Unfinished Tales
Author: Polaris Zark

Chapter 3
Detective Donald V1

Inspector Donald

 

Book 1: Stab

 

Chapter One:

 

                Damian Donald’s head pounded and pained uncontrollably as his extremely loud alarm clock rang in its sharp, high pitch. He pressed the button and frowned. Why have I got such a head ache? Suddenly, he clutched his stomach in pain. He stood up quickly but it was too late. The pool of indigestion consumed the normal smell of Donald’s bedroom.

‘Damnation’ he thought, as he walked to the bathroom. In there, he heard mewing from the airing cupboard. He opened the door and saw an impatient cat looking at him. The cat jumped out as he felt the urge to be sick again. Without warning, out it came. Donald looked down, and then cursed when he saw Frodo, his cat, covered in vomit.

After having puked over seven times, Damian decided he’d indigested all that he could. He then walked down stairs, to get his phone.

Now, the man who usually looked like a bright intellect, with light brown hair, large green eyes and a small body, now looked like a tired ginger rag that’d spent all night watching crappy horror films. Great big bags had appeared beneath his eyes, and his right side had drooped. He was wearing his glasses simply because he hadn’t had time to put on his contact lenses, but it still added to the mess of his face.

When Donald was in his room, he was about to call Brenda, his secretary, and call in sick when he stepped in the vomit. Maybe God had taken his intentions a bit too literally. He put the phone on his bed and walked into the bathroom, not caring about the trail it was making.

Pain erupted into Damian’s guts, causing him to scream uncontrollably. There was so much pain. He felt like he’d fallen into a world made out of torture and suffering. He could barely manage to stand up. He could barely think about anything but the pain, but clever as he was, he remembered the phone on the bed. He staggered into his bedroom, every step jolting more pain into his stomach.

“Argh!” he screamed when he bent over to get the phone. This bend must’ve disturbed the source of pain. He dialled for the emergency services.

“Hello, emergency services, which service would you like?” the person who answered sounded reassuring just by saying that, but Donald couldn’t even tell if the operator was male or female because he wasn’t really concentrating on that.

“Ambulance,” stuttered Donald, still enduring the pain. He heard another voice talking to him, this time, clearly female.

“Hello, can you please state your post code?”

“RX19 8QI,” Donald said this gradually.

“Is that RX19 8QI?”

“Yes,”

“Okay,” said the woman, “You sound like you’re in pain, what’s the problem?”

“My tummy hurts,” said Damian, sounding like a five year old who’d eaten too much.

“I see, are you in a lot of pain?”

“Yes,” said Donald “Enough to call nine-nine-nine,”

“Okay, please do not worry. I need you to get into a comfortable position,”

“Done,” Donald had already got himself into a good enough position, but he was still hurting like hell.

“Can you find the exact source of the pain?”

“Stomach or intestines, but I think it’s the stomach,”

 

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