Thread to Write a Story Using One Sentence Per Post

Snapping to, The Buyer recoiled from the incoherence surrounding his fragile sanity; "I'm not a lizard," he reminded himself, "it's just that Old Peculiar messing with my meds."

But the, The Buyer recalled, I have always been interested in dinosaurs and I've also had a bit of a thing for geckos most of my adult life... what can it mean?

Trying desperately to hold on to the fact that he was not a lizard he turned his attention to his briefcase and the piece of paper contained within. Pulling it out from within he noticed the heading at the top of the page.

--TOP SECRET-- Nap6000 first ever gas-driven amplifier ---

Uhm, he thought was the what Q warned me that V had seen as the longterm plan. The honk of a taxi horn stopped this train..... surely 'Toy' was not around....

As Domf rounded the corner he recognised the signs, the wet pavement, the flickering taxi light, the dank smell of pond weed - he had been watching "Attack of the Killer Lizard Men from Mars" only yesterday.

Marco sprawled across the back seat of the taxi wearing a silk shirt open to the waist and a pair of leather trousers: "It's time, my little lizard," he said, "for the gratuitous sex scene"

As the creak of leather fell into the rhythmn of the taxi's wiper blades, Marco's mind emptied, until it was invaded by an uninvited realisation, prompted by the situation - "I have just remembered where I have seen that wallpaper before"!!

Details from Marco's wallpaper flashback came to him slowly....a hideous screetching noise, some equipment sounding not quite right somehow and finally, the remembrance of a hearty stew.

'V' had hated the man who'd sold him those out of phase saras, a hatred hed carried festering in his heart for too long, and now in the briefcase he had the pictures which would destroy Parry in the Swindon rotary club for ever!

"Ah good evening Mr Parry" said Evil Lord Vuksanovic, "How is the Goat?"

"Please please Vuk keep the goat between us..

I’ve been to hell and back lately and I fear it’s not just a phase I’m going through."

Parry, peered from below his Locke's fedora, ran his fingers along the "Rose and Scroll" of the Purdy 20 bore concealed beneath his aging leathery Barbour smiled and said Ahh the Ball and Nutter we meet at last.

* product placement by Cobblers of Hoxton*

"The goat was between us last time," V said to the Buyer with a smirk (despite his recent attempts to quit smirking), "but this time I have sourced an alien lizard for our pleasure, if only this damned taxi driver would get us to our destination: Professor Mactavish's creative writing class, which as we all know is a front for the illicit sale of alien lizards for personal gratification ... and Marco button your shirt up, fake chest hair is very unattractive."

And then the door bell went, causing him to awaken from his profound dream...

He stumbled to the door, half asleep, tripping over a Led Zeppelin DVD which he picked up, soaked in with a shrug, and tossed into the fireplace despite the probable, and perhaps violent, disapproval by his guest.

Bleary and but half-awake, he pushed the door open, only to find his way blocked by a vast mountain of remaindered copies of Sting's autobiography.

Stately plump Vuk Vuksanovic came to the stairhead clad only in a skimpy nightie followed by several rather toussled, sheepish members of Take That.

A Mini, on leave from having adventures, hears of the lizard’s plight and goes to rescue it from certain dodgy Vuksanovic photo shoot, buxom models or not, the end?

The magnificent end of the buxom model was an object of intense fascination for Fred Scuttle as he chased her and her scantly clad sisters up and down the stairs all throughout the closing credits of this arthouse production.

Once again, the Buyer came to; still whispering the mantra, "I am not a lizard - I am not a lizard."

Professor McTavish began explaining that there was no market for experimental science fiction but the Buyer fixed him with a hypnotic stare and hissed ever more slowly and emphatically, "I am not a lizard - I am no-o-o-t a lisssssssssard."

McTavish knew now that it was too late - that he of all people must now bear this terrible responsibility - but even as he reached for his semi-automatic Smith and Wassname the Buyer's tongue lashed across the room with the speed and ferocity of a whip.

The crack brought Domf from his daydream, leaning over the railway bridge on Croft Road, watching the trees sway and the lights play from the nearby Plough Inn, diffracted from its bent leaded panes - "God" he thought "Swindon is a shithole".

He knew this was his last ever journey and it was only Parry that could have brought him here to settle the old score once and for all - and his mind raced "toy taxi, Parry, Marco, Evil Professor Vuk, Emily Bishop, the hearty stew.....Mrs Mick... Yes!! Mrs Mick!!

No-one could have ever recognised the taste, Mrs Mick and her legendary cullinary skills were famous of course, but why now was becoming clear...no-one had ever eaten lizard before...