Mick's Revenge

HADDAP!� screamed the bloated man wearing the faded navy singlet. Spittle and foam sprayed from the slit in his blubbery, grotesquely contorted face. A tartan slipper sailed through the air to emphasise the man�s demand. Mick, with well rehearsed agility, ducked. He felt the whoosh of air as it passed over his head, collecting a vase on its journey to the centre of the living room.

�Can�t you see I�m trying to read my bloody paper! I want peace and QUIET!�

�Okay, okay, okay� said Mick. Get stuffed. He thought.

The slim, frail woman with the permanently attached apron came into the room. She picked up three empty beer bottles from the floor by the fat man�s chair.

�Get me another beer�, he barked, without looking up from his paper. The woman retreated to do his bidding. The sound of the repulsive man�s breathing reminded Mick of a snarling, vicious dog.

The woman brought him his beer, and hurried away to sweep up the broken vase.

�What�s fer dinner Esther!� the man hollered after her.

�Chicken! Bloody chicken!� Mick screamed, and rather hastily followed Esther to the kitchen.

�It better not be bloody chicken again! . A man needs a decent meal. Sicka bloody chicken!�

Well then, how about some duck shit on toast, arsehole. If you�d give her some decent housekeeping money, she�d cook some decent food you pea- brain.

�I�m sorry dear. T-Bones are fourteen dollars a kilo this week. Rump steak isn�t much cheaper, and I know you like the best cuts of...�

�Oh stop yer moanin� and just serve it up before I starve will ya?� He slurped another mouthful of beer and belched. Then he leaned to the side, lifted half of his ample rump out of the chair and farted.

Starve? You? You make a killer whale look like a guppie you stinking fat turd.

At dinner, the man gorged an entire size sixteen chicken. Mick looked on, agog, as he chomped and gnawed his way through the bird, crunching bones, and making sucking noises like the ones Esther made when she put her hand over the vacuum cleaner nozzle.

He absorbed four baked potatoes, two full cobs of corn and a plateful of assorted vegetables. He gobbled five slices of heavily buttered bread, and washed this down with another bottle of beer...his seventh for the evening.

Hmmm. I think you may have beaten your previous record for gluttony. You�ve never eaten the thigh bones before. Thought Mick.

Esther and Mick ate together when the man had finished. Mick�s appetite seemed to have vanished. He picked abstractedly at his food, as he sat opposite Esther at the dining table.

�What�s the matter Mick.? You�re not eating�, said Esther gently.

�I�m sick�, said Mick. And he was. Sick of the repulsive fat man and his cruel words, and disgusting habits. Sick of the rancid, repugnant cigars he�d always light up after dinner. Sick of the way he always tried to hurt Mick, even though Mick kept well out of his way wherever possible. But it was Esther he was really worried sick about.

Mick had often thought about leaving. There were plenty of options open to him, and plenty of places to go. But he loved the kind and gentle woman who had taken him in. This was the only foster home he�d ever been in where he�d felt truly loved, and at home.

Esther had fostered many over the years. Those with special needs. The homeless and the frightened. Some didn�t stay long...because of the man frightened them even more. Others, she�d nurture and care for till they were able to take care of themselves. Mick didn�t know much about the Government body that placed these vagrant souls with their foster families, but he felt sure that if they knew what the man was really like...

Mick himself had been with Esther for ten years. That made him almost fifteen. Once, when he was about six, Esther had rescued him when the man had tried to burn him with one of those wretched cigars. It was the only time he�d ever seen her get really, really mad. She�d snatched it from him and stubbed it out on the palm of his hand. He�d hit her of course, and Mick remembered being more frightened than he�d ever been in his whole life. But he vowed to stay and take care of her...just as she took care of him.

Esther cleared away the dishes and began to hum softly as she washed up. Mick decided to go for a walk to think things through.

Later that evening, after ironing and baking a batch of Mick�s favourite Anzac Biscuits, Esther called softly from the kitchen that she was going to bed.

�Goodnight. I love you�, Mick said.

�I love you too�, she said, and kissed him gently on the head.

Yes. And I�m going to take care of you, don�t you worry about a thing.

The man was asleep, sprawled in his chair, making earthmoving equipment noises. His mouth was agape, legs askew and a cigar smouldered in an ashtray balanced on his hairy, porcine belly.

Mick thought hard. He knew what he had to do.

Swallowing his fear of fire, and trying hard to block out the vile smell, he picked up the cigar. The ashtray continued to rise and fall as the fat man snored. Mick held the cigar to the hem of his shorts.

Once he could see tiny flames flickering from the shorts, Mick held the cigar near the comatose man�s hair.

Lucky for me you�ve had a fair bit to drink tonight porky. The end of the cigar cracked as it came in contact with the greasy strands of greying hair.

My, what fine hair you have. A bit bushy, but burns well. Smells like burning feathers, don�t you think?

In seconds, the fat man�s head and lower torso was alight. The armchair seemed to be perfect fuel for the hungry flames, and soon the man was burning like a pile of rubbish.

Mick had stepped well back, but not before he caught the astonished, almost puzzled expression in the man�s eyes as they sprang open.

�What the ..... arghhhhh...�

�Aw, get stuffed!� said Mick.

I�d love to stay and watch you burn, but I�ve got important things to do.

Somehow, the man had fallen from the chair, and the carpet had caught fire. Mick had to act quick. He flew down the hall to Esther�s bedroom, where she was beginning to stir.

�Fire, fire, fire, quick get up!� he screeched. Esther woke up. There was pandemonium.

Mick and Esther had moved in with her sister, who, just like Esther was kind and loving. In fact, she�d made Mick a brand new blue jumper to keep his chest warm. Mick was content. Happier than he�d been in years. New home...new jumper..yes, life was much better now.

�I�ll bet you�re glad you taught Mick to talk�, said the sister.

�Yes. Mick saved my life. I would have perished in that fire too, if it wasn�t for him�.

Mick sat on his new perch, preening. The bright yellow comb on his head, rising and falling majestically. There were still enough brilliant white feathers left so you could call him handsome, but he was getting old...

�Clever Cocky�. He said.

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