Arnold the Newt 4: How It All Began

It was a slow quiet afternoon and Arnold the newt was kicking back and chilling – I’d go as far as bored if I’m honest.  Sitting nursing a coffee in one of those small boutique cafes that only sells stuff grown in organic leaf mulch he looked down at the tattered converse holding in his little newty feet and wondered where they could take him.  Draining the last of his coffee he first cursed for not remembering the name of the coffee in coffee language and then scanned the outside for excitement.

Truth be told Wickam-under-Siege was not the best place for the next about town.  Scanning the street the only two things of interest were a drunk squirrel – hilarious, right?! – and the pub.  Hilarious as drunk squirrels maybe, the only liquid they’ll be producing you don’t to drink (very bitter) so off to the pub for Arnold it was.  The rain left dark spots on Arnold’s converse and made the purple of his suit jacket look slightly green as he made the epic journey across the road.  Dodging on-coming traffic like a slightly unstable ninja Arnold made it to the other side, even if he was slightly bruised.

Hand out-stretched, fingers aching in anticipation Arnold was moments from opening the door when a suspicious alley way caught his eye.  Drifting down on a sea of incense and Jimi Hendrix Arnold arrived at a door way shielded only by beads.  After many many shots and a few tokes of something distinctly like tea leaves Arnold passed out.  Coming too Arnold realised he had somehow re-discovered pastry for the world.  Moving to a flat in said alley he became a famous inventor discovering things like the internet, alarm clocks and plants for mankind everywhere.

Arnold was ready to be great inventor, he had plans for the world.  Big plans.

David Horn

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Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip 1

Carlos the Angry Cat: Mothers Day


Carlos the Angry Cat: Mothers Day

Arnold had gone.  He’d gone!  Carlos could barely contain himself.  This meant … things!  He could sleep.  He could watch the rest of Olan Rogers’ videos.  This was going to be great.  Carlos lay there in his bed.  AudioWhores blared as he looked around thinking about the possibilities.  His eyes met the peeling 1980s wall paper, the flat pack wardrobe  and the pine desk.  Carlos loved it.  His little kingdom was in perfect order and enjoying a reign of tranquility without Arnold.  Carlos’s eyes were stuck on his desk.  His calendar was brightly coloured with pictures of parrots in hats to be sure, but that’s not why Carlos’s eyes were stuck.

It was March.  After a line of crosses the date today was the 10th.  The 10th.  What was the 10th… Mothers day!  Carlos went into a cold sweat as panic over took his body.  This meant one thing, Carlos’ mother was coming all the way from his native Brazil.  Braving a look at his phone Carlos even saw a text from her.  She was on her way.  Carlos flew out of bed with force of a disturbed banshee.  He threw on any clothes he could find and ended up in a pair of dirty jeans and a Mighty Boosh t-shirt.  He pulled on a pair of knackered green converse that in reality were probably worse than going bare foot and ran out his front door.  He ran down the dull and distintergrating corridor, down a dark creaky stair case and out onto the street.

The street ahead was just a street.  A few houses and blocks of flats, some cars parked on the side and a crazy lady selling live penguins. Y’know, just your average street.  Carlos knew though that this tarmac was destined to betray him as it carried his mother straight to his front door in a cloud of samba music, confetti and overly strong perfume.  Carlos lived at the bottom of a dead end, he ran up to the main road and could feel the vibration of incoming terror on its way.  From the left Carlos guessed.  He ran right.  Renowned as a rebellious figure within Wickam-under-Siege Carlos decided there was no harm in borrowing a car.  Armed with his meanest face he glared at the car door.  Concentration caused lines to erupt across his face.  Alas, it was no good.  He punched through the window and hot wired the car.  He was off.  Grey sped past him.  The sky, pavements, buildings, expressions – there was more grey around Carlos than in a Homebase colour chart.  Eventually the houses turned to trees and the sun peaked its head from the side of an oddly guitar shaped cloud.  Carlos was ready for fresh air and country smells to sidle up to his nose and refresh him.

What actually happened was the smell of manure, flying through the air before it slammed into Carlos’ face.   Helpfully there was a pub close by, complete with windows and doors to keep away all the bad smells the countryside could hide.  Carlos pulled up off the road into the pubs gravel car park.  A sign skipped in the breeze, revealing the pub to be called The Bear’s Coat.  After a Workaholics flashback had passed Carlos got out the car.  There was something wrong though.  Carlos the Angry Cat could tell, sadly he couldn’t tell what.  Gravel crunched under Carlos as the gravel hurt his feet through the holes in his converse.  Limping through the door the warm hair hit Carlos and sent good vibes tumbling through his body.  Sadly again though the manure essence was still clinging to his nose and blocking a quite formidable odour.

Carlos turned towards the rustic looking bar selecting his cider of choice.  Unhelpfully next to the chosen cider, Roundboy Ruin, was someone Carlos hadn’t seen for a while

‘Roger?  Wha .. wha .. what are you doing here?’ Carlos said uncertainly.

‘When you left, before, I forgot that we had a little unfinished business’ informed Roger, the coke dealing fox.

‘We did?  Did it involve deodorant?  You still smell all kinds of bad!’

‘Actually … no.  You were going to take me to see … Finding Nemo’ Roger said shakily.

‘Really?  How did you find me?’ Enquired Carlos wearily.

‘It’s actually a really long ….’

‘Do you know what, I’m going now.  Buy it on DVD, and get your hands on some Lynx.  We had some good times, and I admire your dedication but this is decidedly odd.’

‘You’re lucky I have go do a deal anyway’.

Carlos suddenly realized Mothers Day with your mother isn’t such a bad thing.

David Horn

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Carlos the Angry Cat: The Back Story

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1

Carrier Pigeons

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 5

Read this to catch up.

Arnold had never been in an eighteen wheeler before.  Frankly he was disappointed.  It looked just like the inside of a normal car with its grey plastic interior, just mildly more comfy with a few blankets.  The in-built bed was a good look though Arnold had to admit.  Arnold was considering getting out of the eighteen wheeler when he heard sirens.  Looking towards his new best friend, they both nodded and all eighteen wheels spun into life shooting the lorry forward like a deformed bullet that enjoyed a cake or five.

Dry arid land sped past the window as blue lights flashed closer and closer in the mirrors.  Arnold broke into a sweat.  He didn’t want to be busted for catapulting a car high into the sky with his mind but also saw that years of trucking alone had done his driver’s mental state more harm than good.  The truck crossed in and out of the lanes and the lights were catching up as the trucker screamed ‘Yeeeehah’.  Arnold could read the name badges of the drivers!  As he questioned whether having name badges when you’re a policeman was a good idea a car charged past them.  A vintage looking Dodge with an aging driver flew past shooting into the air as he did.  The lorry’s radio sparked into life.

‘This is the Bandit, repeat this is the bandit, I got your back!’

In the wing mirror Arnold saw Bandit pull up, get out and began to juggle.  The police stopped.  They looked impressed and sat on the hoods of their cars clapping.  Arnold sighed with relief and slumped back into his seat.  For the first time he eyed up his mentally unstable driver.  He sat in red fur lined cap and blue checked shirt, swigging something pungent from a hip flask. Arnold got worried.  Was he crazy AND drunk?  That was a fatal combination.  Arnold sniffed with his newty tongue.  Apple, banana, mango.  Arnold was so happy a little wee came out.

‘Hey man, I’m Jonas.  Want to come on adventure with me?  I’m delivering some fancy teleport to Chicago’ ventured Jonas.

Arnold thought for a second.  The snow had probably gone now from back home, he could go back without the risk of his tongue freezing to his eye.  An idea was happening.  Arnold could tell because his head hurt.  Safe to go home.  Teleport.  Adventure?  Arnold smashed these words together in his head.  There was a plan here, a genius one.  A plan crafted at a banquet of cunning foxes.  But what was it? Ahhhhhh hah!  Arnold’s brain was so excited he got a nose bleed.  He also realized he’d been staring for five minutes so decided to use some words.

‘Hi, I’m Arnold.  That sounds great!  Lets do it!’ Jonas looked mildly confused but was happy to have someone to talk to.

For five days Jonas regretted picking up this newt intensely.  He wanted to talk about the cool powers Arnold had but all Arnold wanted to talk about was biscuits.  In fairness to Arnold, talking about biscuits continuously for five days is fairly impressive.  Luckily they arrived in Chicago before Jonas’ urge to shot himself arrived in reality.  The eighteen wheeler squeezed through Chicago’s streets carefully, like a tip-toeing elephant.  Arnold looked down out the window, it was cold.  Really cold.  The remains of ice and snow littered the paths like stubborn frosty ghosts.  Arnold began to think his Hawaiian shirt and sandals might not cut it.  Eventually they reached their destination.  The Chicago Cubs stadium.  They pulled in and Arnold whelped in anticipation of the cold.  As Jonas, clad in a thick winter coat unloaded the back of the huge lorry Arnold decided to sleep.  Talking about biscuits is tiring.

Arnold awoke several hours later.  It was dark outside but the teleport was built!  Arnold like his eyes in excitement. Home, he thought.  The giant orange square glowed dimly, showing the computer terminal in its 90s glory.  This was it.  Arnold wrapped himself in as many blankets has he could find.  Looking like a furry mole hill with a face Arnold crept over the baseball field to the terminal. Arnold felt around in the near dark for an on switch. As he felt about he saw in front of him a pair of pale and piercing big blue eyes staring at him from the stands.

The eyes leapt forward.  The movement activated the flood lights and revealed to Arnold the owner of the eyes.  Arnold is tall for a newt.  Six foot!  A fact he likes to impress on dates, along with the aid of one of his shoes. Even Arnold had to look up.  Standing at eight foot one and a half Arnold stood face to shoulders with a bear lizard!  Like a bad Underworld tag line these guys had the strengths of both and the weaknesses of none.  Arnold’s newty eyes looked at the bear lizard.  He began to tremble in fear, the head of the a bear turned into the broad shoulders and body of  a lizard that had hit puberty hard.  Growing through its scales was a think coat of brown fur stretching right down its long muscular tail.  Arnold’s eyes were fixated on the long reptilian claws dripping from its hands as the bear lizard began to speak.

‘I just watched the end of Surface.  It was terrible!   I’m angry!  I’m going to kill you dead newt’ the bear lizards eyes remained fierce as the friendly voice of someone who sounded like a laugh down the pub annoyingly met Arnold’s ears.

Really?!  Thanks, I was actually about to watch that … wait, what? Arnold’s face dropped as the gravity of the situation struck him.

‘Bye bye, I’ll give you a chance – 10 seconds!’

The bear lizard moved back a pace and glared at Arnold.  Arnold started to sweat, before remembering his training and focussed his mind.  Celestial blue light began once more to glow in his palms as Arnold met the gaze of the bear lizard.

‘4, 3, 2, 1’ counted the bear lizard.

Arnold had shot a car high in the air with his mind, he wasn’t worried.  This was a mistake.  Before Arnold could blink the bear lizard had driven a punch hard into Arnold’s chest and sent him up shattering in to the stands and knocking the blankets off him.  Arnold got up  and was glad to see Jonas looking active, he was less glad to see Jonas rest his feet on the dashboard with some mysterious pop-corn.  The bear lizard charged across the field as Arnold’s fists glowed blue as he threw himself from the stands and into his attackers path.  Still moving from the jump Arnold slammed a punch in to the bear lizards jaw.  There combined momentum sent the bear lizard literally feet back wards as he nearly lost his balance.

The bear lizard wiped a trickle of blood from his lip and straightened up.  Arnold jumped foot first at the bear lizards face, they don’t like this generally.  The bear lizard grabbed his foot before it could connect and swung him round and round.  He released Arnold and watched him fly back towards the stand.  A face of confusion crept over his face though as he blinked again to check his vision.  Arnold hung in the sky.  He hovered and looked equally surprized.  Jonas just ate his pop-corn.  Arnold dived down to earth, rolling as he hit the ground and landing a kick square in the bear lizard’s belly.  Before the bear lizard could recover Arnold swung punch after punch at his torso.  Taking his moment Arnold swung for his head using his heightened fists.  Sadly he missed, giving the bear lizard time to head butt him with a satisfying crack.

Arnold tumbled to the floor.  Laying on his back he was unable to move.  The bear lizard stepped over him as he curled his fists.  Back in the lorry Jonas reached into his glove compartment and pulled out his magnum.  He fired the chambers, hitting nothing – not even stadium.  Arnold found the strength to move and bristled with energy as he rugby tackled the distracted bear lizard however.  His tackle took the pair off the ground as the horrified bear lizard saw an advertising board charge towards him.  He flew through it and landed below it on the other side.  The board creaked as cracks surged up and down it.  The pieces rained down on the bear lizard as the wooden supports completed the wooden pile.

Sirens and horns wailed from across the city as the emergency services raced to the scene of the demolished stadium.  Arnold ran to the teleport control computer and thanked the power of plot importance that it and the teleport were still operational.  Reading up on the controls in a blink he dialed as close to Wickam-under-Siege as he could.  The big orange screen glowed bright as Arnold ran through it home.

The end.

David Horn

Related Posts:

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 3

Carlos the Angry Cat: The Back Story

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 4

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 4

Read this to catch up.

Arnold woke up.  He hadn’t yet opened his eyes but his stomach felt like the sea during a storm.  His hands felt around him.  His newty fingers felt hard earth with a few plants.  They felt tough, like someone who watched Up and didn’t feel touched.  They felt around his body until they felt something damp.  Still scared to open his eyes he examined the dampness, he was getting … carrot with strong cider tones.  Feeling like the worlds most unfortunate wine critic he concluded he was feeling the results of unhappy insides.  Opening his eyes, Arnold instantly regretted it as dominating heat charged down towards him.  Looking above his left shoulder he saw a sign.  Welcome to Pueblo, California.  Arnold’s head began to hurt as confusion joined the headache.  He looked about, dry and arid land stretched in all directions.  Mildly better than the Mojave Arnold was already bored.  He saw a paper caught around the base of the sign, and then he saw the date.

TWO WEEKS?! Arnold’s brain screamed, and then didn’t as the headache intensified.  Continuing at a quieter tone his brain started ranting, seething with outrage.  I haven’t been written about for two weeks?! In anger Arnold starting writing about himself in the earth and risked destroying reality in the process.  Unless you’re reading this from a void of nothingness he probably didn’t and Arnold soon got bored.  He stood up, his legs left weak.  Looking behind him he saw his car.  His beautiful red soft top with dents in all the right places.  It now had a new dent in entirely the wrong place.  Right where the engine was meant to be.  The engine had helpfully been replaced by a large rock however.  The thought was clearly there but this rock was not a practical rock.

Angry and upset he looked about his car.  There was a message!  Scrawled in impressively controlled handwriting in spray paint was a message.

Well done Arnold.  You now have the abilities of the Mojave Monks.  These mainly include hovering and looking mystical but think outside the box, you’ll work something out.  Anyway I should go, as I slightly crashed your car driving you here.  Take it easy. John, the Monk.

Arnold sighed.  He put the remaining food into a bag and then felt  forced by society to rename it a man bag.  He started walking down dusty tarmac.  Newts hate walking.  They will do anything to avoid it.  Arnold walked and walked as time stretched by.   After an hour he was a little surprized he wasn’t dead but mostly  arriving into town.  The the un-naturally green grass caused by sprinkler systems felt like velvet on Arnold’s feet.  He found a fountain and checked for alligators and water ninjas, because you never know!  Once he was sure it was safe he fell into the comforting blue.  He relaxed and recovered before a decidedly angry-looking policeman shouted and began to run at him.  Using his newty reflexes he didn’t get away and was instead arrested and driven to the edge of the town.

Thrown out across the border the policeman threatened him never to come back, or be forced to watch My Super Sweet Sixteen on loop.  He sat on the highway, sticking his thump up to any passing vehicle and even the occasional tumble weed.  Arnold watched sports cars, MPVs station wagons and lorries drift past him repeatedly as their rubbery disks surfed the tarmac.  He was bemused as to why there were a distinct lack of three wheelers, but just like getting served at a bar if you drop the ball you miss your chance so Arnold kept his focus on the road.  A bit too much focus.  With his new-found powers he started to lift off the floor.  A celestial blue blazed from his palms as the road before him changed.  The stretch in front of him began to seethe with energy as buzzed.  Blue orbs rose from it like butterflies.  A sports car approached.  The businessman inside could be heard firing an employee as a huge grin plastered itself over his face.  He reached Arnold’s spot and swore at Arnold, driving on to the … enhanced … area of road his car was flung high in the air like it has been shot from an elastic band.

Unknown to Arnold a trucker pulled up and watched.  Having just witnessed this he opened his window and shouted.

Dude! Hey mister! You with the newt face!  

Arnold looked around.

That was freeeeeaking sweet!  Get in dude, I’ll give you a lift.

With Arnold’s concentration broken the road returned to normal.  He got in the big 18 wheeler and they drove off.

To be concluded, one last time.

David Horn

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Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 2

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 3

Carlos the Angry Cat: The Back Story

Carlos the Angry Cat: The Back Story

Carlos was an angry cat, and it was only half eight in the morning.  Apart from a documented history of anger management issues he’d also had daily second breakfast at number 74 whisked away in a slightly unstable moving van.  Oh how he’d miss in-depth conversations about the environment, politics and the price of wet food.  He wandered the block, thinking about how everything had changed.  The place was full of posh professional types now, no time for anyone – barely time for a morning shit.  Time to move on thought Carlos; he was young, likeable and adaptable he reasoned.

He got in and was on Right Move straight away, eyes closed and lucky claw extended he randomly selected a place.  Through unsure eyes he examined where he’d chosen, Rhosneigr flashed on the screen.  To a city cat like Carlos who’s idea of ‘out in the the sticks’ was Essex this seemed ideal.  Having spent his last pennies on a healthy supply of weed Carlos headed to Euston station.  Avoiding the tube he took his healthy weed supply, laptop and a limited selection of clothes via foot mentally saying goodbye to places.  Bye London Bridge. Bye London Eye. Bye ally that was great for a sneaky wee after a night at the pub.  He even bumped into Rodger the coke dealing DJ fox with a slight b.o problem on his way – crying tears from both the smell and sadness.

Angry Cat

Carlos finally made it to Euston, the next train to North Wales was to Bangor at 14:17.  He killed 20 minutes before heading to platform 12 past the roman style rhino statue.  Short on money but rich in charm Carlos failed to persuade the Virgin Trains guy to accept a near perfect rendition of Nick Cage’s 4’33 performed ironically.  After being told this wouldn’t fly it was bribery via weed for the win.  Inside the train was warm and cosy, the red plush seat accepting Carlos gladly.  Pulling out a surprize mp3 player Carlos put on the trendiest band he knew, The Puking Monkeys, and dosed off.

Rudely awakened by a train attendant he got off the train and into Bangor and frankly it was cold!  Based on decidedly shaky directions to the bus station he walked past an overly yellow pub and took a left at the clock tower.  He got a couple of funny looks due to his choice of casual suit but was soon speeding across the Menai Straights.  After an hour and a half and 50 stops he was in Rhosneigr.  Slightly worried about his future but mainly about his haircut Carlos took stock of what Rhosneigr was missing.  A good beach, summer-time student and surfer influx AND a tragically under-served aging local population.  Rhosneigr needed a pot dealer.

And that’s how Carlos of Brazil via London got a new job, house and girlfriend in the space of a month.  He then inexplicably left Rhosneiger when he inadvertently caused a police crack down when he started selling horse meat and moved to Wickam-under-Siege.  Every cloud and all that though; there was a charming newt called Arnold to terrorise, wait the other one, befriend.

Read the original instance of this story here.

David Horn

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Arnold the Newt 2: The Case of the Camden Drug Dealers

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 2

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 3

To catch up, read this.

Arnold was ready.  In a deep state of relaxation from Pawse he pulled out of the used car dealership and was once again cruising the streets of Bakersfield, California.  Arnold was a clever newt however and this time he was on it, he was even driving on the correct side of the road.  As he went about looking for a petrol station he remembered it was called gas over here.  After narrowly avoiding some pioneering research into organic gas he found a place.  He sauntered in like it was a bar in a western movie.  Except it wasn’t and people started giving him worried looks.  He caught himself in the mirror and adjusted the green YaMaHaRaHaRa bandanna   As his newty eyes scanned across the alarming bright Hawaiian shirt and the denim shorts he thought the obvious.  Damn I look good.

To the relief of the staff he left the gas station, crossing out the word gas and writing petrol on his way.  He had a full tank of petrol, a tent, a map, a sleeping bag, food and water.  He could begin.  He sailed over the tarmac and fell further in love with the car.  First of all it was a red soft top, Arnold’s favourite colour was red!  The freedom of no roof also did his newt need for space the world of good.  The dents did it for him to, his car was truly unique.  More than that though, the makers had been so thoughtful Arnold beamed.  There were all these fun games to play; like guess the speed or catch the flying car part.  The thing Arnold liked the most were the keep fit indicators.  You actually used your arms to signal!  He was looking forward to be being buff.  Yep, Arnold was a happy newt as he left Bakersfield and entered the sandy desolate fringes of the Mojave Desert.

It was early evening and the sun was just beginning to set.  It looked beautiful, which was a relief for Arnold because until this point there had been nothing but sand and the occasional sun bleached bone.  He was more bored than a MC on an instrumental track.  I feel that if Arnold were to tell you anything right now it would be this, just fly over it.  Then it dawned on Arnold, he had a map!  Without a second thought he swerved off the road with a satisfying tyre squeal  and went to find a more interesting route.  As Arnold explored the Mojave he saw lots of things, but mainly just more sand and cacti – but there was a crazy man rocking unstably on the floor.  “I’m ready for you death claws…I’m ready?” Matthew Angliss whispered shakily.  Needless to say Arnold drove on.  Finally it was dark so he stopped and  put up his tent in the beam of his one working headlight.  Arnold was speechless.  The car was even energy-saving!!

If Arnold had paid attention in geography he would have known that deserts are cold at night.  He went and found the sleeping Matthew Angliss and proceeded to rob him.  He took matches, tinder and an Xpress Games mug, .  Arnold huddled for warmth in his sleeping bag as he watched the fire burn and looked at the star filled sky.  He looked down at the fire and in the flickering light saw a white-robed and hooded figure coming towards him.  Instantly Arnold wished he’d also stolen the gun, he felt around for a weapon.  Ready for action he stood brandishing the Xpress Games mug, it’s strong white surface reflecting the flickering fire.  The figure approached until it was standing the other side of the fire.

“Put down the mug you crazy newt!”  The figure’s voice sounded like a gruff wise old man.

“Who are you?! Are you a death claw?” Arnold stammered, pacing from foot to foot defensively.

“What? No, they don’t exist.  I have been watching you, newt.  I would like you to come with me”.

“So you’re not a jedi? And why?!”

“No, I am a monk – but do not judge a book by its cover.  Seriously, the disappointment.  There’s beer and War of the Worlds on blu-ray”.

“Ok, I guess” conceded Arnold.

“Good, now drive me back – I can’t be arsed with the walk”.

Arnold packed up his tent and he and brother… wait a second.  Arnold! You didn’t ask him what his name was!

“So, what’s your name?” asked Arnold completely out the blue.

“My name young Arnold, is Brother John”.

They continued on for five minutes to a small hill, on which stood a large house. Ivy climbed across the bricks as two Labradors guarded the front lazily.  John and Arnold stepped in.  John disappeared into a room yelling “the beers are in the fridge”.  Engaging his newt-tastic sense of direction he walked down the hall, past a stair case and swung a left.  He was in a room.  A sofa lined the wall and the room stretched down further to a wooden table and a set of french doors.  Importantly though, there was no fridge!  Arnold spied another doorway  next to the sofa though and as he entered it was right in front of him.  It was at this point he respected the monk, hiding a fridge in plain sight right were you’d expect it – in a kitchen!  Skills.  Arnold wandered back to the front door and saw yet another door he’s not seen before next to the stairs.  Arnold entered new door, realised it was a living room and sat down next to John on a big sofa.

“So Arnold try some of this, I call it Round Boy’s Ruin”.

Arnold took a swig and blacked out.

Arnold awoke.  His eyes cracked open letting the cold morning light filter through.  He took the plunge and opened them fully.  He was back out in the desert.   The sand was scattered with big rocks, and a punch bag.  John was there sitting cross-legged and looking focused on a flat rock.  He smiled with the smile of someone that’s about to steal a mans biscuits.

“I glad you’re awake Arnold – now we shall begin.”  As john finished the sentence he levitated.

What followed was an intense training session.  First Arnold meditated, not licking his eyes took great mental strain – a little bit of wee did come out.  Then he ran jogged on the spot before doing press ups.  John like a good monk did none of this with him and just sat there, floating a meter off the ground watching his orders become reality.  It was coming up to mid-day and Arnold was finally given a break.  He was handed a refreshing pint of Guiness and ordered towards the punch bag.

“Now, smash it?” suggested John in a way that really offered no alternative. Arnold did this for an hour.  There were so many beads of sweat on his body they’d knitted themselves together into a stylish cape.  His punches were doing less damage than aggressive feather.  Arnold was on the verge of collapse when John yelled stop.

“That’s enough, sit” ordered John.

“Wha..what am I training for?” Arnold asked breathlessly.

“Oh nothing, you just puked all over my floor after the Round Boy Ruin and I was pissed.  So, you want to float like me – and more?”.

“Yeah, sure, looks like it could be useful” Arnold replied.  John’s eyes flared in anger.  John did not understand however that newts consider themselves pretty super already.

“Ok, drink this”.  John handed Arnold a small bottle.  As Arnold drank it he felt his entire body vibrate.  He wanted to run to all the places as an energy rush over took his body.  Looking down at his palms he saw the lines glow celestial blue.  John handed Arnold the bottle of Round Boy Ruin and gestured him to take a swig.

John took a few steps back as Arnold’s eyes looked in different directions and he slumped to the floor.

To be concluded, again.

David Horn

Arnold the Newt 2: The Case of the Camden Drug Dealers

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 2