Forgotten Things Wash Up Here (Gorillaz Plastic Beach) Chapter 2: Questioning

Chapter 2: Questioning

I am frozen solid, body tense and mind blank. I have no idea what to do or say, so I’m left standing there frigidly before the fuming man.

“Well?! Spit it out! What are you doing ‘ere?!” His breath rains on me once more with that familiar rum smell. His gloved hand snatches up the collar of my oil drenched shirt. His snarl soon turns into one of disgust rather than one of anger.

“I don’t know! I washed up here this morning!” I tell him honestly, feeling myself beginning to shake in his grip.

“Don’t lie to me! The Black Cloud sent you!” He snaps, shaking me slightly. My head begins to ring with a headache.

“What’s a black cloud? What are you talking about?” I ask slowly, my hand coming to grip at the wrist of the hand that is holding me. His grip is tightening and it’s beginning to choke off my air. I have to get this man off of me fast. I’m losing breath more quickly than I thought.

“You know about the bloody Black Cloud! Don’t toy with me!” The man growls, rum breath pouring into my nostrils. It sends my head into a dizzy spell. My head is pounding and my ears are ringing.

“I don’t know a thing.” I tell him before my eyes involuntarily roll shut and my lips jar, gasping for air.

There is a pause that is filled with a nasally, dry sounding snarl and an unintelligible growl. That pause seems to span a lifetime. Every drop of water that leaks in this dank room rings out in my ears with an echo that makes it seem as if it were reverberating into an endless darkness. The small amount of light that is leaking through the nearly burned out lightbulb above is slipping away from me. This is what it feels like to suffocate. This is what it feels like to drown. I’m drowning in a sea of God awful rum.

The hand lets me go and I drop to the floor, eyes open in shock as I gasp for each and every breath of putrid air. Even though I am released, I am still unable to breathe enough. My eyes droop shut and I fall into blackness.

I awake to a similar blackness, eyes snapping open to find no change in vision. I am sitting up, tied to an uncomfortable chair (that felt as if it should have been in the rubbish pile) with frayed and mangled rope that scratches at my skin. I don’t dare move. I don’t want to risk hurting myself on the ropes or on the chair. I sit still in this chair for a moment longer before my impatience gets the better of me.

“Oi!” I called out into the blackness. My voice rings out in the room with a slight echo. I’m in an enclosed area, that is clear. I muster a deep breath before calling out once more. “Turn on the lights! Where am I?” I demand, my voice shaking.

There is silence, save for the echo of my voice about the room. Then, the room was filled with the sharp sound of a door slamming closed. It echoed off of the walls, and rung in my ears as if someone were ringing my head like a bell.

“Oi!! Don’t be so loud!” I snap before a hand lashes out and grabs my neck.

“I’m doin’ th’ orderin’ ‘round ‘ere!” That familiar voice hisses before letting go of my neck and stepping back. His foot steps echoes about the room until there was a snapping noise and the lights come on. The person who belongs to the voice stands tall, rubbing his head.

His hair is of a peculiar shade: something between black and blue as if his hair is a deep, horrid bruise. It is a dark blue, with a slightly warm undertone and it looks disgusting and unkempt. He has a fringe that is cut straight over his eyes, fixing his sickly looking eyes in a glare. His eyes are a sickly yellow, with one of his irises a strange violet-red and the other a cataract obscured white.

His nose is bulging and sore looking, with the bridge of his nose far higher than it ought to be. It looks as if he had broken his nose and it had never mended. His skin is a sickly, pale green.

He isn’t wearing a shirt, leaving my eyes to view his unhealthy looking torso. He has a slight beer belly, and a little bit of hair over his chest (which laughably resembles the feeble attempts for a school boy to grow chest hair). There is a golden cross resting against his chest, however, it is turned upside down. He is wearing jeans, but they are old and ragged, like hand-me-downs.

He grumbles slightly as the light turns on and mutters several unintelligible swears. He looks so very tired, from his slouching posture to the bags beneath his eyes, to the yawn that he would moan out every so often.

“Did I wake you from your beauty sleep?” I ask snidely, taking the opportunity to poke fun at him. His top lip curls and he snarls before storming over to my side and snatching up my ear in his long, calloused fingers.

“Do you ‘ave a death wish?” He roars in my ear, tugging on it enough for me to feel a sting. “I ‘ave a robot in my cupboard! I could bring ‘er out on yer arse and fill it with lead!”

“Quite the temper there!” I hiss out in protest. Of course, this only makes him yank on my ear harder. “Fuck!”

“Is that what you want, eh?” The man growls out, smirking and grumbling out laugh that sounds like evil gravel. He lets go of my ear, but not without pressing his fingers harshly against my temple and making my head jerk.

“Where am I?” I ask slowly, turning my head down to avoid looking at him.

“You’re on the Plastic Beach! Point Nemo!” The man proclaims proudly, grinned a twisted, crooked-toothed smile. “The furthest place from any other landmass on earth! You realize now that I can’t let you leave?”

“What?” I cry out in shock, beginning to fight against my bonds. Those birds hadn't been a dream. “What do you mean?” The man crossed his arms.

“You really think that I would capture you, question you, then let you leave just like that?” The man tilted his head slightly. “I went through all this trouble just to let a mongrel like you go?” he lets out that dry laugh again. “Look at you! You’re filthy!”

I gasp slightly, but hearing this I know it is true. I is soaked through with oil and seawater. Still, this note is insulting. I swallow my insult and sigh.

“I’m stuck here, then. You won’t let me go. So what now?” I ask slowly, earning a surprising reaction from the man. His eyes went wide and his lips fell open.

“Right!” He speaks up quickly. “Right! Er…” He trails off, frowning and adjusting his arms. “You’re my slave now! I have a book.” He is making a compromise as he clearly hadn’t thought through his earlier statements. “I’m missing the last chapter of the book. The pieces of it have been scattered around the island. You have two weeks to find all of the pages ‘fore I kick your arse into the ocean.”

My lips seal closed and my eyes go wide. I can stay.

“You have to let me go then. Get the bonds off of me. Where am I staying?” I ask slowly, beginning to chew on my chapped lips. I frown.

“Eh…” The man trails off before he sighs. “Downstairs, there is a bloke. 2-D. Room with him or whatever.” He dismisses, beginning to search for something to cut away the ropes holding me.

“What’s your name?” I question him, tilting my head very slightly.

“What?” The man cried out, stumbling back from the drawer that he was looking through. “You haven’t heard of me? I’m Murdoc Niccals! Ya know! The Gorillaz!”