Synopsis
Quill
Angel’s aren’t supposed to be depressed but mine is. He’s been telling me about this chap called Jesus who died for my shins. I’m not sure why he would die for my shin. It’s been damaged by shrapnel in an air raid.
The Angel, Gilead, in trying to explain, helped me find a book in the rubble of a bombed out London called The King James Bible. I’m trying to understand what it is all about and what praying is and why I have to close my eyes to do it and why God never says anything back and why the world he created is in such a mess. I have a lot of questions.
My name is James. Dad calls me Inkblot. I’m twelve years old. Gilead thinks my name is prophetic and that one day I too shall become a King in a far off realm. I don’t know what prophetic means. It sounds like pathetic and I’m a bit put out by that label. Still, I’m glad Gilead’s here. I don’t think I’ll survive the Blitz without him. He’s given me a feather quill from one of his magnificent wings and anything I write with it, comes true. Wizard Prang! I thought. Well, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve written about.
Gilead said that the quill would protect me. All I had to do was have an imagination and write down what I wanted to happen and it would happen, provided I used the right sort of ink, which happens to be Angel tears. Gilead has been upset about the prospect of losing his employment as an Angel so I’ve ended up with a steady supply of ink and a series of absurd adventures.
But as you might expect, its magic has attracted some nefarious characters set on wielding this power to evil ends. I’ve used its power to oppose that by creating my own set of unconventional characters, my own band of, well, bothers rather than brothers. They’re a funny rabble and our journey along the rubble bricked roads of London reminds me of a new film that has just come out called ‘The Wizard of Oz.’
Let me give you a quick word about these heroes. They are a bit defective because of my scruffy handwriting and bad spelling.
Captain Hardy is an R.A.F Spitfire hero who's afraid of heights. Max is the ultimate Tommy soldier and hero from WW1. His voice box was severely damaged in a gas attack in the trenches and his only way of saying anything is by scribbling everything down on a chalkboard strung around his neck. He’s an immense fighting machine but is plagued by the moral issues of killing.
Cowboy is a filthy renegade outlaw with terrible horse riding skills. He may be the fastest draw in the West and have lightning reflexes but he can’t aim to save a duck.
Red doesn't smoke and is always in battle with no peace pipe. He is a Sioux Indian from Little Big Horn where Sitting Bull once questioned his courage in battle. He’ll find his courage here in London and rejoin Sitting Bull's elite warrior society – The Cante Tinza.
Sir Itchalot, never comfortable in armour, has been pulled from the crusades and a futile effort to wield Excalibur and save Guinevere from Lancelot. He sits on the reserve bench of the round table waiting to prove his worth as a worthy member. So that’s the lot of them, a peculiar rabble. I know they don’t sound like much but I wouldn’t have made it without them.
Gilead and I have journeyed to a place where battles are fought against the darkest of all powers by scribes and angels in the heavenly realms. We’ve travelled to far off lands in times gone by and in times still to come. I’ve used the quill to bring to life fantastic heroes who have saved my life in what is probably history’s most intrepid rescue. Well, there's a lot more, like flying tanks and pirate ships and elephants and plastic toy soldiers that come to life and everything you'd expect from a kid armed with an imagination and a magic quill. Not bad for a twelve-year-old kid armed with a Bible, an Angel, some eccentric heroes, the armour of God, a few prayers and a miraculous feather quill. These are my Unexploded Prayers.