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ended up back in my pocket, safe and snug and warm. Maybe
it’s a flip without a catch? Ha. I just thought of that one. That
sounds more like it. A flip with no smack-in-the-palm-of-your-hand
catcheroony. By Georgy Porgy, I think he’s got it!
    So I’m going to try it myself.
I’m going to flip, and I’m going to let the Universe
catch-me-if-you-can. Sound metaphysical enough for you? I can’t
shoot myself, not that I could get a gun in here anyway (or maybe I
could?). I can’t jump. Hey, I wonder if I’d bounce or just splat?
So I’m gonna flip.
    Flipedy-doo-da, flipedy-hey, my,
oh my what a helluva day!
    I know just the place. I don’t
know why I didn’t think of this before. I could have saved a lot of
pain and death. If my mind had not been fogged by those won’erful
drugs, would I have guessed? Who knows. Refineries are magnificent
places, you know? Ever been to one Dr. Connors? I don’t suppose you
have. They’ve got all sorts of deadly chemicals and things that, if
they went bump in the night, would certainly make sure half the
county wouldn’t wake up the next morning. Well, we’ve had a little
preview of that already, haven’t we? Furnaces. Loads of them.
Temperatures exceeding a thousand degrees centigrade held captive
in a little tin box. Oh, yes. You look into them when they are
going, and the flames, fifteen feet high and more, look ready to
jump on you for their morning snack.
    Well, I reckon I might just be
lunch for one lucky flame. It’d be quick, for a start. He didn’t
feel a thing, Miss.
    I’m trying to avoid asking
myself any questions about what might happen then. I don’t know if
I believe in ghosts or heaven or hell. Does reincarnation exist?
Would I come back as a frog perhaps? I reckon sitting by a pond
catching flies all day would be a pretty relaxing way to spend
one’s life. I wonder if Joy is driving a cloud way up there with a
sticker in the back saying ‘The Afterlife’s a beach!’ But enough of
that. I don’t know, so there’s no point in worrying about it. Well,
there is one worry. What if it doesn’t stop? What if I’m actually stopping the bad things happening, apart from the odd one
getting through? What if I’m some sort of dam with a few chinks in
the armour?
    No. If only that were true. It’s
not. I’m certain it’ll stop. Just like with Joy, it ends with me.
Which, in a way, is a good thing. I suppose. I’ve got to go to the
great meringue in the sky, ‘cos life here’s a lemon, but at least
it’ll stop. So, yeah, it’s a good thing.
    Well, this is it. This is where
I take my leave of Life, the Universe, and fish fingers. I wonder
if it’s true that the last thing the captain of the Titanic ever
said was to ask for ice in his drink? I wish I had something deep
and meaningful to say. Some inspiring words of wisdom to pass on. I
don’t.
    This is one small step for Sin,
and one giant leap for the rest of you Muppets.
    So long and thanks for all the
rotten eggs.
    Take your pick, Dr. Connors.
Take your pick.
     
    < End of
statement >
     
    * * * *
     
    Report by consulting
psychiatrist, Dr. Henry Connors.
     
    Sin Matthews was extremely
paranoid and intensely delusional. His frequent bouts of erratic
and often violent behaviour resulted in the need to keep Mr.
Matthews sedated for much of the time. The claims made in his
statement are obviously ludicrous, although it is clear he has
researched these incidents thoroughly. Mr. Matthews’s reasons for
this are unclear. As he stated, Mr. Matthews voluntarily placed
himself under this hospital’s care. As yet, the investigation into
his disappearance is inconclusive. That he ‘flipped’ out of his
cell is naturally not being considered. It should be noted that, on
the day of his disappearance, there was a fault in the CCTV system
and it is my belief that Mr. Matthews took advantage of this to
discharge himself. He has been reported to the police as a missing
person. As he is no longer a resident of this