District 92 – Brandon Faber

Posted on 25. Feb, 2010 by admin in Brandon Faber

“Sssshhk. . . Ssshhk k k !”

My left eye pops open like a tube of Pringles. “Sssshk!. . . Ssshhk k k !” My right eye joins the party in a miserable state. “Ssssshk. . . Ssssshhhhhk k k !”

“What the hell is that?” I think to myself and, even more alarmingly, “why does it sound so close nearby?”
I lean over, looking down from the lofty heights of my bed and see an object moving behind the curtain, roughly half a metre to my right. “Sssshhk. . . Sshhk k k !”

“Holy hell!” I scream in silent horror, “there’s a Tokolosh in my room!” What ungodly creature could make such a strange noise? I pull the curtain aside to find my cat, Max, prodding at the source of evil with a paw.

“Meaaaauw” he says with the kind of intensity that means “bring the garlic, wooden stake and silver-bulleted shotgun, something from the ninth gate of hell has arrived and has earmarked this house for a quick lesson in demonic possession.”

“Shit babe!” I alert sleeping beauty of the imminent danger. “Switch on the light quickly, there’s something dark and dangerous lurking in the corner here!”

Before you can say “Jacob, you are my father,” the lights flash on and 1 X female form takes a giant leap for mankind – downstairs, returning half-a-second later with a bottle of poison that promises to “leave nothing alive – guaranteed!”

I grab the can of salvation and lift Max to see who our mystery guest is . . . and there it sits. Horror of horrors, more terrifying than photos of celebrities without makeup, more sinister than Schabir Shaik’s pending pardon, Beelzebub’s Foot soldier – a big black Parktown Prawn and, by the looks of things, he is the “Mike Tyson” of prawns.

I take a step back, contemplating my mortality before calling on the power of the legendary prawn hunter, Wikus van der Merwe. With the fury of a thousand farts and a “Fokkit Wikus, here we go!” I let rip with my can of “never fail demon insect slayer”. The “odourless” gas sends everything flying: the cat, a mosquito from the Third Reconnaissance Brigade, three beetles and a retired moth.

The haze from my Shock and Awe campaign starts to clear. . . I can just about see my victim… “ARRRGH!” With murderous intent the Prawn of Darkness jumps into the air ala that chick from The Matrix and climbs around the front of the curtain to face his attacker, “me”, head on.

I let out a manly shriek and grab the cat from the path of destruction as Hellboy leaps from the curtain, onto the bed – with nothing but death and vengeance in his eyes.

In a flash the lady of the house swoops around the other side of the bed, flicks open the sliding door and does a praying mantis Avatar warrior back flip over to my side. With grim determination she executes a super-swift wrist swipe with (rather fittingly) a book about South Africa’s secret nuclear programme.

The Son of Satan is sent flying out of the house, off the balcony and out of our lives.

Here I am, still standing with the cat in one hand and the can of empty promises in the other.

The lady of the house and I exchange a meaningful nod: “And the Oscar for best Actress in a supporting role goes to, Brandon Faber.”

Yeah.

Not to be outdone, however, the Oscar for best written screenplay, AKA, fictitious piece of writing that could not, should not, ever be remotely considered near the truth – “goes to the makers of all cans of insect spray.”
Frankly none of us would cut it on the streets of District 9.