Joint first prize

Much ado about nothing Jeremy Round (Palmer's College)

He had been told that a menthol crystal combined with the heat of the illumination, would have the desired decelerating effect on the less advanced species of Predictability than rushing in and out of focus under his microscope. This unquestioned piece of information had indeed begun to prove itself (the creatures had first slowed down their mechanical, selfish lives of alternate food and sex, and were now merely pulsating) when the comfort of this power over the observed world was suddenly shattered by the brilliant entrance of a little being at once uglier and more attractive than any of the others. A tiny, `jelly-bean' entity with few obvious external faculties and a disgustingly gaudy digestive system had, after sweeping to the centre of the stage and performing a pirouette 'a point,' begun to take frivolous advantage of its drugged co-habitants. It meandered from plasmic sack to plasmic sack, a bored youth with a stick annoying a herd of microscopic cows dozing in the fragrant one hundred Watt summer.

The lesson was no longer Biology, and Drama had never been part of the curriculum. Indeed Biology was not his forte. He was a lad with many 'irons in the fire' and it had often been noted (not to least effect on his last term's report) that this particular iron was not hot and "the flames require fanning with industry and diligence." The latter were not two of his most obvious assets, perhaps this explains the ease with which his intelligence wandered from the mere observance of God's less .complex animals.

This one tiny being was showing some wit and originality, it amused in the way it moved and the entertaining futility of its actions. Not only interested in consumption and reproduction it had a Wildean 'jopie de vivre', an almost Negroid good-humour. In his adolescent wisdom the youth soon began to see a deeper relevance to what he later became convinced had been some kind of vision, and having all the vanity, of his age applied this relevance primarily to himself.

Here was an individualist, an entity not content with mere utilitarianism: it was trying to develop and project its own personality. The menthol as a general repressant, a code of emasculating laws, was something for it to at first flout and then fight against. Moreover this, which could have been done in such a proletarian and unnecessarily extreme manner, was here being executed with style and flair how much more effective it therefore became. "What a divinely decadent, perfectly witty little thing."

He congratulated himself on his perception. To celebrate he christened the creature 'Maxwell' and ate an illicit liquorice allsort. Surely all this was the answer to what he suddenly became conscious of

that vague feeling of unease that he now realised he had had for months, and had been making itself increasingly unpleasant by the more frequent outbursts of rage it bred. Now he saw that as dissatisfaction with his purpose in life. Exams had not seemed important (a trait which increased with the imminence of the same), material possessions were no longer imPortant (his parents assured him that they had felt the same during the period they had been provided for), and the only thing that mattered was happiness.

He now realised that that w„ar„s what he was bound to spend his 11'` striving for, and he could see that this was possible by sacrifice of everything for the enjoyment of the present no planning, no regrets did not C. S. Lewis have somethia to say about that? Now he Was Robert the Bruce, Maxwell had shown him the means to this ea: not to accept but to fight, most importantly with style. Maxwell had now wiggled to the edge of the menthol crystal aria was rolling around it. Maxwell, seemed excited by this novo object Of course everybody was 1( oking for happiness, he realised that, and they all had to find their own waY! to it. With some it was the stabilitY of accepting, but surely this Was only negative happiness, ea absence of sadness. He looked at the merely pulsating blobs. Also this acceptance never looked int° the reasons for life. Maxwell was there to drive home a point; trcil show, by contrast, how greedy ao,„ pointless most lives were. To noticed and remembered for doing this seemed quite the only thing td live for; how sweet was. immortality, even in other people'' minds. Maxwell had begun to eat the crystal. This answer to the brooding self-pity of the last few weeks, W.99 almost frighteningly novel. Jle could even have felt nostalgia NIthat time, after all had it not beead a form of innocence? Now he ha the answer to everything, and the responsibility was great. He remembered the only poem!!! had ever completed, now to ,71 valid he would have to change a' its negatives to positives: This autumn again Black Mozart In Stygian gloom before prayers, Again the fly to beat itself

To unpremeditated death, against that gem of sixteenth century glaziers art, Translucent Paul.

Fly never hoped that this pale g.reY' Would distil like dew to glorious day,

But we left hunting clear sky In our net of flawed diamonds While the hot night of wand'ring Makes us think of the sea,

Need no longer plead "Don't cha}re us,

We didn't ask your kindness," Oh those bright days of telling h'' (Not thinking "Fire! for this is sin.) "It's the sweetest form of blackmail that I know, Just you, a shooting star and vertigo,

"This spring no more Black Mozart ..." certainly did not have the same ring.

Maxwell had begun a sort of dance, almost coy at first it was noW more whole hearted.

An ice-cream van stopped in the street outside the school. It was OnlY just making its splendidly tinny rendition of one of Chopin's piano preludes heard, above the fusilade of hail stones that was at Present descending on the laboratory's plate-glass windows. Max well s was now in time with ‘.1fie music. The tune stopped, but maxwell was getting faster. The Chimes began again. He would apply his new philosphy of life at the Christian Union nleeting this afternoon. This was ins only contact with religion, and only indulged in to fill up the hour before he could catch a bus home. If the meeting was in any way similar to .last week's it would be quite enjoyable.

.The Common room had filled With the usual intense adolescent girls — most of these girls' bad ,COmplexions, buck teeth, and gawLl,cless left one in no doubt as to Why they turned to Christ. One Particularly intense young feinale had lisped an opening (he through her unusual teeth koe had admired her ability to keep a straight face through the prayer's inane naivities). He had, by that tune, got used to the smug chit-chat Plat usually ensued, that week ,however complete silence reigned. tventually as the tension grew n!ibearable, one six-foot fifth form girl stood up and proclaimed Phviously sincerely; "Christ has Made Ip eme everything what I am day, One of the other hangers on had u,nrst into silly uncontrollable gigand had had to leave. The stimulus of this mirth went puce liVth embarrassment and probe'Y no has a complex of some sort. le,In a similar situation would "taxwell have done the same? Of ceurse not, and now he would not etther. He would laugh loud and 11°4 at the lot of them ("puffy :lYPocrites"), then give a witty flieneuncement of Christianity, and Ving suggested a viable n'ternative, he would have swept l'ut leaving a trail of newly formed admirers.

The Chopin jerked ed through ain,

1Viaxwell positively writhed. The other creatures had stopped 'III their bodily functions. They Were lifeless. Maxwell's 'prodding' had not been so futile after all. It at °11,.c,e became a revolutionary. 1 urning to a Biology text-book otther unpleasant facts began to „urn. up. The creature was bi-sexrat, it fed on more or less anything 'neluding rotting flesh, and could .read some kind of lung disease. i-11"-s illusions lay in fragments, but e, was more angry with Maxwell i'vuo had posed and acted for so , perhaps all of his pretensions carried similar characteristics. Was pot revolution an infectious disease eechoe on rotting flesh?

The one who had not lived up to expectations was obviously in its death agony. The Chopin became a grotesque funeral-bell as Maxwell was still. His agony now seemed deserved. Chopin had died of lung disease.

Pain and death were not part of his conception, they had no further interest, and with Maxwell his involvement died. He always eventually became bored with his self-exploratory sessions, anyway the lesson would end soon.

He turned off the microscope lamp, and removed the slide. It bore a mere smear of translucent grey, even the menthol had dissolved.

He laughed at himself for his involvement in something he could not even see without high power magnification. Maxwell was Nothing.