Sir Picksalot

Chapter 1

Scene 1

Not so far away in a place called nowhere. Sir Picksalot owned a very peculiar bar.

              Sir Picksalot as his name would suggest had a very odd habit of picking his nose, even though such picking due its frequency did not always yield promising results, there was no other place where Sir would rather enjoy his finger. Although you might assume so, but the knighthood wasn't granted to him due to his excellence in the above mentioned field it was just something his family named him, you see his grandfather was accorded with the knighthood for his extraordinary contributions to the war, his parents just passed it onto him to continue his grandfather's legacy. 'Middle' (hereafter referred to as The bar) was placed right at the center of a very busy city. But due to the Mayor’s successful sobriety propaganda  and the failing economy the bar had only four customers. Four regular customers and not another living soul except them ever entered the premises.

Strange as it may sound to a regular bar monger, the place only opened from 8 pm to 11 pm. Which implies no happy hours. Before you stop breathing and loose all your faith in society, we shall continue with the story part of this exorbitantly explained scenario. The new word being a an antithesis/euphemism of course to the writer's inability to create or even imagine a grander or reasonable setting for the story to unfold. Without further ado let's move on to the four regular customers, of which one shall die (no this is not the suspense).

The names, for the sheer lack of imagination or effort and also to avoid the stereotypes that we form in our head relating to names from the people we meet, were Rat, Pat, Mat and Chester Yes you guessed it right, Chester dies.

Just when Picksalot, dribbling through the bushy field of his nose, had located something worthy enough to stick in his nails and expose to the outside world. He heard a gentle thud on the bar door. This was odd as none of his four customers had ever knocked and Chester, who was the only person missing from that bar that night, would be the last person to do so. Picksalot irritably leaving the dried mucus, which had been located after an hour of dedicated searching, carefully in the same place where it was found got up from his seat and limped up to the door. Outside waiting restlessly was a tall figure strongly built with a jawline that would make George Clooney look like a kid. The physical persona was not reflected in his flail bodily movements. It was the renowned  local police officer  detective Chad. As soon as he saw Picksalot his shoulders drooped further and he started scratching his head in order to come up with an opening line. Finally after 10 long seconds of silence he spoke, " We found Chester's body in front of your bar's back door”. Picksalot, seldom a guy with expressions worth noticing, shrieked utilising all the air his lungs could manage. The surprising nature of the news being the major cause behind the wailing. He turned towards the other three inmates of the bar, who had already eavesdropped on the news and were too in a state of shock.

To be contd..