Cult Part 1
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Och Cult


The rain fell heavily and the wind howled through my raincoat as I settled down on my park bench for the night.

'You're in an awful state'  said Basil, my trusty parrot. 'Sometimes I am embarrassed to be seen out with you.'

  'But Basil,' I said, my speech badly slurred through having drunk too much methylated spirits, 'Ye be a lovely example of parrot hood and I am right proud of you.'

'Well, you're in an awful state, awful state,' replied Basil.

I pulled a copy of the Sunday Post over my head, covering my hair which hadn't seen a drop of shampoo in many a month.


Basil tucked his head under his wing, and I could hear him crying himself to sleep. It was a piteous sound, and I felt a pang of guilt. I took another swig of meths and fell into a drunken sleep.

I was awoken abruptly by Basil biting my ear. I'd trained him as a guard parrot, and every time he sensed fear he would waken me.

'Look out, look out,' he half whispered and half squawked.


 I sat upright, and reached for my carrier bags, which contained my whole life. 'What be going on?' I asked Basil. He didn't reply, instead he nodded his head towards a figure standing beside my park bench. The figure spoke.



Click here for more of my tragic tale.

Click here for pictures of me being prepared for the sacrifice


Click here for the Och Cult Dance