Big Booby! (part one)

Big Bob Billet, wine-grower and incredibly garrulous know-it-all entrepreneur from downaways hillside, had a serious problem that was rattling his brains. It had nothing to do with Cataclysm as such, although turning up when it did, like as not the issue would never have arisen.
It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that his death would most likely be caused by deep freezing. Bob didn’t fancy having to die at all, but quick-freezing was a process he understood very well, for his fruit crops routinely went to markets far beyond Preston’s valley in that cold condition.
The dilemma which bothered him was of an entirely different sort, and he looked as mournful as a wet puppy as he tried to puzzle it out. By all means blame Cataclysm, for Bob Billet was being forced, by the unexpected and dreadful circumstances, to make a difficult choice – would he die with his wife of thirty-five years, or his secret paramour of ten years and counting?
When Bob woke his wife up early on Saturday the 13th, to give her the bad news about Cataclysm and prepare her for the certainty that they were likely to die as a consequence of it, she flew out of bed in a right rage. Mrs. B could read Bob’s moods like a book, chapter and verse, and, for the most part could tell exactly what he was thinking. This difficult occasion was no exception; Patsie had Bob’s number and no mistake, and it didn’t please her to know of it, not one bit! She wasn’t clear what she was most angry about at first, the undeniable fact that she’d be dead in the prime of her life, or that her big booby of a husband was standing in front of her at the bottom of the bed, fully dressed, for God’s sake, in his second best suit and it wasn’t yet five in the morning! The sod had been two-timing her again, and courtesy of this storm thing, he’d get off Scot free!
She’d good cause to react violently; she’d right on her side, she was the wife, wasn’t she? She stormed about the room in her skimpies, gathering her rage, her nasty intentions towards Bob and her clothes, fully intending to give full vent to her avenging wrath, which had been steadily accumulating over the many years of the deception.
The first unreasoned idea that popped into her head the instant she saw Bob hanging over her, so nicely dressed in his blue suit and gold-flecked tie – the very one she’d given him for the Christmas before last – was to finish him off with a shotgun blast and as she did it, indulge herself in an outburst of screaming, indignant vindication. Oh, she was owed it!
But, her second thought was much more sober and considered, she knew that violence against the man wasn’t going to take her very far, and being a kindly woman at heart, and a constant seeker after eternal truths, she instinctively understood the implications of cause and effect, of Karma in action. She knew that whatever vile deed she did now, whatever nasty, hasty words she allowed herself to say in her fit of incandescent rage and sore disappointment, she’d get back in her face in her next life, full force, and she’d best be very careful on that score, for that new existence was coming up on her in a hurry….

taken from Cataclysm’s Day, Book One of The Gatherers Trilogy.



  1. Susan Worrall says:

    funny Kristin

  2. More to come, Susan. Bad as the situation is, it has never been my intention to write a Post Apocalyptic gloom and doomer, but concentrate on how people cope with significant change and make something of it. Throughout the book there are vignettes to highlight folks whose fate is not to continue on.

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