The Tale of Vinny Spinks (646 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesLabels: fiction
Rating: 1.73 on 36 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by orphelia (View user info) at 2009-03-04 12:48:14 EST
The Tale of Vinny Spinks
Until that grey and dreary tuesday morning the most eventful moment in Vinny Spinks' entire life was finding a dead mouse in a shop bought processed sliced white loaf. The local newspapers had devoured the story, his stodgy bespectacled appearance featuring front page on all three of the town rags, his grisly discovery pictured next to him. They seemed to love the fact that unwittingly Vinny had consumed most of the rodents tail before further investigation of the bread lead to the detection of the whole deceased creature. Up until then, it certainly hadn't impaired the flavour of his cheese and pickle sandwiches he had been quoted as saying.
Vinny was a bit of a loser, a fact that he couldn't escape. At 43 he was a jobless factory warehouse worker, living in a tiny but neat bedsit with little hope that his situation would ever improve. A loner, his family was never close-knit (he had parted with his mother on bad terms after a series of terrible arguments several years ago) and was scattered across the south east and rarely communicated with each other save the odd Christmas card or obituary clipping.
He had two aquaintances; Paul who worked at the newsagents on Bridge Street where Vinny purchased his red topped sunday tabloid and Terry who had previously worked with Vinny assembling tin lids until the manufacturing firm were made victims of the recent recession.
He'd see Terry every tuesday at the town library and they would sit together at one of the round reading tables perusing the daily newspapers for free.
On the whole Vinny hated his life but was ill equipped socially to increase his number of friends by even one and with inadequate skills or any resounding talents to do anthing, Vinny aticipated his days would be spent 'passing time' until he died. Probably of boredom.
For one glorious month the dead mouse had changed everything. His photograph had been displayed on every news rack in every shop across the county and the exposure had given him overnight celebrity status. He had revelled in the attention of passers-by as he walked the streets to the local mini market. He relished the free four weeks supply of fresh bread Angie at the local bakery donated. Kids would shout 'Look! There is the guy who ate the mouse! Hey, Mister, what did it taste like?' To which Vinny would reply 'Chicken'.
For the first time in his lonely life he had been 'someone'. However the popularity was to be shortlived when a silly old aged pensioner managed to get herself raped and strangled by a teenage drug addict and became the next news worthy target.
Since then, Vinny had spent every waking minute dedicated to plotting ways to get himself back in the media spotlight. He craved the life that seemed to partner the attention.
So far though, every ploy had failed. He'd spent three full days searching for a lost Yorkshire terrier, a black kitten with white socks and a parakeet called Reggie, featured in the local 'lost and found' section to no avail.
On hearing the quaint pub down the road, an establishment he'd never frequented, was to be demolished to make way for a multi story car park, he'd happened on the idea to start a petition but with only three people to ask to sign it (including the postman) this campaign was also doomed to failure.
He'd helped eldery folk cross busy roads, found an important looking set of keys and handed them in to the local police station and even grabbed hold of a runaway toddler in the busy library car park, the childs panting, redfaced mother muttering an ingenuine 'Thanks' before snatching the boy back and returning to her vehicle.
Nothing could recreate that feeling the mouse had bought him and Vinny was desperately miserable.
Until tuesday morning, that is.
This was the day he chose to visit the library partly because it opened much earlier than usual enabling him to stay there a much longer period of the day but also between nine and eleven am there was free tea and biscuits, an offer poor but portly Vinny couldn't resist.
Ordinarily he'd meet Terry in the lobby of the building but today he decided to take the shortcut through the alley at the back of his bedsit block and hopefully (more than likely, since the man ran like clockwork) bump into him where his path and the path from Terrys housing estate merged into one large track to the town centre.
The drizzle was relentless in it's effort to soak him to the bone. Indeed it was probably the inclement weather which had seemingly emptied the streets of a single soul with the exception of Vinny himself.
Waiting at the footpath junction the man cowered within the bushes and trees lining the lane, making use of it's paltry shelter. Looking down at his muddy shoes he was certain he'd have to spend a large portion of the afternoon cleaning them .
Glancing up he saw Terry purposefully striding towards him, rainwater dripping from the tip of his nose onto his navy fleece, a plastic Tesco carrier bag in his right hand containing the three Andy McNab books he had loaned from the library the previous tuesday.
What happened next was a blur to Vinny. Vinny would be heard later, much time after the incident occured to say that he felt his mind travelled out of his body. What ever the case he watched in horror as a man leap from the hedgerow and stabbed Terry three times in the chest. Terry had screamed as the blade plunged into his body but other than his attacker and himself there was no one to answer his pleas of help.
By the third time the knife had entered Terry, Vinny was certain he was already dead. The assailant retreived his knife and fled past Vinny in the direction which he had moments ago just walked from.
Terry's corpse lay slumped in the middle of the puddle covered trail. His books, now out of their polythene encasing, scattered their pages across the concrete and fluttered gently in the breeze. The pool of blood surrounding him was diluting with the persistent rain, swirling around Terry's cheap brown hiking boots and running in small random rivulets into the overgrown grass verge.
Vinny ran from the scene as fast as his stumpy limbs would allow, taking the same path as the aggressor but certain he would not have lingered waiting to assault Vinny himself.
Two minutes later, on the stairwell of his block of flats, the man released the contents of his stomach, splattering his dirt encrusted shoes with pieces of brown toast and scrambled egg.
Locking his bedsit door behind him, the man entered the tiny bathroom and threw off his wet clothes and washed himself head to toe. The tepid water seemed to calm him and slowly he realised his only real friend in the world had gone.
Instictively he had wanted to phone the police and tell them everything. On reflection though he thought 'What was the point in that?' There was no sense in acting hastily. Someone would have found the body by now and reported it to the authorities. Vinny had not really managed to get a good look at the knifeman, the rain had hampered his visibilty and any description he gave he was sure would be innaccurate.
'Maybe I should just sit tight', he pondered. The news of this murder was destined to be front page stuff. Perhaps in a day or two - a week or two, even - when the police were stumped to find a lead and the case looked like it would be filed 'unsolved', Vinny could step forward as a scared wittness. Offer them an embelished account of the incident and once again he would be the herald of the press.
Yes, that is what he would do, he decided, putting on the kettle and taking three HobNobs from the biscuit tin.
His friend was a terrible sacrifice to make but in the light of the attention sure to ensue, a small one.
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It was always on a monday night. As Vinny sat down on the tired, worn settee in front of the telly, his sandwich of corned beef and tomato on his lap, the music played and 'Crimewatch' began.
It had been one day short of six weeks since Terry's death and the police were struggling for a motive, evidence, a witness or a perpetrator.
His intention was to (after the reconstrution section showing Terry's guessed demise) phone in and admit he had been there, only too terrified to speak out before this heart felf appeal.
Terry's sister, who he hadn't seen in sixteen years according to Terry himself before his slaying, had crawled out of the woodwork to provide a forced tear filled begging for who ever knows something to offer their information.
Indeed, Vinny was terrified and his hand visibly shook as he lifted the receiver of the public telephone and dialled the number of the studio.
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After an initial scolding for not coming forward sooner, the cops, so pleased to have something tangible to work with, released Vinny from questioning without charge.
On the bus back to his bedsit, he dreamed of the forthcoming headlines and in reflection of the bus window practised his 'sad but serious' pose ready for the press photographers.
This was going to be so much more enjoyable than the mouse coverage, he would be a somebody. He would be a hero.
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The man was bitterly disappointed. His story had only warranted a few lines in two of the three local papers, a mere thirty seconds mention on the local radio news and not any mention at all on local TV news. It seems the downfall of his introverted friend was not good media fodder. He was also dismayed to find he was only ever referred to as 'the witness' or 'source'. But most disgusting of all was the fact the police only advised him how to increase home safety. He was offered no protection scheme at all.
Vinny was more friendless than ever. In contrast the police investigation was moving on in leaps and bounds and the press reported that they were on the verge of making a 'significant arrest' following the forensic team making new revelations at the crime scene.
'Bloody forensics' Vinny thought. It had taken two solid days of handwashing to remove the fingerprinting ink they used at the station during questioning. A formality to them but a bloody inconvenience to him.
The microwave 'pinged' and Vinny took out his plastic dish of macaroni and cheese and sat at the little table.
His fork had only made half the journey to his open mouth before Vinnys meal was interrupted by a loud banging at the door.
'Open up, police!'
Remaining still, Vinny smiled.
He would have his fame now, his face would make not just local news, but national news. TV, radio, paper, internet - they would all be telling his tale.
The story would run for months, certainly the duration of the trial and the sentencing.
Shovelling his food into his mouth, Vinny listened as the squad proceeded to ram down his door.
Looking over at the unwashed breakfast crockery in the sink, the man imagined it would be a long while before those dishes got washed. If at all.
Next to the sink sat four library books, crime novels, that might never be returned to the library. Sat on top of the small stack was a bloodied seven inch kitchen knife with a wooden handle smudged with bloodied fingerprints.
Vinny Spinks was going to be famous indeed.
User Reviews
Submitted by mystiamoon (user info) at 2009-05-05 00:17:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
if i could read i'm sure i would have loved this story!
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2009-03-05 14:08:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-05 06:08:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
That is my thing fey, I love coming up with the idea and developing in my head I just hate actually writing it and i think it shows. i do rush to finish things.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-05 05:57:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Uniter rating.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-05 05:57:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
This was pretty good, although it felt like you rushed the ending a little. You do have to stop writing words that are actually one word or hyphenated as two separate words. Who ever, shop bought, etc.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2009-03-05 04:43:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think you've constructed the character of Vinny very well. He's tragic, conflicted, and flawed. And I like your little habit of throwing in quaint descriptions.
The only thing that could make me like this more, in fact, is if you admitted to having typed it out with your nipples.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-05 01:47:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by pandora (user info) at 2009-03-05 02:14:25 GMT (#)
Ranking: 1
Your extensive real-life knowledge of attention-getting tactics was put to good use here.
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Ha ha i thought someone might say this
However, I don't know why i am always singled out for the 'attention' whore thing.
We are all attention whores on uber, in some form, to suggest otherwise is stupid.
Submitted by YourNameHere (user info) at 2009-03-04 22:09:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by pandora (user info) at 2009-03-04 21:14:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Your extensive real-life knowledge of attention-getting tactics was put to good use here.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-04 19:06:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I rather like a meaty pair of moob, I like to play with them and imagine I am a lesbian.
No thanks, scourgy, but if you do a beauties of uber post, I am certainly in and top bill.
lol
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:55:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
well, i have no moobs, so that would be a no.
i'm doing a hideous morons of uber post, are you in?
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:27:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"This was the day he chose to visit the library partly because it opened much earlier than usual enabling him to stay there a much longer period of the day but also between nine and eleven am there was free tea and biscuits...."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
This happens in the library in the next village.We share a library with the next village over...
heh
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:17:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
i was thinking i might do a 'moobs of uber' post
scourge, are you in?
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:13:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
how dare you badmouth boob posts?!
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:09:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
you tend to use a lot of run-on sentences... though maybe you are intentionally using that as a literary device of sorts? douglas adams was fond of things of that nature. you, sir, are no douglas adams.
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Do you mean i don't use full stop often enough? I don't do anything on purpose, i just get an idea and write it. I am terrible at grammar and stuff though and don't know how to use it properly.
I don't try to emulate anyone i am just uneducated. ASctually i had a very good education i am just a bit not good.
but i am trying to take uber back. all these crap (boob) posts etc it's a bit wank
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:04:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i was just aping sico from another post, orphelia.
he didn't take the bait.
you tend to use a lot of run-on sentences... though maybe you are intentionally using that as a literary device of sorts? douglas adams was fond of things of that nature. you, sir, are no douglas adams.
i'm a tired motherfucker.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:03:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
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Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2009-03-04 19:17:27 GMT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fiction, from Orphelia...
Well I never...
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8 of my 29 posts are fiction
now post your boobs
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:01:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
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Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-03-04 19:39:03 GMT (#)
Ranking: 0
I didn't find this nearly as entertaining or even one iota funny as the rest of the crowd here did.
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I wasn't really going for funny, though there is a little mirth if hat is the right word?
At least you read it, I thank you for that.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-04 18:00:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
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Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2009-03-04 22:04:13 GMT (#)
Ranking: 0
jobless factory warehouse worker?
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factory warehouse worker - a person who works in a warehouse of a factory, usually on a packing line, maybe a bit of forklift. jobless indicates they are currently unemployed.
ie you doodles :) <3
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2009-03-04 17:04:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
jobless factory warehouse worker?
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2009-03-04 16:46:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I just threw up in my mouth. I guess that's better than throwing up in someone else's mouth.
Submitted by billrhine (user info) at 2009-03-04 16:42:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2009-03-04 14:17:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fiction, from Orphelia...
Well I never...
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Yes, you did. I still have the pictures.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-03-04 15:58:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Yikes, that is a scary picture.
Submitted by messmind (user info) at 2009-03-04 15:48:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2009-03-04 12:51:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
you know damn well I can't give you anything but a +2
Submitted by AW4416 (user info) at 2009-03-04 15:05:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-03-04 14:47:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Haven't read it (yet). Then again, I'm at work, and I'm actually *gasp!* working as of late. :)
<3 you, deary, I'll read it later.
POINTS!
Submitted by FALLEN (user info) at 2009-03-04 14:47:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
MMMMMMMMMMMMM!
HobNobs!
"one nibble and you're nobbled"
I sure could go for being nobbled right about now.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-03-04 14:39:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I didn't find this nearly as entertaining or even one iota funny as the rest of the crowd here did.
Guess there must be something wrong with ME or...
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2009-03-04 14:17:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fiction, from Orphelia...
Well I never...
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2009-03-04 14:13:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2009-03-04 14:12:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
WTFINRAT
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2009-03-04 13:22:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by no1hasdis (user info) at 2009-03-04 13:03:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fiction has no place on uber, young lady. What the fuck do you think this is, a serious writers forum or something?
Submitted by rubbermaid (user info) at 2009-03-04 13:02:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sgt. Hartman didn't read this and nor did I. Answer your email, whoa!man!
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2009-03-04 12:51:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
you know damn well I can't give you anything but a +2
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-03-04 12:50:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
fiction, on uber??
never!