“Get them locked up and be back here at six in the morning. You’ll get paid next month Bert.”
Bert thought he was going to get paid this month.
“I thought I was going to get paid this month,” said Bert.
Albert got on his bicycle and cycled away.
Bert walked down the pier, a characterless sunset behind him. Bert took a bite from his sandwich. He looked down at the beach and he saw some students with a bonfire.
“Hey man,” said one with blonde dreadlocks and a spliff in his mouth. “What are you doing up there?”
“Yeah baby,” said one with a bikini and a plastic cowboy hat. “What are you doing up there baby?”
“I’m a deckchair assistant,” said Bert.
“Get us some deckchairs then you tit!” shouted one with a shaved head and a can of super strength.
“Yeah baby,” said one with a bikini and a plastic pirate hat. “Get us some deckchairs baby.”
“They are all locked away now,” said Bert. “Can I come and party with you guys?”
“Sure you can,” said one with blonde dreadlocks and a spliff in his mouth. “If you get us some deckchairs.”
* * *
The deckchairs were burning on the bonfire.
“That job was all I knew,” said Bert. “Who am I?"
Bert took a bite from his sandwich.
MAN ABOUT TOWN
The man about town swings his keyring and presses the button to remotely unlock the car door.
The man about town gets inside his car and puts on the radio.
Cool. BBC Radio 6. Bob Dylan.
The man about town puts on his sunglasses and drives.
The man about town is on his way to collect some items for his home business.
The man about town thinks that having sex is good.
The man about town parks his car and steps outside.
The man about town gives his keyring a swing in the air before pressing the button to remotely lock the car door.
The man about town sees his reflection in a shop window.
Jeans. Pinstripe blazer. Ramones t-shirt. Cool.
The man about town goes in the printer shop and buys five hundred printer cartridges and a stack of quality A2 paper.
The man about town smiles at the cashier.
"Thanks!" he snaps a finger at her name badge. “Lucy!”
The man about town goes back to his car and swings his keyring before pressing the button to remotely unlock the car door.
The man about town gets inside his car and puts on the radio.
Cool. BBC Radio 6. Tom Waits.
FRENCHGATE
The old man looks at the boarded up building.
“I remember when this building was a nightclub,” said the old man.
All the businesses that used to be on this street are closed down.
In an alleyway, a boy sucks on balloon gas before eating a burger.
“If I eat while I'm rushing, then it gives me a really mental high!”
People make their own entertainment these days.
The mother pushes her shopping trolley full of discounts.
“I've been watching that new series that isn't out yet,” said the mother.
The Frenchgate Centre is reopened and has lots of new shops.
“Have you been in the new Frenchgate Centre? I only go to town now if I want to go in the Frenchgate Centre. All the shops are in there now; Home Bargains, Quality Save, Aldi, Poundland.”
There are no benches in the new Frenchgate Centre.
“It's hard to get a good sit down these days.”
“I'm off out later to that new tiki bar.”
“I'm not bloody mental alright?”
“We all know it was just the drink talking.”
“Ham, egg and chips at Wetherspoons?”
“How much?”
“Three pound fifty, I think.”
MOTHER
The Mistake smiles down at her freshly hatched clutch. The Mistake isn't a mistake anymore. The Mistake had a purpose. All these tiny, new children rely on her. The Mistake is Mother and Mother has her clutch.
Their small-headed faces smile up at her.
“Who are you?” asks Mother.
“Your clutch!” they smile.
They take the words right out of her mind.
“Do you love me?” asks Mother.
“We love you Mother!”
They wave their adorable and useful shovel-hands.
“Will you dig for me?”
“Yes!”
“Are you Mother?”
“We are Mother!”
They are all mother.
“We love you Mother!” affirm her clutch.
And she loved them. All of them. Useful, loving and together with Mother.
There was a sound. A different sound. A not so useful sound. What is that sound? Crying?
No.
Please no.
Not again.
Not another one.
Not another Mistake.
There it is, in the middle of the smaller heads of her clutch, a tiny mouth on an oversized head: screaming up at the nothing sky.
“The Mistake!” said her clutch.
They take the words right out of her mind.
CLEVER
Stuck on the ends of the branches of the leafless, winter trees were countless human eyeballs. The woodsman pulled down a branch and prodded a glaring eyeball with his index finger.
“Still warm,” said the woodsman.
He looked out into the foggy forest.
“I’ll find you!” he shouted into the misted depths.
* * *
In his log cabin he looked through the ancient texts, he was trying to discover more about the mythical, eyeball-stealing Opticulus .
“One day I'll find you,” he said.
He turned page after page.
“I’ll find you!”
* * *
The woodsman crept through the forest with an elephant gun over his shoulder.
“I know you’re out here somewhere.”
He tripped over a branch and fell in a puddle. He saw his reflection in the water; monstrous and deformed. Some round, squidgy balls fell out of his pockets.
Eyeballs!
“All these years of seeking the Opticulus, it seems that I was searching for myself."
He sighed and impaled the eyeballs on the branches of a nearby tree.
It is like the ending of one of those clever stories when the ending is clever.
HOLIDAYS
They push him off the cliff.
He bounces back up.
“This bungee jump was worth all that overtime at work.”
He fancies the bungee jump instructor but so did everyone.
They push her underwater.
She is wearing a diving suit.
“This scuba diving was worth all that overtime at work.”
A blunt toothed shark harmlessly passes her.
Millions of creeping weeds thrill to their procured moments of safe excitement.
They feel like
