Zedlist – Part Seventeen

Abandoned Living Room

“The revolution will not be televised.” Kevin said, “No one ever said anything about it not being broadcast on the radio. Think about it, it’s the perfect medium. No one needs to know who we are and the Colin Reed show has over six million listeners per week. With the internet exposure we have already we can get even more people to tune in. I have a rough speech written up ready for us to read over the air, all we need is a plan to hijack the station.”

Kevin passed some documents to Alex and Tim, saying: “Have a read now and let me know what you think”.

The room was silent as they both read. Tim finished a considerable time sooner than Alex.

“This won’t work”, Tim said.

“What do you mean won’t work? This is exactly what I wanted to say.”

“That’s where you’re going wrong”, Tim said. “Don’t write what you want to say, write what your audience need to hear.”

Tim was becoming more animated with each word. His limbs where back in action, continuing their dance of flurried expression.

“What is it you want people to do? That is the crux of it. Only tell them as much as they need to know, and anyway, even if you do go and hijack the radio station, what then? What are you going to do with all the people in the building? Let them go? Kidnap them? Even if you manage to keep on air for more than twenty minutes and read this thing”, he said waving the pages in the air, “Who do you think is going to want to listen to you? They are just going to hear a buffoon, a fantasist, just as you first perceived me”. Tim said.

“That’s a good point” Kevin said, “you did have to drug me before I took you seriously.”

“I did not drug you Kevin. I did not drug you. I merely provided you with a convenient opportunity to drug yourself. Don’t forget, Kevin, that you can change peoples’ realities with words, you just have to find ways of jarring people out of their routine brain responses and help them to realise that everything is possible; drugs are just a reliable short cut to this point. You cannot keep a man’s eyes open by holding his lids apart, with or without drugs. You have to allow people to believe beyond all doubt that they are acting upon free will at every turn”.

“Manipulation”, Kevin said.

“Everything is manipulation,” Tim said fervently, “If you truly want to bring about change then you are going to have to think about what words people need to hear in order for them to do what you want.”

“Do you mind!?” Alex remarked, “I’m trying to read here”. His back was arched forwards and his face was close to the page. “I have something I want to say. You want to read this on the radio right?” Alex asked, looking at Kevin.

“Right”, Kevin said.

“No one really talks like this, man. There are words in here I’ve never even, like, seen before. If you are talking to ordinary people at home I reckon you should just speak normally. Y’know?”

“He’s got a point”, Tim said, “You don’t want to alienate your audience. I have my doubts as to whether people will listen to you at all, why would they? Who are you to them? You’ll have some of your own followers listening, fine, but what about the people already listening to the show?”

“I guess we’ll just have to find a way of catching the interest of the public”, Kevin said.

“They will be expecting to hear Colin Reed”, Tim said, “so why don’t we give them Colin Reed?”

“That won’t work”, Kevin said, “Even if we held him at gun point, I bet he still wouldn’t do it.”

“Then we persuade him to”, Tim said, holding eye contact for just the right amount of time to convey the seriousness he gave this matter. “Put me in a room with him for an hour and I will have him seeing clearly”.

The three men stayed up until the early hours of the morning drawing out detailed plans and deciding on respective tasks, until Kevin and Alex went to bed, leaving Tim to sleep on the sofa. Kevin opened the living room window just a crack to help relieve the smell of weed and the repugnant odour emanating from Tim’s matted fur coat.






Lucas Howard

When I was seven I started copying poems out of a book and telling people they were mine. When I ran out of good ones to copy, I had to start writing my own. I have been performing and organising nights on the UK spoken word scene now for over seven years and am most of the way through writing the first draft of my first novel 'Zedlist', which is serialised on here. As the story is in fetal form, any critiques or suggestions are most welcome.

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