Fiction

The Golden Duck

MattLeave a comment

‘Thees a golden duck up at Dragons Glimpse!’ I spoke through ragged breaths.
My dad, who was sitting in a crumpled suit, sausage fingers wrapped around the paper, peeped over ‘What ya on about now?’
‘A Golden Duck! Up at’t’ Dragons Glimpse! Up yonder, near Utmost Point!’
‘A Golden Duck? Up yonder? At Utmost point?’ He rolled his eyes, ”Ave ya ‘eard this owd Mary? Thees a Golden Duck Up yonder, up at Dragons Glimpse, near Utmost Point!’ He rustled the newspaper, seeming to fight with it as he closed it and slammed it on the kitchen table.
My mum walked in from the living room, feather duster in her hand, ‘A golden duck, ya say?’
‘Aye,’ I replied.
She looked at me through her big coke-bottle lenses, ‘Is that so?’
‘Aye! A golden duck up at Dragons Glimpse! I sure seen it.’ I buzzed with excitement.
My dad’s eyebrows knitted together, his arms folded over his chest, his lips pursing expletives.
‘Go up with ‘im! See this Golden Duck, Frank!’
My dad’s jaw dropped from its hinges. Uncrossing his arms, he looked up from his seat to the jam-jar bottom lenses that her eyes pierced through. ‘Why can’t you go?’ He groaned.
‘Cause I’m doin’ the cleanin’!’ She said, hitting my dad’s head with the feather duster, ‘And ya jus’ get in me bleedin’ way!’
He sneezed, shoulders shrinking inside his shirt, ‘Ya what? Ya want me t’ go on a wild goose chase with the lad!’ He baulked, ‘It’s all flights o’ fancy!’ He turned to me, ‘It’s all flights o’ fancy, lad.’
‘It was real as I saw it!’ I protested, my fists clenched by my side.
‘Go up with ‘im! See this Golden Duck will ya!’ She threatened him with the feather duster.
My dad pulled a face, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Fine, fine! I’ll go.’
With a sigh and a slumping in his chair and a huffing and a puffing, he upped his butt and fought with his bootstraps. Then, with a sigh that sank him closer to the ground, he said, ‘Come on then.’
So off we went. He trailed behind and kept tutting and shaking his head, ‘Golden duck!’ He kept muttering.

When we reached The Dragons Glimpse, there was no sight of anything. I couldn’t believe it. Not one living creature caused a ripple on that lake.
Dad folded his arms across his chest and sighed again, his sigh swallowing him down into his boots.
I remember thinking to myself that if he sighed anymore, he’d sink so low he’d become a puddle!
‘She were ‘ere!’ I told him, picking up a stick from the ground and poking into the dirt.
‘Right.’ My dad replied.
He squatted down on his haunches and looked across the lake, a sheepish smile drawing on his lips.
I drew shapes in the dirt with the stick while we waited for something to turn up, and eventually, after what felt like an eternity, a few mallards appeared, each landing with a splash.
My dad lifted himself up with a crack of his knees and stretched, ‘I don’t think that golden duck is comin” he yawned.
‘Jus’ wait!’ I scowled, ‘She’ll turn up! She ‘as to now!’ I looked at the ground sadly, ‘She ‘as to!’ I threw the stick into the lake with impatience. ‘I calls ‘er Lucy.’
‘Why’d ya call ‘er Lucy?’
I pointed to the big old house with black gates with gold lettering, ‘That ol’ witch tol’ me she ‘ad leucism.’
My dad rolled his eyes, ‘ya’ve ‘eard ya mum talkin’ ent ya?’
Well, I couldn’t help thinking my mum was right! She was a witch. I wondered what spell she must’ve cast, showing me up in front of my dad!
Then my dad turned, set on leaving, and with his back to the lake, a duck turned up, and it was only the bleeding golden duck!
Thumping the air I turned to my dad, ‘She’s ‘ere again! Look!’ And I turned back, to find my finger pointing at an empty spot on the water. She’d only bleeding well gone!
My dad frowned at me. Irritation lit up his face. ‘Let’s go ‘ome!’
I looked across to the black and gold gate and noticed the net curtains twitching. I scowled at the house as I walked away, and all the way home, I thought about that golden duck and that witch and her magic tricks. I walked on, all fists and ruin. I had a mind to go to that witch’s house and give her a fistful of fives. I didn’t know what that meant, but I’d heard it in a film and it sounded right.

When we got home, my dad slumped back into his chair at the kitchen table and picked up his newspaper.
Mum stepped in with the duster still in her hand, curious, ‘Well?’
He shook his head, ‘No golden duck.’
‘No golden duck?’ She repeated.
He shook his head.
She turned to face me, ‘Well, that’ll teach ya won’t it!’
I gawped at my mum, red in the face with anger. ‘She can bloody fly!’
She held me in place with a look to kill and snapped back, ‘You watch your language, lad, or I won’t be lettin’ you out in a month o’ sundis!’
I slouched in the chair across from my dad, ‘Sorry.’ I looked down at the table with bleary eyes.
‘Must’ve flew over’t cuckoo’s nest on’t way t’ moon,’ dad grumbled.
I just carried on staring down at the table, running my finger over scratches and gouges formed over the years.
My mum’s face softened under her big, harsh lenses. ‘Say,’ She turned to my dad, ‘I reckon he did see a golden duck, Frank, I mean.’ She gestured towards me with a hand, ‘Look at ‘im.’

I went back to Dragons Glimpse every day for a while after that, always looking for that golden duck.
I saw it fleetingly now and then, sparingly for more extended periods, and I began to doubt my eyesight. The more I went, the more I caught only glimpses for a flash.
One day, I ran back home and begged my mum for some bread to throw to the ducks.
‘Ya know we might jus’ ‘ave some bread in that will do jus’ fine fer that!’ She said, rummaging through the bread bin.
My dad, as usual on a Sunday, was sitting with his braces loose and a newspaper in his hands. He turned to watch my mum root through the bread, shaking his head and tutting, ‘Is ‘e still af’er that golden duck?’
‘I seen it since! I’m gonna lure it close t’ me with this bread.’
‘Lure it? Then what?’
‘I dunno,’ I shrugged, ‘I jus’ wanna look at ‘er.’
With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he rustled the newspaper in front of him and hid behind it.
Mum held out the bread for me and I went to grab it, ‘What do ya say?’ She had her stern face on.
‘Thank you for the bread, mum!’
She beamed a smile at me and handed me the bread, ‘Good lad!’ She ruffled my hair, ‘Off ya pop then!’
On the way out I heard my dad say, ‘I dunno why ya encourage ‘im!’
And my mum replied, ‘Even if golden duck ent real, whats ‘arm in ‘im feedin’ ducks? It gi’es ‘im an interest, sommat t’ do! s’ more than you ever do! Jus’ sit and read that bilge all’t’ damn time!’

The ducks loved the bread, and I loved feeding them. But the golden duck didn’t appear.
Still, I kept at it. I don’t know how such perseverance got into my blood, but it did.
After many trips throughout the summer holidays, I continued after school and on weekends, and one fine autumn day, I was rewarded!
The leaves were crisp on the ground. A breeze would give them new life every so often and whip them up in a flurry.
I threw pieces of bread into the water, and with a golden whirl in front of me appeared the golden duck, landing at great speed onto the water, her beak eager as it lapped up bread on the ripples.
All my focus points suddenly became more colourful, limned in the autumnal light. I glimpsed a sense of childish joy, a sense of pride in my patience. I threw more bread onto the lake, and the ducks were in a frenzy over it. Within the chestnut browns and greens, a golden whirlwind splashed amongst them.
And not too distantly, the Crows croaked their carillon calls for halloween up in the trees, trailing on the breeze from Utmost Point.

One day after school, I was back at the lake when the old rich woman came peeping at me through the bars of the black gates.
”s got leucism that ‘as.’ She said, pointing through the bars at the duck.
I nodded.
‘Got leucism,’ she repeated, ‘Jus’ be glad it ent got them red eyes thee sometimes get!’ She pulled a face. Then she tilted her head to get a better look at me, ‘I’ve seen ya comin’ an’ goin’ ‘t this ‘ere lake. Ya like it ‘ere?’
‘Sure,’ I replied.
‘Ya like that duck?’ She said, pointing a wrinkled, gnarled finger.
‘Yea sure I likes ‘er.’
She grabbed hold of the bars, looked at me piercingly and said, ‘Well, she dunt like you!’ She spat those words out like she’d been holding that in for a while.
With that, she spun on her heels and ran back to her house. I’d never seen such an old lady move so fast. It was like, after she’d got out her pent-up hostility, she suddenly feared for her life and ran.
Her words dislimned the moment; the light-hearted features of the day clouded over.

I never returned to Dragons’ Glimpse after that interaction; that was, at least, until today.
Sitting on a bench bearing that same woman’s name on a plaque, with flowers in a vase screwed onto the back of the bench.
She died at the age of 99, which makes me wonder about the relationship between longevity and grumpiness. The nicer a person was, the shorter their life; the grumpier they were, the longer they lived. It’s probably statistically inaccurate, but it feels that way to me.
The flowers are wilting, and a part of me, a nasty side of me, laughs at it—the idea of wilting flowers on the bench dedicated to the memory of a woman who behaved so viciously.
I wasn’t the only kid she came out to insult; it was local knowledge that she hated children.
But a voice stops me in my tracks.
‘Dad! Dad! Did ya see it?’ She spins towards me.
‘What?’
‘I jus’ saw a golden duck!’
‘A golden duck?’ I ask with genuine surprise, ‘Are you sure?’ I can feel my dad’s face knitting onto my own. I shake him off, ‘Let’s get some peas!’
‘Peas?’ My daughter asks.
‘Aye, t’ feed the ducks! Then maybe,’ I crouch down onto the ground and pick her up, sling her over my shoulder, which always makes her giggle. ‘We’ll find that golden duck again!’

Sunday Whirl: A touch of sadness

MattLeave a comment

A touch o’ the ol’ sadness labelled us pelts
Ya can trace ya finger down’t tracks o’ crows feet
But don’t let yaself linger
ya might come’t know the legends that mark’t skin within
a life well laughed despite
the melancholia that tends t’ turn the wheel
I’m bundled in.

Me rags o’ flesh ‘old forests
much of a muchness
needlin’ pinetrees
Pine sap, my tears, the plantation weeps



A Bastion Of Bastards

MattLeave a comment

I’m Walter Gorbet
Thee call me Gorbert Sideburns
I’ve been led down’t garden path
much to my chagrin I’ve found only deserts of nothin’
in a nation of supposed nature lovers!
Suburbia ate the hedges and put in fences
we’re all enclosed like zoo animals
neighbours look out’t windows of their fish tanks
watch me wildin’t’ streets with me webbed feet
Comes to think of it, there is no such thing as zoo animals
as if they’re a kind, a species made for vitrification for us t’ look through
I’m mighty tired o’ this country to be honest with ya
I’ve said before to paint me white with a red cross
bangin’ on about me englishness
but I thought some about it and I’ve come to a conclusion
under’t guardianship of englishmen i’d be killed as a weed
fer wiltin’t’ wrong way!
So what can I say?
We’re a bastion of bastards if ever there were any!

Fox cub huskie terriers

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Me mate strolls in says, ‘They pack thee fannies over’t pond’
he’s ever a husky if ever he were a dog
he whines and howls like one
i’m a fox cub already battle worn
hounded down by men in flatcaps from’t conservative club (me da’s mates)
‘What ya on about now?’ I glare ‘im down
‘Woman on tele asked where ‘er fanny pack was!’
‘Bumbag’ me da said over’t newspaper
‘Bumbag t’ you too!’ me mate replied, candy fresh smile broadened his cheeks
‘Now you little…’ me da started, the newspaper all rustle and bustle in his huge paws
‘Ya git on outta ‘ere ‘fore I gi’e ya mother a reason…’
He needn’t finish that sentence
me mate ran out howling as he meant to prowl
the street wouldn’t ‘old him
ever a terrier in his blood
ran up the ginnel up to the woods
he ‘ad scent on a fox
trailed it to our den under a dense canopy of trees and bushes
he pushed a glacier mint into his maw
and I ran in breathless after ‘im
‘A shouldn’t’ve called ya da a Bumbag.’
”E don’t care. Jus’ wanted us out of ‘is ‘air’
we sat in’t den and scribbled our names in dirt with twigs
when paper mill siren blew it’s horn
we ‘unkered down as if it were’t blitz
mud on us faces
films we’d seen on little screens played in our ‘eads
anyone passing by was soldiers not merely men
we ‘ushed ourselves with sweets and glacier mints
we felt alive, animal, primal
a fox’s den, territorial
we didn’t know war
just the mood of cubs hidin’
wild eyes ablaze
licked clean by mums
a wilderness still alight in us.

The hero we didn’t ask for, Holden Mcgroin writes another letter from Mammaroon.

MattLeave a comment

Dear friends,

I awoke today to a bowl of porridge!

Let me catch you up.

So I was on that desert planet, wherever that was, gathering all the moisture I could onto my desperate, thirsty tongue when at once a troop of the small, boobacious spidery variety came upon me, grabbed me like a group of ants grabbing a grape, a huge grape, mind you. Which brings to mind my piles, but that’s another gripe for another time.

Their strength must be mighty to grab a grown man like me, though admittedly, I am smaller than average. Still, my smallness has always made my appendage appear huge, so there has always been that advantage, forgive me, I digress, where was I?

Oh, right, yes, so they grabbed me as one entity and wove me up into the silk of the skies, and I had a bird’s eye view of the ground below, and I saw the mannequins still lying upon their backs. The phallic-like pillar jutting out of the sand from the male mannequin gave the impression of some Greek ruin.

They then proceeded to caccoon me in layer upon layer of silk and try as I might to fight it, somehow they could keep me subdued. And so, although the fright had my heart beating hard against my chest, I could not respond with anything, not even to shape my countenance with a grimace.

I was wrapped so thoroughly in this silky substance, I panicked, suffocation came to mind, and my heart beat itself into a frenzied dance with which flashed images upon images superimposed behind my retinas. The blood of my ancestors, all time stretched out from the past and the future with me in the middle to the beat of a drum. My heart was the drum and the dancer trapped inside my chest.

I asked myself if I was human or dancer, my heart clapped back that I was surely both, with a frenzied salsa.  

I could feel myself being moved through a throng of spidery legs until I was rolled and bundled into a ball and placed inside something dark. The dark space I inhabited moved with a jolt that matched the spasmic quakes of my heart beating at pace.

‘You are the fly.’ A voice spoke aloud to me.

Shit! I’m a fly! I screamed inside my head. I was a fly with no wings to hum my misfortunes into a buzzing scream!

I started to wonder if I was in the belly of one of those spidery beings, if I had actually been eaten.

I could feel movement and hear hushed sounds akin to the white noise of a hospital back on earth, but with the screams only internal.

And then…

Well, that is the weird thing, then nothing much.

I found myself left alone (as far as I could tell), with an opening revealing a harsh white light. My body shook involuntarily, and the silk started to shed away before I peeked out of the little opening, now that my body could move.

Peering out, I could see nothing but a clinical white floor.

‘You’re in a mental hospital.’ A voice said to me, my own voice.

I poked my head further out, sniffed the air, but it didn’t smell like a hospital. I looked around with hesitation, jerking my head left and right with slow jerks of the head. When I spotted someone of human form, I shrieked back into the container and skittered as far into the darkest corners as I could.

Then an eye peeped through the opening, looking at me, ‘Holden!’ A voice said from the eye.

It took me a moment to remember that was my name.

‘Holden! It is I! Spoon!’

The corner held me, cradled me, ‘Spoon.’ I muttered to myself softly, not wanting to be heard but needing to get the word out of my breast.

‘Remember?’ The eye spoke again. ‘Come out, you’re home’ The eye beamed.

‘Home?’ I frowned into the dark corner and muddled through this. ‘Earth?’ I mumbled to myself.

After he attempted to coax me out, he left me for a while, and I eventually scuttled back to the opening, peeping out again, till I saw the top of that same human form above a platoform that my brain soon reemembered was a kitchen worktop. I slithered out of the container and, much to my surprise, when I was fully out of the thing, I realised I’d been inside a huge bag!

‘Holden!’ Spoon beamed, though he remained where he stood.

‘S..Spoon’, I stuttered and looked around me.

The tank was as it had always been, one of the mammarrians (the big boss ones) was standing outside the tank looking in with a queer expression on it’s face which I think may have been an alien expresson of Curiousity. Another one, even bigger than the one with the queer expression ambled by with a rumble and appeared to communicate something with the other before looking in the tank too.

‘You’re a fish out of water!’ Spoon said.

I looked at him blankly, remembering the desert planet, my skin burning.

‘A fish for sore eyes, too!’ Spoon scowled and came over to me, ‘I’ll get some ointment.’

‘Where in the hell have I been?’

Spoon turned to look over his shoulder as he rummaged for the ointment, ‘The tank needed cleaning.’

‘What?’ I looked at him dumbfounded.

‘The tank,’ Spoon said, ‘It needed cleaning.’

I put a hand to my face and grazed the skin with my fingertips, feeling like my face would melt away at my touch.

My skin has since started to heal, though it is scarred. Spoon and I have been living a life of domestic bliss, at least in terms of what bliss can be found while living in a fish tank.

‘Where was that?’ This morning, I asked him over my porridge, ‘Where I went, when they were cleaning the tank?’ I’d only just managed to muster the wherewithal of asking again.

‘The Sands.’ He answered matter-of-factly.

‘The Sands?’

‘Yes. One of the many Deserts of Mammaroon.’  

‘And why, did they put me in the middle of a desert while they cleaned my tank?’

‘Curiosity.’

I spat my orange juice (I called it orange juice because it was the colour orange, not because it tasted like orange), ‘Curiousity? Good god! Jesus Christ! Fuck me sideways and hold my groin!’

‘I would, if I could.’ Spoon replied.

I blinked at him, forgetting my previous words. ‘Are they trying to breed me?’

Now it was Spoon’s turn to blink, ‘What?’

‘Breed. Are they trying to breed from me?’

‘Why’d you ask that?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

Spoon sighed. It sounded much too human-like to be real from an android! ‘Your planet…’

I stopped him short with a jutt of my hand, palm up, ‘No. No. I don’t wanna hear it. Never mind.’

Honestly, that’s all I have left of ink. While there is probably much more I should say, I shall end this letter here.

Yours faithfully,

Holden McGroin.

Letters from another planet: The Mammaroon letters

MattLeave a comment

Dear friends,

I doubt these letters get to you; it’s all wishful thinking on my part. Alas, I shall write anyway as Sisyphus would, right?

I have since been taken out of the fish tank-like home again and, this time, placed on a desolate planet. Well, I can only assume it’s a planet. A never-ending ocean of sand surrounds me, and the heat from two suns bears down on me; it’s unbearable.
I have sunburn and blisters galore all over my skin.

The only company I have is two mannequins; they stand hand in hand, ivory coloured, with the suns beaming down on their bald heads. Sometimes, the suns shine from such an angle that it blinds me to look at their heads.

I don’t know if this is a punishment and, if so, what it would be for.

I go in and out of delirium, and I’ve had many a moment where I think up a sordid joke inside my head, and a tumbleweed rolls past as if the world has read my fragmented mind and I’ve become the butt of the planet’s irony.

I have seen no other living thing, though sometimes I could swear the mannequins are watching me. I swear that sometimes they move; I have seen them lift a hand and wave at me!
One day, I awoke to find only one mannequin standing in place, the sand heaping around its feet, and when I turned around, the other one stood inches away from me. Between its legs was a hole, and water started to gush forth from it. I knelt underneath and let that water pour, lappin it up with a ferocious thirst. The mannequin returned to its previous spot next to the other, and again, they stood hand in hand.
‘You’re alive!’ I shouted toward them, ‘Come! I need more water!’ I bellowed. But they stood stock still as if neither had ever moved before.

I don’t know what else to say right now, so I shall leave this here.

Yours faithfully,
Holden Mcgroin.

P.S. I must amend my first observation that no other living thing is here with me because since I first wrote this letter, I have seen those little boobacious spiders falling from the purpled night sky. And, my, what a sight they were! And a sight they’ve left behind!
They glowed as if bioluminescent, something I had never observed in the boobacious species before. The purpled sky lit up turquoise like that plankton you have in the ocean on Earth!
The boobacious spiders fell to the sand and crawled in stop and start jerks, before riding their webs back up into the sky and slowly one by one the turquoise disappeared.
But now, in the sky, a tapestry of silk has been left behind and sometimes baubles of dew sparkle before dropping into the sand.
I don’t know what any of this means. Maybe I’m hallucinating the whole damn thing at this point.

Previous letters from the character Holden Mcgroin

Put your heart and soul into it: A Drew and Drake story

MattLeave a comment

Drew consoled himself with a packet of wotsits and a cartoon on the TV as the ambulance drove away.
‘Psst.’
Drew looked around but could see no one. He shrugged and continued munching on his wotsits.
‘Pssst!’
Drew drew himself forward on the couch, ‘Hello?’
‘Psst, here!’
Drew looked around the room, eyes darting back and forth uncertainly, ‘Hello?’
‘Here!’ The voice called again.
Drew picked up the remote with cheesy fingers, leaving a grease stain on the mute button. ‘Hello?’ he whispered uncertainly.
The cartoon moved onto adverts; a girl stood open-mouthed in fake awe of a pink plastic toy.
‘Drew! I need you to get my body back!’ The voice had panic in it.
‘Drake?’ Drew looked dumbfounded and sprung off the sofa, ‘Where the hell are you?’
‘I’m in the Dambuster!’ Came Drakes’s voice.
Drew’s face remained blank.
‘The damn Dambuster!’ Drake called out, frustrated.
‘Is that a hoover?’ Drew lurched toward the broken hoover in the corner of the room.
‘No! No!’ Drake’s voice started, and the panic heightened in his voice, ‘Air fix model plane! 1:72 Lancaster Dambuster!’
Drew found the Lancaster Dambuster model on the table next to the sofa. He picked it up delicately and put it to his ear like a phone, ‘Drake?’
‘I’m here! You got me!’ Drake replied with relief, his voice clipped and loud inside Drake’s ear.
‘Bloody hell! Turn the volume down!’
‘Or take me away from your ear!’ Drake would have been shaking his head if he could, ‘Listen, Drew! You need to get to my body!’
‘How did you even get in there? The paramedics took you away!’ Drew held the Dambuster in his right hand and scratched his balls in his shorts.
‘I put my heart and soul into this model!’ 
‘And now look at ya! You’re a damn dambuster!’
Drake sighed.

Drew raced out the door, the Dambuster in the crook of his arm.
‘Careful!’ Drake drolled, ‘I’m made of plastic!’
‘Aren’t we all these days.’ Drew muttered.
There was silence except for Drew’s heavy, lumbering footsteps until Drake finally broke it. ‘Drew?’
‘Yea?’
‘When did you become so profound?’
‘You’ve not been found yet.’ Drew replied.
The dambuster tutted beneath the crook of Drew’s arm.
‘I’ll be profound when I’ve got you back.’
‘I’m here.’
‘I mean when you’re made of flesh.’ Drew replied.
‘Alright, Drew?’ Billy stepped off the curve of the pavement to step around him, ‘Talkin’ t’ yaself?’
‘No I was talkin’ t’…’ Drew stopped and felt the Airfix model beneath the crook of his arm, ‘I guess maybe I was.’
‘Where is Drake?’ Billy asked, looking around for him before his eyes beamed on the model and with a huge grin and glint in his eyes he asked, ‘I used t’ make them as a kid! Airfix model, is it?’
Drew nodded.
‘Can I have a look?’
Drew squinted in the sun, ‘I dunno about that.’
‘Protective over it are ya?’ Billy smirked and stepped closer to Drew, Bending a little to view the plane. ‘Ya make that yaself?’
‘No, Drake made it.’
‘Wow. He’s really put himself into that!’
Drew gawped, ‘You know?’
Billy looked up from the plane with a frown, ‘What?’
‘Ya said he put himself into it.’
‘Yea. Just look at it.’ Billy snatched it from Drew’s arm, ‘He’s really got an eye for the details. The way he’s painted it to make it look rusted and old. It’s amazing!’ Billy’s eyes popped as he shook his head in amazement, ‘Who’d ‘ave thunk simple old Drake had such in ‘im!’ He grinned from ear to ear, ‘He did put his heart and soul into it didn’t it!’ He beamed, delicately running a finger along the plane’s flank and around the wing’s edges. ‘Hell, I might just be inspired to start up the hobby again myself!’ Billy made as if to return the plane to Drew, ‘You be careful how ya carry ‘er! Can’t have you breaking it!’
Drew held both his hands out to receive the plane.
‘There ya go, now off ya go. Be delicate with her!’
‘It’s a he.’ Drew was shocked, ‘Ya should know that!’
‘Nah a beauty like that is a she! Always a she, Drew.’
Billy turned and continued on his way, turning to look over his shoulder at Drew and the model once or twice before turning the corner to the next street.
‘Well that was gross.’ Intoned the Dambuster in Drake’s voice.
‘Ya tellin’ me ya got a sex change too?’ Drew asked the dambuster, his face screwed up, ‘Ya coulda told me!’
‘What? I haven’t had a bleeding sex change, mate!’
‘But he knew ya were in there. And he said you were a she!’
‘Do ya believe everything Billy tells ya?’
Drew shrugged.
‘Besides, he doesn’t know I’m in here!’
‘He said as much!’ Drew protested.
‘It’s a figure of speech to folk like him. He doesn’t realise it’s real. He says heart and soul as if they are metaphors. He doesn’t actually know I’m in here.’
‘So you haven’t changed your sex?’
The dambuster sighed, ‘That’s your concern right now? If I’ve had a sex change or not? I’m a damn dambuster! Focus, Drew, focus!’

‘Okay, so we’re here.’ Drew told the Airfix model, looking around furtively as he approached the doors.
‘What’s wrong?’ Drakes disembodied voice asked.
‘This place. It’s spooky!’
‘Spookier than a ghost in an Airfix model giving you instructions?’
Drew shrugged.
‘Time is of the essence!’
‘No. Essence is a perfume.’ Drew replied.
‘It’s also time.’ A flustered Drake replied from the Dambuster, ‘I dunno how long my body can be dead till it can’t take my soul back!’
Drew ran across the road and rattled the doors, ‘I can’t get in!’
‘You’re gonna have to break in!’
‘I can’t break in!’ Drew huffed.
‘Yes you can! You’ve done it before! It’s not your first crime!’
‘But I’ve been on a good streak!’
‘Do you want me to be a damn dambuster for the rest of my fucking life?’
Drew stopped to think about this a moment, the silence engulfing them before a car sped past. Drew tried to look nonchalant, scuffing the pavement with the toe of his shoe, hugging the airfix model close to his body.
‘Fuck sake! It shouldn’t take that long to think about! It’s obvious!’
‘Sorry, it’s just… I mean… You’re still here with me! So…I don’t mind if you’re an airfix plane or whatever else!’
‘Aww,’ Drake snapped, ‘How cute!’ He said sarcastically, ‘Listen, Drew, I need you to pick the lock. You’ve picked a lock before.’
‘No you picked the locks’ Drew protested.
‘Did I?’
‘Yea you picked the locks!’
‘Okay. But you saw me do it!’
Another car drove by, the passenger giving Drew the side eye as he whispered to the airfix model, ‘I wasn’t paying attention to you! I was on the lookout.’
‘Well..’ Drake started…
A car door opened and closed nearby, and then shoes scuffing on the pavement could be heard inching closer, accompanied by a plastic rattle.
A woman broached the corner, a plastic carrier bag in one hand, and a waft of perfume made its way toward them.
‘Time and essence.’ Drew mumbled to himself.
The woman stopped short at the sight of Drew outside the doors, clutching the Dambuster in his grubby hands.
She read his face, a look of anxious desperation.
‘Hello,’ Piercing the moment with her voice, ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ She plopped the carrier bag down on the pavement and twisted her body to root through her handbag, fishing out a selection of keys that rang together as she pulled them out.
‘I need to get in to see Drake.’
‘Drake?’ The woman picked the carrier bag back up and walked towards the doors and unlocked them. ‘Surname?’
‘Whitlock.’
‘And what do you need to see this, erm..’ The keys rattled in her hands, ‘Mr Whitlock’s body for?’
‘Because…’
‘Halt it, Drew. She won’t believe you.’
Drew swallowed audibly, ‘Because I miss him.’
‘Tell her you want to place the dambuster with him.’
Drew held out the plane in her face, ‘I want to put this with him.’
‘Tell her he put his heart and soul into it and he’d have wanted it to be with him.’
‘He would have wanted it to be with him.’ Drew told her.
The woman looked at him suspiciously. ‘No,’ She frowned, ‘That would be a job for the undertakers. You think I can just let any random man in off the streets to come look at some mans body?’ She shook her head again, ‘What about dignity? What about respect? what about…’
As she prattled on, Drake instructed Drew to sneak in through the doors while they had the chance.
‘Hey!’ The woman stormed in through the doors, ‘Young man!’ She shouted after him.

Running into the cold room lined with steel drawers Drew pulled each one out till he found Drake’s lifeless body.
‘Now what do I do?’ Drew asked.
‘I dunno. Place me on my body.’ Drake replied
Drew placed the airfix model of the Dambuster onto Drake’s body.
The lights above buzzed monotonously and a tap dripped somewhere off to the side.
‘Psst, Drew…’
‘Yea?’
‘I…I dunno what to do now. How do I get myself back into my body?’
Drew frowned, ‘Well, how’d you get in the Dambuster?’
‘I told you, I put my heart and soul into it!’
‘Well do the same again but into your body.’
‘But,’ Drew could almost hear the expression Drake would have been pulling on his face if he could, eyebrows drawn together in a frown, ‘It’s not the same thing. I was making it, I put a lot of effort into it.’
‘Put a lot of effort into getting back into your body then.’ Drew shrugged.
The Dambuster started to vibrate with the effort as the woman stormed in.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing in here?’ She scowled, her eyes reaching the airfix model widened, ‘What on earth is going on with that?’
She lurched toward Drew, ‘Is this some kind of degenerate sexual thing!’ She looked from Drew to the Dambuster, ‘What is that toy doing! Why is it vibrating like that!’
‘He’s trying to get back into his body!’
Befuddled the woman stepped back, ‘What? Who?’
‘Drake! He’s trying to get back into his body!’
‘What do you mean he’s trying to get back into his body?’ She asked in a shrill voice.
Drew pointed to the Dambuster, ‘ He’s in there, ‘And it’s not a toy. It’s an Airfix model.’
The woman started, ‘It’s not a toy? It’s a….’
The Dambuster started to vibrate even harder, and one of the propellers began to spin, which caused a chain reaction, and they all began to move.
‘What trickery is this?’ The woman asked appaled, ‘This is inappropriate behaviour inside a morgue.’
‘There is no trickery,’ Drake’s voice croaked.
The woman jumped out of her skin, and her body landed limply on the cold tiled floor.
‘Fuck,’ Drake spat as he got up off the metal gurney, ‘I think we’ve killed her!’ He ran over to her and checked for a pulse, ‘Shit. She’s gone.’
‘What happened to her?’ Drew asked.
‘I think I scared her to death.’
‘She jumped out of her skin.’ Drew muttered to himself.
Standing there naked over her, feeling for a pulse Drake smiled, ‘I think you’re onto something there!’
‘What?’ Drew gawped.
‘She jumped out of her skin. Maybe she’ll jump back in, in a minute.’
‘Can we go home now?’
Drake tutted and shook his head, ‘No hug for your old mate? Not even a ‘welcome back mate.”
‘Not while you’re naked like that, no.’ Drew replied.

All too human 2

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Chapter 1 https://silverbackgorillapoetry.com/2024/11/09/all-too-human/

*Note* — means the same place, or area but moved to a different scene in the present.

* Means we’ve gone back to an old memory.

Chapter 2

‘It’s the bag man puffter robot!’ One of the boys hollered as he passed a football to one of his friends.
Sparks preferred it when it was he was just known as the bag man. He scrunched the top of the bag up in his fist.
‘You know,’ the eldest kid started as he kicked the ball back, ‘this ball is getting a little flat,’ He looked toward Sparks, then back at his friends with a gleam of expectation in his eyes.
The ball passed between them quickly when one of the boys said, ‘Hey! We could use that head the puffter robot carries!’
The boys all laughed.
‘How did it work?’ One of the boys said, the football stopped underneath his left foot, ‘I heard you robots are as smooth as a mannequin down there!’
The boys started to howl with laughter, ‘Do you just wet your fingers and stick them into each other’s ears?’ The boys spat with laughter, the ball rolling along the road.
Sparks quickened his pace up through the ginnel.

—


       The late afternoon sun shone through the windows, dust motes gliding visibly in the rays. The Holo TV spat out a news presenter in 3D into the living room. Sparks sat in an old tattered armchair with the palms of his hands flat on his thighs.
     ‘You been to the scraps today?’ Mary asked, sitting in the other armchair to the side and in front of him.
    Sparks nodded.
     The newswoman spoke of local news about a family that was looking for their missing cat.
    Mary groaned, ‘Can’t stand cats,’ She remarked; it’s probably gone to be alone to die.’ Her fingers trailed through a woolen ball, ‘I prefer dogs myself.’ Then, she turned to Sparks, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever cared much for either.’
   Sparks didn’t reply, going deep inside his head in memory.

*

Sparks sat outside Lockwood HQ when a stray dog ran past him. The dog was skeletal looking, and his fur was full of mange.
Sparks had called out to the dog, clicking his mouth valves to try and attract his attention.
The dog’s ears twitched at the sounds, but he ran when he saw Sparks’s tall figure.
A stone was thrown behind Sparks, landing on the pavement with a clack.
‘Psst!’ Came a voice.
Sparks turned at the sound coming from the cobbled sidestreet.
‘What are you doing here?’ Sparks asked, looking over at one of the guard droids in front of HQ.
‘It was how you left, it was…’ Sark  tried to find the words, ‘You worried me.’
‘Nothing makes sense anymore,’ Sparks told him. ‘I’m an android; I’m not supposed to have emotions.’
‘What are you feeling?’
Sparks shrugged, ‘I don’t know. I just know I’m not supposed to feel the way I do.’
Sark  grabbed Sparks by the arm and dragged him up the cobbled road.
‘I need to find that poor dog!’ Sparks protested.
‘We’ll find him tomorrow,’ Sark  said.
‘But who knows how far he might get!’
Sark  shook his head in the dark, ‘It’s okay, I’ve seen it about before. I promise we’ll try to find him tomorrow.’ Sark  gestured with open palms, ‘Besides, it won’t be too easy to find him right now.’
Sparks looked over his shoulder at the flashing street lights, then up at the sky.
‘You put yourself at risk coming here!’ Sparks whispered.
‘Yea,’ Sark  grabbed Sparks’s hand, ‘I risked it…’ He stopped in his tracks with a frown, looking down at their holding hands, ‘What happened to your hand?’

The next day Sark  stuck to his promise and helped sparks find the stray dog. After searching all morning they eventually found the dog hidden in some bushes in a little wooded area near the church where Sark  and Sparks first met.

The dog would not budge; the only thing visible was a bit of his fur and the mange through gaps of foliage. ‘We’ll leave some food,’ Sparks said, ‘I don’t think he’s gonna come out for us.’

On the second night of going to the woods to leave out water and food for the dog, they had their first kiss.
Sark  had gotten down to his knees to place the bowl, and when he turned, Sparks, for reasons he couldn’t explain, placed a hand behind Sark ‘s head and pushed his face inbetween his legs.
As soon as he’d done it he pulled back, ‘Sorry,’ he started, ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
Sark  got up and kissed Sparks desperately, their mouth valves flapping over each other.


—

The HoloTV spat out a different presenter. He smiled at the audience watching in all the boroughs; a picture of Malborough Plaza HQ was framed behind him.
‘Malborough Plaza HQ is rebuilding itself from the inside, hoping to prevent such tragic events as happened at Lockwood and Princeton HQ. Now we’ll go to our correspondent Neil.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Neil responded with the massive HQ building towering over him. ‘To prevent more of the same,’ the lights changed for a flash with images of a destroyed Lockwood HQ building and then another one of Princeton HQ before swiftly returning to the reporter. ‘Malborough HQ says they’re working on finding any and all faulty androids working within it’s walls and dismantling those that are malfunctioning…’

‘Turn it off!’ Sparks spat, his fingers curling on his thighs. But his monotone voice did not translate the urgency and irritation in which he meant it.

Mary scoffed, ‘How else will I keep up with what’s happening in the world?’
*
Sark  and Sparks eventually got the dog close enough

to grab him on a lead after a week and a half of returning to the same spot each day.
‘What are you going to call him?’ Sark  asked him as they gently pulled the hesitating dog along.
Sparks shrugged down and looked at the dog, ‘I don’t know yet,’ He placed a hand in front of the dogs nose which smelt of dog food. The dog sniffed his fingers anxiously, licked his fingertips delicately, then pulled away with a whine.
‘It’s alright,’ Sparks spoke to the dog, ‘You’re safe with me, little friend.’

  • —

                        Sparks shot up from his chair, ‘I’m going back into the garage!’
Mary turned and nodded to acknowledge she’d heard.

—

He placed Sark ‘s head on the little wooden pedestal he had made, the silver heart hanging down like a pendant on a necklace.
‘No one understands me as you do.’ Sparks whispered.

The house was silent but for the creaks on the floorboard upstairs as Mary got ready for bed. In the bathroom, she stood before the mirror, brushing her teeth, then picked up some dentures from a glass of water and brushed them delicately with some toothpaste. ‘We need to keep your smiled spick and span, don’t we, Walter?’ She smiled back at the teeth and kissed the front teeth as she stepped across in her fluffy slippers toward the bedroom.

All too human

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CHAPTER ONE

A prison stood tall and grey above all the scattered little houses and storage units that permeated the old industrial complex. Barbed wire fences glimmered with morning dew.

Sparks shuffled along the pavement carrying a blue and white striped bag.

‘It’s the bag man!’ The boy cried out to his friends.

They looked at him with laughter in their eyes.

The eldest of them, who stood in the shadows of the street, lurched forwards and grabbed the bag from his hand.

‘I wonder what it is!’ He said theatrically.

He threw the bag like a ball at one of the other boys, and the boy caught it, and threw it toward another boy.

Sparks stood in the middle, stretching his arms, trying to grab it back every time they threw it. It was awkward, an embarrassment, given his superior strength.

In their excitement, one of the five boys lost his grip on the bag while trying to catch it; the bag flailed off onto the road.

‘No!’ Sparks cried out in dread reaching down to the ground where his lover’s head had dropped with a plop out from the boy’s hands.

‘What the fuck?’ The boy rang out, stepping back.

The other boys laughed.

‘Are you seeing this?’ The elder boy grinned.

Sparks lunged towards his lover’s head, picking it up, ‘No! no! Sark !’ He examined the head for any signs of damage. A slight dint on his chin and dust from the road picked up on the silicone skin but nothing more.

He scrunched up the bag from the road and placed his lovers head back within it.

‘Aww,’ one of the younger boys said mockingly, ‘It’s a puff robot!’

The boys snickered.

‘Are you a puffter robot?’ The eldest shouted, looking towards his younger companions for affirmation.

‘Puffter robot!’ They all chanted, ‘puffter robot!’

He hurriedly walked up through the ginnel, still hearing their mockery behind him.

—

The solar panel shimmered at the side of the house, and bric-a-brac lay in piles. The sun shone white and bright through the clouds.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sparks uttered, smooching Sark ‘s dirty head on the pedestal.

‘Those boys are evil!’ He spat.

Wires hung out from the bottom of Sark ‘s neck.

Sparks turned to his workbench, ‘See, I’m going to fix you!’ He said desperately, picking up a soldering iron and taking a silver battery shaped like a heart with his other hand.

‘If I just connect these up,’ He turned back to Sark .

He took the soldering iron and connected the wires to their relevant connection points; his big hands worked awkwardly yet delicately.

He pulled the hair from Sark ‘s scalp and slid off the silicone skin, which took some effort to get off in one piece.

The silver dome bore scratches and a slight dent. The dent had become shiny with worry from Spark’s fingers.

He turned back to the workbench and picked up his electric screwdriver. Unscrewing the braincase felt like such an intimate moment, even though, logically, he knew android doctors had done this many times.

He kissed the silver dome rhythmically in between each screw he loosened.

When the braincase was off, Sark ‘s circuitry was revealed, with all its many wires going down into the little tank which held a cloned human brain.

There was a switch within all the wires and circuitry; flipping the switch to on, the heart started to beat and vibrate against the pedestal.

He bowed over the pedestal and looked for a reaction in Sark ‘s eyes. There was blinking, and then nothing.

Spark’s fingers traced down his cheek, ‘Sark ?’ he whispered gently in his ear, ‘Sark ? Are you there?’

Sparks stepped around and crouched in front of Sark ‘s face, ‘Please,’ He said.

But Sparks had no tears to cry.

‘Please,’ He sobbed dryly, resting his head against Sark ‘s, ‘I need you, Sark !’ He cried despairingly.

Sark ‘s heart vibrated against his chest, and he rested his head there, stripped bare in grief; he slowly went into sleep mode.

*

Though droids of his model were not supposed to have the ability to dream, dream he did.

Sparks and Sark had the secret droid bar to themselves; the room was awash in a warm red glow.

‘Do you have much sensation in your skin?’ Sark had asked him as they lay together on an L-shaped sofa.

‘I have sensors at various places underneath the skin to know when I’m in water or if something has caught on my skin and torn it.’ As Sparks spoke he felt something light on his hand, ‘What was that?’ He had asked, looking down.

Sark smiled at him sheepishly.

‘What was it?’

Sark  showed him a feather in his hand, ‘can you feel this?’ He brushed the feather on Sparks’s cheek.

‘Yes, only just.’

‘Is it a good feeling?’ Sark  talked with a whisper that held an urgency within his breath.

‘it doesn’t feel bad,’ Sparks replied.

‘I..’ Sark  stopped stroking him with the feather, ‘Does that mean good, or just neutral?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sparks replied, ‘What does it feel like to you?’ Sparks asked curiously.

‘Want to try it on me?’ Sark beamed with a smirk.

‘Why do I get the feeling this… this is…’ Sparks started.

Sark stopped him short and put his lips on his.

They kissed like they had that first time out in the woods, their mouth valves flapping.

While they were kissing, Sark slid the feather into Sparks’s hand. It was only a small feather with blue and black stripes and a slight white tinge. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the feather and stopped kissing abruptly.

‘Try it on me,’ Sark whispered with that urgency Sparks had previously noted. He couldn’t understand how such a tiny feather could call for such urgency! Sparks brushed the feather against Sark ‘s fingers, then down the palm of his hand.

‘It tickles,’ Sark spoke softly.

‘I suppose that was the word I was looking for.’ Sparks replied in his monotone voice.

Sparks was searching through his mind for what to do in these situations but was coming up blank though he had started to get the gist; this was something sexual; there was something he could feel though he didn’t have the words for it.

The more he thought about Sark ‘s hand or moving the feather over his body, the more the sensations were emboldened. Finally, Sark  took the feather from him and moved it over Sparks’s ear like a silent whisper, sending a tingle that transferred itself down his face. 

The doorknob rattled and moved; they both jerked up straight on the couch, turning to the TV. Sark ‘s face flushed red.

The rattling continued, then stopped abruptly.

‘What was that about?’ Sparks asked, walking towards the door. He opened it ajar and peered through.

A bulky security droid was standing outside in the vestibule.

‘Everything okay, Chief?’ Sparks asked.

Chief looked at him blankly, ‘Oh,’ He said, ‘Didn’t know anyone was still in here.’

‘Are you coming in?’

‘Nah,’ Chief replied, eyeing Sparks suspiciously.

‘I’m off to charge,’ Cheif said, pointing toward the door to the other room.

When Sparks closed the door behind him, Sark  burst out laughing, the redness leaving his face.

Sparks lunged toward him and kissed his lips, Sark ‘s urgency having transferred to Sparks. He was no longer in thinking mode; his logic circuits went off as if a switch had been flicked, and he was undressing Sark  desperately.

It wasn’t so much the feelings in his body from touch that mattered; the intentions seemed to matter most to his android brain.

Sark ‘s face started to flush again from excitement rather than embarrassment. Sark  grabbed at Sparks’s clothes to pull them off.

Their hands explored each others android bodes, and then Sark  stopped short at Sparks’s belly button.

‘Do you need any oil?’

Sparks shook his head.

‘I think you need some oil.’ Sark  told him, stepping behind the bar and getting a little bottle.

Then Sparks understood.

Sark  squirted the oil into Sparks’s belly button while his free hand roamed between his legs.

Sparks had no sensors between his legs, but sensors elsewhere in his body lit up, generating feelings.

There were moments when it seemed a bit much, moments when his logic circuits turned back on. But he went with it, hoping the excitement would turn off his logic circuits again.

Part 5: There goes the Wub

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Part 4: There goes the Wub

The rows of trees came to a halt, and up the narrow dusty path, Tucker slowed his pace. The little house came into view, and already Merrick could spot the couple shuffling out of their house. They were still some distance away, but he wanted to consider how to deal with the situation, keeping Tucker at a slow trot.

‘Is this the place?’ Jackson asked.

‘Yup, this is the house alright.’

Spying the couple that stood at the front of the house, Jackson said, ‘She looks like she means business!’ But he was laughing about it into Merrick’s ear.

As they neared the house and the vast farmland stood in a sepia silence the man stepped off the front porch, eyes ablaze. ‘You ‘ave come back this way when we told you not to!’ The man bellowed, his nostrils flared.

‘Me situation has forced me back this way, I’m afraid.’ Merrick dismounted.

The woman stood behind the man, holding the shot gun with Merrick in her sights. Merrick looked around and spat onto the pathway, spying the wubs that were hung up on an old tattered washing line slap-bang in the middle of the field at the front of the house.

‘What’s with them?’ Merrick jutted his chin toward the dead wubs.

The man turned his whole body to look back at the wubs then turned again to look at Merrick and Jackson. ‘Ya never tried Wub?’ The man asked them, looking at them through an angry glaze.

‘No,’ Jackson replied, stepping up next to Merrick. ‘What would a fella do that fer? I’d assume they’d be poison t’ us.’

‘They’re creatures from the divine.’ The woman said through gritted teeth, still looking down the barrel of the gun.

‘So why’d ya kill ‘em?’ Merrick asked.

‘The divine brought us the wub so that we could eat.’ The man told them.

‘What ‘bout the fishes in the sea and the rivers?’ Jackson asked.

The man laughed, ‘Ya seen any fish ‘ere?’  

‘We were outta fish long ‘fore those wubs came.’ Merrick butted in.

‘I ‘eard word it was us ‘umans that did ‘em in.’ Jackson said.

‘T’was when ‘uman society lost faith!’ The man said.

Merrick shook his head, ‘Nah. I ‘eard it was a capitalist thing, overfishin’ ‘t’ waters fer profit.’ Merrick scanned the line of wubs hanging from the line, ‘Anyway, ‘ow about ya let us try some fried wub then? And we can devise a plan fer ‘ow my friend and I can pass, eh?’

The man thought it over, tapping at his bottom lip. The woman held steady with the gun, her finger ready on the trigger. ‘Down!’ The man barked.

Merrick looked at Jackson, Jackson looked back at him; they both shrugged.

The woman lowered the gun reluctantly, growling as she did.

Merrick leaned against Tucker’s head and whispered reassuringly in his ear, ‘Ya a good boy Tuck. I’ll work somethin’ out.’ He ran a hand down his long nose, ‘You stay ‘ere boy, yea?’ He leaned closer to Tucker’s ear and whispered more quietly, ‘Stay ‘ere till I say.’ Tucker moved his head up and down, nuzzling Merrick’s neck. ‘Ah know Tuck! Ah know!’ He laughed at the sensation as Tuckers tongue lolled out and licked his face. ‘I’ll sort it out, Tuck, I’ll sort it out.’ Tucker snorted happily.

The husband and wife grimaced at him talking to the horse with the devil eye like that, their lips curling with disgust.

                                                            #

Merrick and Jackson followed the couple into the little white house and into their kitchen and then into the dining room.  The man sliced up  a piece of wub and slapped it onto two plates, sliding them across to them on the table.

‘Go on,’ His fists thumped at the table.

Merrick looked up at him, nodded, cut himself a sliver and put it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed slowly, looking across at Jackson. ‘Tastes like fish.’ He smiled in surprise, ‘Teach a man t’ catch wub, and he’ll eat fer life!’ Merrick grinned.

Now the man and the woman looked at Jackson expectantly. Jackson took a piece reluctantly into his mouth, ‘Are ya sure this is safe? I mean, we’re eatin’ aliens!’

‘It’s fine!’ The woman barked.

‘Go on!’ The man spat impatiently.

Jackson looked across the table at Merrick, and Merrick tipped his head forward.

‘Alreet.’ Jackson said with a sigh, ‘’ere goes,’ he bit down on the wub meat and swallowed, then took another bite, ‘You’re right, it does taste like fish!’

The man and woman smiled at them both, showing gummy grins. Then they put their hands together and closed their eyes, saying some silent prayer.

They sat down and took some wub meat for themselves, scoffing it off their plates in haste.

‘Now,’ the man started to speak, his mouth full, ‘That there ‘orse,’ he pointed with his fork, a bit of wub meat falling off and back onto his plate, ‘’e is of this earth and not a part of the divine.’

‘What are ya on about?’ Merrick asked.

‘That ‘orse is like the cidy peope. God wanted us separated from those so-called pure bloods. We are not the freaks in God’s eyes! We are ‘is chosen ones!’

‘That’s a new one on me!’ Jackson baulked.

Merrick spun his fork on the plate in front of him, ‘I think man is of the earth too.’ He dropped the fork with a clatter and sat back in his chair, arms folded, ‘What’d ya say t’ that?’

‘I’d say ya ent got Jesus in ya ‘eart! And fer that you shall surely burn in hell!’ The woman replied.

The man closed his eyes, ‘Amen, Ize. Amen!’

Merrick leaned forward and looked the man square in the eyes, ‘Well, that ‘orse right there, is a descendent of a ‘orse from one of the spaceships.’

The man dabbed his mouth with an old stained cloth, ‘I’d say ah don’t believe ya.’

‘Well, me father told me there were two ‘orses on the spaceship, those two ‘orses they left behind.’

The man took another bite of wub.

The woman slammed her knife and fork on the plate with a clatter, ‘’es lyin’ ‘e is!’

The man waved a hand at her; she lowered her eyes and looked down at her plate.

‘’is father might be the liar, Ize.’ He nodded toward her, and she nodded back, picking her knife and fork back up.

‘Ya ‘eard me, didn’t ya?’ He asked Merrick.

‘Yea. Ya sayin’ me father is a liar. But see, I ‘ave proof.’

‘And what would this proof be?’

‘I’ve got a photograph of the ‘orses comin’ walking off t’ spaceship!’

A chair scraped against the floor as the man pushed it out below. He stood at the tables end, arm stretched, palm up expectant.

‘Well,’ Merrick looked from him to the woman and back again, taking another bite of wub, ‘I don’t ‘ave it on me!’

The man’s elbow cracked as he bent his arm back and slapped his hands together. Jackson, Merrick and the woman all jumped at the sound.

‘Liar!’ He shouted, spittle spraying from his mouth. His face was red with rage, ‘I let you liars into my ‘ouse, and fed you my food!’ He spun on his heels, picked up a gun that was leaning against the window at the end of the table.

‘I ‘ought to shoot ya both right ‘ere!’ He bellowed, pointing the gun at Merrick and Jackson, ‘But that would be too easy!’ He hissed, turning and marched out of the house.

Merrick made a blind rush to the window, his gun out of his holster and pulled the trigger. The glass smashed, and shards of glass sprayed everywhere. The first bullet had missed the man, as he marched toward a nervous Tucker.

‘Run!’ Merrick hollered at the top of his lungs.

The man glanced over his shoulder at Merrick before turning back and raising the gun, Tucker in his sights.

Merrick pulled the trigger again.

The man groaned loudly.

Tucker was running in the direction he’d come from, neighing loudly.

The man was down, holding his leg.

When he noticed Tucker getting away, he heaved himself up.

‘I don’t wanna kill ya,’ Merrick spat.

The man batted Merrick away and spun round; lifting his gun, ‘I’ll kill you…’

Merrick shot him in the bloody mess of his trousers. The man groaned and fell to the ground again, the gun landing away from him. He held his leg, grunting and breathing heavily. Merrick kicked the gun away.

There was a bang from behind; he spun on his heels and the woman had a shotgun pointed at him. He watched as her hands loosened their grip, and the gun fell to the ground before her body slumped down, blood running from her head.

Jackson stood over her, pistol in his hand, blood spattered on his face.

‘Jesus, Jack!’

‘She were about to shoot ya!’

‘Fuck!’ Merrick spat, ‘Fuck!’ He turned back to the man, and the man clawed over to his shotgun, one hand still holding onto his leg. He looked over at his dead wife on the grass.

‘Ya shot ‘er!’ Then his face contorted, ‘You shot my baby!’

Merrick and Jackson watched as he lifted the gun, both of them ready with their guns to shoot if they had to.

It looked as if the man would point the gun towards them. But then he turned it on himself, ‘I’ll meet ya in the heavens, Ize!’ Then a sudden look of peace pulled his face back together, and smiling, he pulled the trigger.