Bill Kong and Mr. Wong

A small story thing. 

Billy Kong and Mr. Wong

Billy Kong was a boy who lived a lonely life. Plagued by the languid inequities of men, he resolved from an early age to withdraw from what he privately referred to as ‘The race of the rats’. He would think of this one man quip and cackle silently inside his mind, his inner-laugh sounding life the effervescent bubbling of mountain sized, golden orbs bursting over an ocean of boiling lucozade.

Billy lived alone. He lived in a bungalow left to him by his Great-aunt Bestrode. She had passed away seven years previous. She finally succumbed to her bad ankle in the winter of ’76. He would wile away the days re-organising his collection of photographs of pavements and famous letter boxes. Some days he would go to the garden and do handstands on his neighbour’s lawn. His wide ankled trousers falling down about his knees, revealing his beautiful pale kneecaps, which were like two knobs of ebony butter on top of a cotton mountain. His neighbour, Len, didn’t care for these displays of zero-G acrobatics.
‘Get off my lawn you mad bloody steampunk!’ Len would cry out.
 ‘Not before you come round to my house and polish all my jelly spoons! You twice-airlifted electro-freak!’ came the inevitable retort.
Sometimes, to really get Len’s goat, Billy Kong would get out his squeaky pogo stick, and just spend all night jumping up and down in his garden. Len could hear the grim ballet of man and machine taking place outside but was powerless to act. Allergic, as he was, to moon pollen.

Billy might have gone on like this forever, locked in eternal struggle with that bugger Len. But he hadn’t counted on Mr. Wong. The kindliest man anyone could ever hope to meet. Some say he was found as a baby, clasped in the engorged petals of a giant lotus flower. Others said he flew down from the sky atop a meteor, screaming and cackling, lashing the celestial beast earthbound. Whatever his origins, that day fate had brought Billy Kong into his close dimensional space. Of all the billions to have existed, of all that had yet to exist. Of all the ages, of the thousands of years, the cultures, the civilisations, the parts of the earth. Fate had brought these two beings together at this moment, in this place. It was Kismet.
The day they met was a beautiful, sunny day. Sweet Solon had opened his legs and was giggling gaily as his golden sun-tears reigned down upon the faces of the peoples of the world. Billy was promenading about the town, exuberantly showing off his newest chip clasp. The ladies and gents of the town did applaud and yell, ‘Bravo Billy lad!’ and ‘By Bovis, He’s gone and done it again! What grace, what poise...’