The chubby student gleamed at Neil while she bent to his level to fasten a sticker upon his breast, “here’s your Create-A-Cuddly birthday sticker!”
The little boy looked more than pleased and caressed its shiny surface with his fingertips. “Now,” lisped the girl in a tone that would sound patronising to anyone over the age of 5, “what kind of cuddly are we making for you?”
Again silence as he buried his head back into his mother’s skirt, he was embarrassed to tell her his desires as he could not see what he wanted among the wondrous array of deflated furry skins that lay with precision around the sides of the shop. There were bears, there were monkeys and bunnies, dogs and cats, even a squirrel and a frog. There were licenced skins, Teenage Mutant Turtles, Star Wars characters and Disney Princess’s galore. But, and this is a big but, there were no dinosaurs.
Neil had his heart set on creating a dinosaur and when Neil had his heart set on something….
2.
The crowds were uncontained in jubilation, they screamed in joy, they laughed in abundance and shouted their approval. The remainder of the nation that had not attended the momentous event watched their TV in confusion, unsure in the believability of the proposal that was just announced. They knew that this was a plan by an eccentric madman and no amount of scientific speeches proving the theory to be possible would waiver their scepticism but still they had to admit, it sounded like a pretty neat idea.
Neil sat on the podium, overjoyed with the response as the crowds continued to vocalise their elation. He stood and shook hands with Dr Darren Horton as the young scientist bowed at him like he was royalty. Neil walked across the stage to greet Alfred, the Prime Minister and they too received each other with a firm handshake. Alfred turned the crowd and bellowed, “Too long have we been bowing down to Brussels! The European Union has failed to accommodate us and with the help of Neil and his team we can now bridge the gap between our lands!” and with that he welcomed the President of the United States of America to the platform.
Although the crowds were screaming and the moment that the celebrated President stood forth was one heck of an historic occasion Neil did not stand in the same sensation of awe as his fellow UK citizens; he had met the President on numerous occasions to discuss the proposals. So despite the man’s enormous charisma, charm and booming presence Neil’s mind began to wander over the happenings that were surely the root to this fantastic idea.
The key to Neil’s success was the fact that he always strives to achieve his goals. They say that when Neil had his heart set on something, he got it without doubt. A younger Neil had his heart set on creating a dinosaur at the Create-A-Cuddly workshop but his dream was suddenly burst. Although he could not fathom the words his father gladly spoke on his behalf, “He wanted to make a dinosaur,” he boldly claimed.
The chubby bundle of enthusiasm that was the shop worker shook the ribbons in her hair as her fantastical expression of ecstasy suddenly dropped to be replaced by a far more solemn one. Her bottom lip curled, her eyes immediately watered and she turned both around and downwards, crouching to face the little boy that was still grasping to his dream. “Awlllllllll, ain’t that cute; A dinosaur?!” she whimpered.
The little boy, unable to pick up on the expressions and body language of the girl three times his age, clutched onto his faith that he was here to make a cuddly dinosaur and the fact that the time was nigh to rupture this vision was the furthest thing from his tiny mind. As the girl broke the news gently he matched the expression change of the shop assistant tenfold. Remaining in her crouching position she steadily moved both her arms up to place them on the boy’s shoulders, “I am sorry,” she began as softly and sincerely as she could considering it was almost her time for a lunch-break and she had been acting this show now for four and a half hours, “we don’t have dinosaurs.”
“We don’t have any need for Europe, we have no desire to be European,” announced the Prime Minister, proudly placing his hands upon the shoulders of Neil. “Today we have a chance to join our brothers and sisters from across the Atlantic and I propose that we welcome this idea with open arms!”
Neil stood proud with those hands upon his shoulders, just like the shop assistant except the Prime Minister was not attired in a Batman T-shirt and teeth braces; I will have my dinosaur, he thought to himself with a giggle.
“Oh but you can’t,” whined the girl, acting like she was equally as upset as the young Neil before her. She gave up; there was no rescuing the boy from his disappointment at this point. Slowly she raised her body and turned back to his father, “you’ll have to go to America for that,” she informed him.
The Dad lit up, he loved to be filled in with the facts, “really?” he asked, keen with interest.
“Oh yeah,” she squeaked with delight, “Create-A-Dino is a new branch, you should see them!”
The cogs worked overtime on the father’s forehead, producing a ripple. Suddenly he came to his senses, “Well, we haven’t really got time for that,” he humoured, “I’ve only paid for three hours parking!”
She giggled, picking up on his wit but not really finding it truly amusing she continued, “We have a like, really cool monkey!” She picked up a deflated furry toy and waved it at the upset little boy with a glee that was risky to promise breaking through his depressive change of heart.
By everyone’s amazement it shed a glimmer of hope as Neil only slightly upturned his frown.
3.
Overall Neil was satisfied with the response of the nation, the fullness of his proposal not yet coming to light. The plan’s realism seemed so far off in the minds of the people of the UK, but he knew this; who could blame them? They stood silent, aghast at the final unravelling of Neil’s master plan.
The satisfaction was equal to the younger version of Neil on that remarkable day; he was overjoyed at the creation of his monkey; complete with a Spiderman suit and mask but somewhere hidden in the depths of his youthful brain the dream of creating a dinosaur still lurked. Awash with the joy of the present the boy wandered to the till, the father not in the same state of jubilation when the toy was packed into a box and the price revealed to him. He hummed as he put his debt card into the slot, the grin from the staff of the Create-A-Cuddly Workshop now not so appealing to him. Sure it was more of a smirk he paid nonetheless, maybe it was a tall price to pay for a cuddly toy that his son had to actually assist in the production of but he was safe in the knowledge that for the smile on that little boy’s face, the event was priceless. Of course the owners of Create-A-Cuddly workshop, the pioneer of the whole idea, well, they knew that parents were suckers for this, the price tag labelled on each individual item of clothes and accessories showed certain ruthlessness about the whole notion. It was something the older Neil Kimber came to respect and mimic.
However this was not the full connection here. Neil Kimber had come to the top of his business with hard work, his father though not destitute was an honest labourer and Neil knew that he was destined for greater things. Of course by the time that Neil made his first million all the events of that birthday had long ago waned in his mind. The teenage entrepreneur that created a mobile phone app so useful and powerful that it was snapped up by a progressive manufacturing company with a contract in the million dollar mark was only the beginning. The papers that run the story of the amazing mind of Neil Kimber gave force to his acumen; the monkey instead of the dinosaur incident was long forgotten.
From then on the project escalated, newer versions came on to the market, then an innovative concept in hardware to use the app on. This allowed Neil to buy out the company who originally took his idea on board. A multimedia platform developed in which to launch even more games and apps. Then sequels came along, the merchandising, the series of books using the characters from the app’s built-in games and finally the film adaptions. Neil became a rich young man, investing wisely always building on the success and never creating any product that would fail to impress.
&nb
sp; Now a media tycoon frustrated by the “yes-men” that surrounded him he sat contented in his plush office, bathing in luxury with his right-hand man Tony. Tony was a large man, both psychically and in power. As managing director he answered only to Neil and Neil liked him for his honesty, if he didn’t like the idea he would tell Neil straight. Tony may have been large but his belly could not be described as flabby, it was a solid stomach filled with expensive cuisine and covered with equally expensive material. He waved his wrist randomly as he spoke, shaking his Rolex and causing his sovereign rings to sparkle in under delicate illumination of the computer controlled lighting system. The room was filled with triumphant celebration; the deal for their own television channel was sealed, nothing could stop them now. Tony laughed in the face of risk, “Whatever we do now Neil old boy will sell in the millions, do you realise what that means?”
Neil did not seem so excited about this; he leaned back in his fine leather chair behind the antique oak desk once owned by Ronald Reagan, and hoisted up his legs and landed them upon it. Cool as a cucumber in a fridge he shrugged, “no, what?”
“It means,” whispered Tony in a sly manner, leaning across the table to point his chubby ringed finger at him, “we can do whatever we want. I mean anything, anything we could possibly dream of. Nothing is impossible now my friend.”
Neil was still unmoved by it all, it seemed as if he already had everything he wanted and more, so much more, “ok,” he slurred through the influence of the fine wine.
Tony picked up on this negativity, it was his job to do that, his tone turned into a cackle, “there must be something Neil, come on, something you still want to do, something…..”
“No, nothing,” he replied.
“Something, a dream….perhaps, from your childhood…….”
That is when Neil stopped. For Tony it was like time had stood still, silence filled the room, the ambience was slightly nerving, and he pondered if his boss had a seizure or something. Neil just sat there still, pondering over his past, childhood memories flooding through him like a tsunami of thoughts. It took sometime then he recalled it and he snapped up causing Tony to spill his expensive wine all over his expensive trousers.
“The toilet,” Neil shouted, “in McDonalds!”
4.
Neil, like most people, thought that continental drift was something you learned at school that you would never need to use in any circumstance ever again. There were lots of these at school, like 1066; the Battle of Hastings. Without belittling the importance of this battle in English history it was only one of many battles with historic importance but we was, for some unknown reason forced to bash this year into our minds above all others. Neil had never had need to use 1066; The Battle of Hastings ever again, it served no practical use whatsoever and likewise he thought the same of this continental drift malarkey.
Far from it in the circumstances, continental drift would be something that needed much clarification in his quest to find the facts that would seal his dream into reality. When the geography was re-explained to him it seemed it was just not possible, the tectonic plate that England resided upon also contained a number of other European countries. The scientists that had delivered the blow, showed that this was simply impossible but the words of Tony came back to him, nothing is impossible now my friend.
Sitting in that toilet in McDonalds the tears from a much younger Neil flooded his cheeks and he vowed to do something about what caused them. With the dinosaur incident in the Create-A-Cuddly Workshop well behind him his father had rushed him out of the store and across the shopping precinct, grasping firmly the box with SpiderMonkey in it, straight into the McDonalds. Little Neil was singing “SpiderMonkey, SpiderMonkey, does whatever a SpiderMonkey does,” all the way. His father had put the song into his head, he knew not of the original as that old cartoon had been worn out by the bettered series of up-to-date film epics of Spiderman, still it amused his father to hear his son repeat this silly song and it meant that he was overjoyed by the experience of creating his own cuddly toy, thus justifying the massive price tag.
There the family sat down to feast. The mother despised the fast food chain but knew that her son enjoyed the McHappy Meal and so went along with this to complete his birthday wish. Neil’s father also joined in with bashing the unethical workings of the conglomerate but secretly he had a love for the sweet, trashy food it produced in abundance. Neil loved it like the slogan told them to and was so overjoyed by the day. He had seen the adverts on TV, the new animated film that was causing a storm had a fast-talking racoon called Joey in it and McDonalds had, as it always did for the latest movie craze, licenced its marketing with it. The whole, self-labelled restaurant was adorned with a decorative festival celebrating the film’s release and the TV advert showed the amazing toy that came with every McHappy Meal. Joey the Racoon was bouncing all over the TV screen, saying this and that in his funny squeaky voice and the toy did just the same as this.
So, a few chicken nuggets into the banquet the young Neil tried to claim his prize. His father gave into the demands and handed the toy to his son. He couldn’t get his little hands on it fast enough and after giving a second or two of examination Neil pressed the button on its back. The eyes of the racoon popped out, just as they did in the movie but alas, no sound was heard. Neil put it to his ear and pressed again, these eating houses sure could be noisy. Still nothing and this began to upset Neil again.
As the tears rolled down the reddened cheeks of the boy his father launched out to console him, “What’s wrong?” he asked and was immediately informed that the boy considered it broken as it was supposed to talk. His mother took over the consultation as the father strode over to the sales desk. There he explained the problem to a spotty teenage lad in a McDonald’s uniform who promptly looked back at him and proclaimed without a care in the world, “Oh, that is just the American version, sorry.”
Despite the apology it was finished with Neil’s father being pushed aside as the spotty Herbert took the man behind’s order and Neil was sent back to his table. He explained the occurrence to his wife and little Neil listened in. It was the second time in as many hours that he had had his bubble burst by the fact that these things were only to be obtained in America and so, he requested to go to the toilet to be alone in his thoughts.
His father stood outside the cubicle, asking him if he was okay, or if he was finished yet and Neil just grunted. What was really happening inside that cubicle was that a storm was brewing; a mental tempest was stirring in his very soul. He was questioning why, why could he not have the talking Joey, the Create-A-Dino, why did American kids get all the best stuff. This resulted in him considering the options. The options were threefold, option one; he cried in the toilet and had to accept it, the most likely. Option two was that he ran away to America, simple but hard to achieve being just five years old. Option three developed from that immature imagination where anything is possible…… Neil awoke from the dream, nothing is impossible now my friend.
The plan just needs some serious redesign and this is when Dr Darren Horton stepped into his office and his life. Like an angel from above except armed with a PowerPoint presentation rather than a set of wings he proposed just such a redesign. Neil was in awe when he saw the blueprints, an animation depicting colossal digging machines burrowing underneath the whole of the United Kingdom. He gasped at the artist’s impressions of the gigantic floats the size of cities joined by a network of crosshatched steel girders and he swooned when the system that had been operating clearly held the weight of the entire landmass of the UK and, by the look of the animation, had the whole country floating.
A moment silence struck the office as a nervous Darren Horton stood before the assembly and the famous Neil Kimber, the boss, the kingpin, the man. But the man came over to him, slowly at first but building in speed and authority and he threw his arms around him. “Gentleman,” he announced, “this man will lead the way, this plan cannot fail!”
This still produced a sense within the committee that they were in the presence of a madman. Neil detected this and so he made a speech to convince them: “Ladies, Gentleman; do not deny me this dream, do not doubt that we can do this, nothing is impossible now my friends,” he flashed over to Tony who had plain forgotten his own quote and sat with the same vacant look as the rest of his team.
Neil paced faster around the room, “Are we suckered into believing that we are treated to the same civilised perks of a developed nation as those living in America? Should we have to put up with these half-baked consumer goods when the USA has some far better versions?”
Well, his speech was so convincing to the committee that he used the same one when it was time to address the nation, “….People of England, are we all subjected to the subdued side-effects of the American Dream, should we put up with their offcuts? Does everyone in England join in with me in wishing that we could have those giant burgers and huge fat cars? When do we really have the chance to supersize our Big Macs so that it resembles a small dwelling for elephants? Does everyone in this country have, in some small way, a wish that Elvis was from our country and ponder that perhaps, if we had the right to bear arms the whole place would be a far better place to live?”
The office sat still, occasionally looking at each other to confirm that others too considered that their boss had finally lost all sanity.
Relentlessly Neil barked on, “When can we have the opportunity to buy Nike trainers so cheaply and pour maple syrup on our pancakes so indulgently as if we had three taps on our kitchen sinks, hot, cold and maple?”
Tales of Worrow Volume II Page 12
