Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

The prisoner curled up on the damp stone.

“Hey!” he cried out. “Somebody help me! I’m cold and ashamed, lying naked on the floor.”

No-one replied. He felt torn. How had he got into this imbroglio? There had been a mist. A highwayman. Tentacles. A Probe.

Oh God. The Probe.

He tried to stand up, and then quickly sat back down again.

Oh God. The Probe.

“Hey!” he called out. “Somebody – ”

“Yeah?” came a voice from the other side of the bars. “What’s the problem?”

“Ah, yes. Good. Well, I’ve got a number of complaints about the way I’m being treated here. For one thing – ”

“’Ere, Tom. Prisoner says he’s got some complaints.”

“Really?” said another voice. “Well, ’e’ll ’ave to fill in a form, then, won’t ’e?”

“Yeah. ’Ave we got one ’andy, Tom?”

“Er … let me see … nah, we’re right out of forms, Bob. Sorry, mate, no forms, no complaint. Got to follow the procedure. Always got to – ”

“Look,” said the prisoner, “Do you know who I am?” He had a feeling that this usually had the desired effect.

“Yeah,” said the one called Tom. “’Course we do. But do you know who you are? That’s the more interesting question.”

The prisoner considered this in silence. “Ah,” he said. “Now you come to mention it, I have no idea who I am. No idea whatsoever.”

‘Well, that’ll make filling in a form difficult, won’t it?” said Bob with an unnecessary air of triumph.

“Bollocks,” said the prisoner. Then he had a thought. “But … you … know … do you?” he said, in a slightly more conciliatory tone.

“Yeah,” said Tom. “Nice name it is, too. Dead posh. But if you want to find out what it is, you’ll ’ave to be a bit nicer to us first.”

“No more complaints,” chipped in Bob.

“Oh, yes, yes,” said the prisoner. “Of course.”

“Promise?” said Tom.

“Promise.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Look,” said the prisoner, “I’m not trying to be pushy or anything, but I wonder if I could perhaps have some of my clothes back?” There was no reply. “And could you possibly tell me when the next meal is? It’s just that the thin gruel I had a few hours ago – nutritious though it was, and I did like the ant garnish, that was a lovely touch – didn’t really fill me up quite as much as I’d expected. In fact if I’d known, I might have gone for the – ”

“Is that a complaint?” said Bob.

“Oh no, no.”

“Right. Piss off, then. You’ll get clothed and fed when we decide.”

The prisoner’s stomach rumbled.

“I ’eard that,” said Tom. “Definitely a complaint, that was.”

There was a sound of footsteps approaching. “Still,” said Bob.  “No time for food now, anyway. Lucky boy’s got a visitor.”

The prisoner looked up as the door swung open.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said.

“Indeed it is,” she said. “It’s time for your therapy.”

“Oh,” he said. “Will this involve a Probe?”

“It always involves Probes. It always does. But in your mouth this time.”

“Ah.” He thought about this for a while. “You have washed it, haven’t you?” he said.