Whilst all of stories from the O.T Strange universe have no direct associations, there is one character who appears across The Dissenters and Hell – Ruffy. For those who are not familiar with Ruffy’s works he is in essence the ubiquitous office policy nazi, but told through a sympathetic (albeit very sarcastic tone). His origins are currently only known by those fans who I trust to hold and treasure this sacred and ancient lore. However in real life, I work with him and he very much is as I portray him and it is his encouragement that has led to ‘Ruffy’ becoming an permanent fixture to the O.T Strange Universe.
Whilst Ruffy has yet to meet a comfortable ending to a story, my next novel focuses on the man behind the mask – The Ruffy Back Story a sequel that no one asked for and no doubt will not read. However, as I love you guys here is a snippet from sequel that no one asked for.
Within the indeterminable sound of midmorning light splitting through the forest canopy, there was the rhythmic cracking thud of an axe falling upon and splitting logs for fire wood.
This had been the backdrop for much of Ruffy’s existence for what would have equated several decades had his been a corporeal existence, however this was Hell – or at least a demographically selected region within ‘so called’ Hell.
The author is mindful that there may be some readers who are blessed in not having read the Interquel to this three-part series that should never exist, for those poor souls can only obtain some salve to their eternal ache by knowing that there is no prequel to the three-part story.
There are also those blessed readers who will never curse their existence by reading these words, and to these folks I am hopeful that you do not blind yourself with a plastic fork nor step out into a fast-moving stream of articulated lorry traffic – but time will tell.
For those readers who are either unclear as to which particular audience section they sit within or are about to either blind themselves with a plastic fork/step out in-front of a fast-moving stream of articulated lorry traffic. To summarise and/or re-iterate, this is the final book that no one wants to read, in a series that should never have been written.
The author shall make best endeavours to take into account the requirements for those readers who are not aware of the events in the preceding book by often pretending that they did not happen, where convenient for this torrid little tale. Equally the author shall ignore any such requirements for the reader if it offers any possible outlet to explore attempts at ‘humour’ and/or ‘entertainment’.
Ruffy tossed the split logs onto the pile before sitting down on an upturned log for a moment to take in the beauty of his surroundings and take a drink from his flask. As he screwed on the cap he stood very still and listened, Ruffy had become in-tune with his environment, to a point where he could count the number of rabbits – without having even seen any rabbits – because there were none. In this instance his finely tuned intuition has just been mentioned for no reason whatsoever and not to be used as a clumsy narrative device either now or later.
The background ambience had begun to distance itself from its warm silence and had become the amphitheatre for the sound of distant helicopter blades chopping through the air. With a sigh, Ruffy picked up his axe and began walking slowly back towards his cabin as the sound of the approaching helicopter grew louder.
Ruffy sat down in a large and creaky wicker chair on the porch of his cabin and awaited the arrival of his visitors, he knew that they were coming for him. With the treetops starting to swirl against the helicopter turbulence, an inner turbulence was stirring within Ruffy. Whilst he had always hoped that he had gone far enough away that he and his previous actions would be forgotten, there was something inside excited by the prospect of a new and yet unknown entity returning to his existence. The counter point was of course that this excitement would come at a cost and somewhere deep inside Ruffy knew that this life choice transaction could be the last.
Long dark ropes began to fall through the leafy canopy, closely followed by the speeding figures of assault troops sliding down towards the woodland floor.
What on earth could happen next? Who Cares? Does anyone have Neil Breen’s direct dial?