be offski, plenty to do you understand.
-Well, it was nice to see you.
She sees him to the door and waves him goodbye before returning to her seat in the front room and settles herself in for another session on the mirror. Her children, waiting patiently at the school gates, will never see her again.

Some hours later, and Mayhorn is clearly off her tits. Her head occasionally twitches against her shoulder, and she has been drooling on and off for some time now. Somewhere, a long way away, two transcended life forms recognise the chance to do there bit for humanity has arrived, and begin there fun.
-Mayhorn.
(Vague recognition that someone has spoken, but not enough to afford her to open her eyes more than the slightest crack)
-Oh Mayhorn. Calling Mayhorn. Please move some part of your body a detectable distance to show us that you are in fact alive. It won’t take much, just a little nod, or a wave.
-No, I’m sorry, dribbling will not suffice. Now come on, a little movement please.
(Mayhorn is now pretty much conscious, but a little confused. The voices in her head hadn’t been this clear before, maybe it was time to get down to the doctors for some medicated assistance.)
-Mayhorn, this really is very boring now. We know you can hear us, so stop pissing about and acknowledge our existence.
-Who are you? What do you want?
-She speaks! (screeks of delight) Wonderful, we have contact Sir! I repeat, we have made contact with it.
-So it would seem old chum. Now then, what have you to say for yourself Mayhorn?
-Pardon?
-How do you plea, child?
-Plea? To what?
-To what indeed. Come come now dear girl. You should know better than to agitate those you cannot see. Now, how do you plea? Guilty or not guilty?
-Guilty or not guilty of what?
-Being an arse, (chuckling) being a lazy, ignorant, repellent speck of shit, (more giggling) wasting your life while ruining others (no giggling here. This is seen as a serious offence)
-Who are you goddamit!
-Temper, temper. Who we are is of no concern to you. All that should concern you is why you can hear us, and what we want from you (which isn’t very nice, by the way). Now, do you or do you not agree that you life is in fact a waste of every bodies time and energy. Do you agree that without you, the world would not only be a better place, but would also be a more agreeable place to beings like myself who have to watch over the purile bull shit that your life creates?
-No. I do not.
-Very well. You see, if you’d have answered yes there, if you’d have said something like, “well, yes, I am a complete twat and if I could change I would, but I’m too wasted to even consider it at the moment, but yes, essentially you’re right,” we could have sorted something out. You do think we’re right, don’t you Mayhorn?
-I don’t really know. Who are you?
-Give up on the “who are you” deal, for fucks sake. It doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference who you think we are. All that should concern you now is that you are being spoken to by people you cannot see, and therefore people you cannot comprehend. Therefore, you must believe that we are right, and you are wrong. If you do not believe this, there really is no hope for you.
-I don’t know what to say.
-Thank god. Couldn’t stand to listen to any more of your pathetic drivel anyway. Now, what about your kids?
-Oh. Shit. They’re still at school probably.
-Well no they’re not actually. They’ve been collected by the council and are being kept safely until someone has had the chance to speak to you. Not very good for your case this, is it? Ummm?
-Increase her heart rate to an uncomfortable level would you old cosmic friend of mine.
-At once my league. (Using methods and forces we do not understand, Mayhorns heart rate is steadily increased)
-Now then Mayhorn, this is your very last chance. We do not want anymore…….hang on a minute. What has happened to her?
-I think she might be dead old chap.
-Well, how much did you increase her heart rate by?
-About four hundred beats per minute.
-Ah! Yes, I think you might have overdone it a bit there old buddy. These humans tend to struggle with anything over three hundred.
-Really? Bollocks. Oh well, you live and learn, you live and learn.
Cameras pan out on the body of Mayhorn, lying on the floor of her living room, having suffered a massive heart attack. The two transcended beings can be heard quite happily chatting away in the background.