Andy Ward talks to himself.

I thought that whilst getting this story off my chest, I might as well share it with the world, thus allowing me to finally be free from the burden that I’ve been carrying around for years. It’s only a matter of time before the press get wind of it anyway, and I’d prefer to break the news on my own terms. The background to this story is that a few years ago, whilst me and a few friends were hanging around at ‘Hank and Alan’s Mushroom and Onion Shack’, things quickly got out of hand, and… well, it fast became a tale of love, betrayal and finally, revenge in the world of vegetables. You’ll see.

It was a Friday. We could tell this because the hour hand on the clock was pointing to Friday, and the minute hand was on o’ clock. It was Friday o’ clock. We’re not entirely sure what the precise time was on Friday, since our clock wasn’t yet that advanced, but it was dark outside, so was probably evening. There we were, in Hank and Alan’s Mushroom and Onion shack, just like every Friday night. The whole gang had turned up, me, Hank, Alan, Donald, Jonty and Carl. We were like the three musketeers, were there to have been an additional three musketeers. The six musketeers is what I think I’m getting at.

“What are we going to do tonight?” Said Carl, as he licked a stamp. Carl loved licking stamps, even if he had nothing to post. Sometimes he’d just lick stamps until his tongue became glue. That was the kind of man Carl was. Donald threw a dart at the dart board. Triple 17. 51.

“Fifty-one.” Said Donald. He then subtracted that from the 501 score that you start a traditional round of darts with. “Four hundred and fifty.” Added Donald. His dialogue had, thus far, been very boring.

“We should do something exciting.” I said. “Like go outside of this place.” This was typical of me. I’d been attending the Mushroom and Onion shack for over 30 years by this point (don’t ask how), despite not liking either mushrooms or onions.

“You always say that Andy.” Said Hank. “I don’t know why you bother coming here every week, since you like neither mushrooms or onions.” Little did Hank know that I’d explained this point prior to him actually bringing it up.

“I just think we’ve seen enough mushrooms and onions to last us a lifetime. There are only so many times we can sit here and play Truth or Dare without it getting boring. We’re not 14 year old girls anymore.” I was right, we weren’t. Nor had we ever been in fact. Apart from Alan, who was once known as ‘Eileen’, but that’s a story for another time.

“How dare you slander Truth or Dare!” Shouted Carl, as he spat stamps everywhere. “It never gets boring!”

“Doesn’t it?” I said.

“Truth or Dare?” Replied Carl.

“Truth.” I said.

“Do you like mushrooms?” He asked.

“No. Dare.”

“I dare you to try an onion.”

“You see what I mean? It’s the same every time! Let’s just go out for once and do something exciting!”

Jonty banged his fist on the table to remind everybody that he was still in this story despite having no dialogue from the outset. “Damnit, Andy’s right!” He said. “We should do something fun! Let’s have an adventure!”

Donald continued to play darts. He hit a double 12, then accidentally threw the other two darts out the window. “Twenty-four.” He said, as the scream of a man whose ear had just been penetrated by a dart became audible in the distance. Donald approached the dart board and removed the single dart that remained. “Fine. We’ll go out.” He grumbled.

“But where?” Said Alan, in a shrill voice that betrayed the fact that his hormone therapy was not working properly.

“Paulton’s Park?” Said Hank.

“Is that the place with the owl?” Asked Jonty.

“Probably.” Replied Hank.

“Then no. I’m allergic to owls.” Jonty was right. He was allergic to owls. He had learned this during his time working at the owl sanctuary. He had a lot of days off sick.

“Then where else?” Said Hank.

“Maybe we should just stay here after all.” Said Carl. “Donald, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me whether you like mushrooms.”

“Oh for goodness sake!” I screamed as I stood up. “We’re going out and that’s the end of it! I’m not staying here talking about onions!” And with that, I picked up an onion from the basket of onions kept on the front desk and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces. Minus 998. It shattered into two pieces. A perfectly split onion, lying on the floor. Only this was not like any other onion. The onion that had shattered appeared to be glowing on the floor. “Alan, turn the lights off.” I said. Alan did as he was told. The onion was glowing. It’s centre emitting some kind of aura.

“What is that?” Stammered Hank.

“It’s an onion.” Said Donald, sarcastically, as he finally managed to drag himself away from his boring game of darts.

“Shut up Donald! Or we’ll boil you!” I said, making reference to a previous story that many people will have no idea about.

“It’s not a regular onion…” Added Hank, helpfully “Regular onions don’t glow.” Hank had a PhD in Chemistry, so his opinion was of vital interest, and if Hank said it wasn’t a regular onion, it probably wasn’t. He should really be referred to as Dr Hank, but that would take at least 2% longer to type.

Then, suddenly, a howling wind passed through the bar. It seemed to whisper to us. “Come into the onion…” It said.

“Did anybody else hear that?” Said Jonty, nervously.

“Hear what?” Said Carl.

“The onion spoke.”

“How could it speak? It’s a fucking onion.” Said Donald. Our jaws dropped. Alan fainted.

“Donald, you can’t use swearsies!” I said.

“Swearsies? What are you eight? I’ll say whatever the fuck I like.”

“But Donald! What if this adventure were to eventually be adapted for children! How would they censor your foul-mouthed dialogue?”

“They’ll just have to live with it won’t they?”

“Donald, I have to say, you’re fast becoming the villain of this piece.” I said. And I was right, he was.

“Oh fuck off Andy, it’s just swearing, give it a try!” He snarled back.

“No! I won’t! This is a beautiful story and I don’t want it getting an 18 certificate because of your rude language!”

“Tits.” Blurted Jonty.

“JONTY!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s it! Everybody into the onion before this becomes Goodfellas!”

One by one they jumped into the onion. Quite how is anybody’s guess, but they all did. Vanishing into its core. Apart from Donald. “Get in the onion Donald.” I said.

“What’s the magic word?” He replied.

“Get the fuck in the onion.” I said as I pushed him in by his face and resigned myself to the eventual 18 certificate of the movie version of this tale. Little did I know that it would only get more hideous from here.

Anyway, that’s the end of the first part of this story. I might be back later with the second, it depends on how much free time I have*.

*Lots. I’ll inevitably be back later.