short story

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!’

Humour me more of my letters from Mammaroon

MattLeave a comment

Dear, Friends

Another letter in such quick succession! I know! But there is much more to report on, dear friends!

I must be going crazy! There is no other explanation!

I awoke today to find that the mannequins were no longer standing hand in hand. I initially thought they were nowhere to be seen in my sleepy haze! Till I opened my bleary eyes further, looked around me, and realised that they were now lying down, each mostly submerged in the sand but for their knees jutting out. One had its legs spread open, the one I had drunk from the other day; the hole was visible as if trying to entice me. The other one, whom I had never seen the front of, as I never dared go near where they stood, as there was an ominous energy about them, had a phallic-like column jutting out of the sand. Yes, You read that right!

At first, I didn’t have the energy or wherewithal to think anything more about it. Frankly, my skin was itchy and sore, my lips sore and dry, and my stomach aching so I rolled over and started to doze again.

When I came to again, I looked back at the Mannequins, who were still lying in the same position. It was then I noticed some sand had since blown off their torsos, and I could see little beads of sweat on their chests. I crawled and slid across the sand, parched as I was. The journey towards them felt like it had taken forever, and it had taken me a while.
I curled up next the mannequins and went back into a hazy sleep.

When I awoke, I painfully crawled closer and started licking at the little beads of mannequin ‘sweat’ with a great thirst.
‘Oh, thank you!’ I found myself saying, ‘I need this!’ I said, every bead tasting like heaven to my tongue. I followed the mannequin’s body with my tongue till I reached under its knees, and then I was between the legs and licking up any moisture I could.
It hadn’t occurred to me, Dear friend, in my thirsty haste what this looked like! I was just so glad of any water! No matter how little the baubles!
But as I reached closer to the hole, a thought startled me!
‘No!’ I shouted or instead tried to shout from my wretched throat, ‘No, I will not!’ I felt my nails dig into the sore skin of my hands as I made fists. ‘Fuck you!’
See, it had occurred to me that this was what they wanted; this was what they were counting on! They were breeding from me! They were trying to get my sperm! I know how crazy that sounds, but is that so crazy after all I’ve told you? Alice and my daughter flashed into my mind, and it all made sense. They’re using me to breed!
Then, another horrifying thought entered my head, does this mean, dear friends, you no longer exist? Are we near extinction? Were trying to conserve us, using me? Am I the last man alive?

No. No. No.

No, I will not have it! If that is so, I shall die here. I shall die out, and I shall not be giving them anything of mine!

Yours faithfully,

Holden Mcgroin.

Author’s note: I think these letters have essentially become my creative outlet for writing practice. They’re hit and miss, but I’m sharing them anyway.

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.

Another damn letter from from Mammaroon

Matt1 Comment

Dear Friends,

I am writing to you against my better judgment!

The family life didn’t last long.

It lasted as long as a dream, though I am almost sure it was real!

‘What shall we name her?’ Alice had asked me.
I was lying in the bed behind a haze of smoke from a cigarette that hung between my fingers. I wasn’t sure how it got there, I didn’t remember lighting it, and I didn’t remember drawing smoke from it either.
‘Spoon.’ I replied lazily.
Alice sprung from the bed like a cat, ‘Get Spoon out of your mouth!’
I looked at her through the smoke, ‘What’d you mean?’
‘I swear you love him more than me!’ She paced up and down beside the bed, ‘Maybe I should get them to bring him here, so he can keep you happy.’ She leant on the bed, reached out and lifted my chin with two fingers to make me look her in the eyes. ‘We are not calling our daughter after your lover!’
‘Yea, you’re right,’ I had said, ‘Especially if we did decide to use my surname.’
Alice bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes glazed over, ‘Is this a joke to you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I gestured round the room with my hand, ‘What the fuck any of this is!’

In some respects, being in a house that looked like one I could have back home on Earth was a comfort. But Alice being there and our…Daughter… I still can’t fathom that one…It made it all disconcerting.

I kept having nightmares where I’d walk through the curtains and take the baby out of the cot and peel the skin off her face; underneath were just wires and red lights.
But then, despite all signs of her being an android, blood would start to spill, and my hands would be covered in her blood.
Alice would walk in, and at the sight of me holding our daughter, bleeding in my arms, she’d let out a shriek so piercing that it could break glass.
‘What have you done?’ She’d scream at me, ‘What the hell have you done!’
And I would stand there and cry, looking down at my dead baby human/android in my hands.

It seems the Mammarians wanted Alice and I to play happy families, smaller Mammarians, like the little boobacious spiders, would come along holding a big device between their two front legs. Then, after a white flash, they’d be gone again. I can only presume that they were taking photographs.
But apparently, I needed to play families better for them.
Yet I was up at night doing the feeding occasionally, allowing Alice to rest. I burped her and changed her nappy. All the usual things a dad does. I pulled funny faces at her, and she laughed, and I laughed back.
Occasionally Alice and I tried to fornicate, but it was very hit-and-miss whether I could perform.
I must confess to you the times I did perform, I was picturing Spoon or some other man I once knew on Earth.

How much I miss the flesh of another human. I miss the birds and the bees, the squirrels chattering in the trees.
I miss the trees too! The velvety moss you could run your hands through, like running your hand through a man’s hairy chest.
I know we burdened the world; a lot had been lost before I was even born. But what was left counted to something, and I can only dream that maybe humans were letting things grow back since my abduction.

After what felt like eons I was picked up in another bubble cart and taken back to the fish tank.

I am still determining what else to add as of right now. I am still processing everything, so I guess that will be all for today.

Yours faithfully,
Holden Mcgroin.

Of flesh and earth, we were torn – 500 word story.

MattLeave a comment

On the space station, there is another me in the flesh.
I am down here to explore the recovery of the earth or the lack thereof.
I have seen that the land is parched, and no life is in sight.
Any trees still standing are in the long drawn, out process of death and decay, leaning precariously.
I trailed a camera into the holes of such trees, and there was nothing.
Like staring into an abyss.
There was no life in that death.
This is not what death is supposed to be.
My big metal feet journey through vast expanses of land.
Death used to mean something, life. It meant life of some kind or other.
Now it means…nothing.
Which in turn makes life mean nothing.

And so up there myself in the flesh amongst others in their flesh, they are cocooned from the truth.
This is where I depart from myself, my soul, in the space station.
Where I become someone new.
We travelled different terrains, and new paths were forged inside ourselves.
He is of the flesh; I am of wheels, oil, plastics and metals.

‘Fox,’ Came the voice in my ear.
‘Max?’ I replied.
‘meet me at the mother tree.’

The mother tree is a huge colossus of a tree; it is dead. Its enormous girth leaning now to one side.
A massive hole within where even we humanoids can fit.

‘An earthquake or something is approaching,’ Max told me.

Earthquakes were common.

There were no birds, and my flesh self loves watching the birds in documentaries. My flesh self has never seen a real bird, nor have I.
He thinks one day he will be able to come back down to earth – in the flesh – and see the birds.
I don’t know what to tell you, Fox.
There are no birds, and none of our namesake either. I’m sorry.
I wish to tell you better news.

Max and I stood in the hole of the mother tree, and she groaned from inside like a tormented soul. It was painful to listen to.

In my head, I imagine contorted faces made of wood, a mouth open with screams unhearable to the human ear.
‘It’s time we tell them, above,’ I told Max.
Max nodded.

We signed off our lousy news with, ‘The only thing left of the earth is you.’

The truth is, fellow humans, you didn’t see yourself as the earth enough, so you used it like a commodity, not as a relationship between reciprocal beings.
The world was your oyster; the sky was the limit.
But you didn’t even stay to that supposed limit either, did you?

We all have and had an aversion to death which was only natural, but now I have seen there is no worse fate than the death of death.

Will the world ever recover? Maybe. But not in our lifetime. It’s too late for us.

And in my metal body, there are no tears I can cry.

Drew & Drake: An empty bottle full

Matt2 Comments

Water gushed from the tap and into the bottle.
Drews gaze fixed on the steady stream, mind blank.
He awoke from his trance when Drake’s voice hollered from the living room, ‘How much water do ya need!’
Drew blinked and peered into the bottle, astounded by what he found he shouted back, ‘Oh my god, I think this bottle is magic or somethin’

Drake leapt up from the sofa, ‘Ya what?’ he padded into the kitchen, his face scrunched up with scepticism.

‘Look at this!’ Drew shoved the empty bottle in front of Drake’s nose. ‘Look there!’

Drake took the bottle from Drew’s hands and peered in. ‘Ya mean you’ve…’ Drake threw the bottle at the sink and leapt to turn the tap off, ‘Ya mean you’ve wasted all that water for nothin’?’

‘I ‘eld that bottle under that tap! I’m tellin’ ya the bottle never fills up!’

Drake rolled his eyes, picked up the bottle. ‘Ya probably just got a crack ‘ere.’ He said as he turned the bottle in his hands and felt around the plastic for any cracks or holes.
Drew leant on the fridge, arms folded. ‘Go on and try and fillin’ it up!’

‘For fuck sake, Drew! I’m lookin”

‘I’m tellin’ ya it’s fucking magic, Drake!’

Drake trailed his fingers all around the circumference of the bottle feeling and squeezing for any weakness.
Drake shook his head still disbelieving, ‘Ya jus’ t’ out ya head t’ know ‘ow to fill up a bottle!’ he slapped Drew n the back of the head, ‘ya dumb git.’
Rolling his eyes again, he held the bottle under the tap and switched the water on.

A few seconds ticked by, Drew getting angsty on his feet.
A minute ticked by and the water still poured out of the tap, and the bottle remained empty.

‘Wha the actual fuck?’ Drake spat.

‘But look!’ – Drake pointed to the bottom of the sink. – ‘No water is leaking out of the bottle and down into the drain! It makes no sense!’

‘Maybe it’s bigger inside than it is outside?’ Drew offered up, palms out in question.

Drake scoffed. ‘That’s not fucking possible.’ His knuckles turned white as he gripped the tap and turned it off. ‘I gotta call Bill!’
Upon stepping into Drew & Drakes squalid flat, with a smirk on his face, Bill started, ‘Well, well what we got goin’ on with you guys this time, eh?’

‘We got a magic bottle is what we got!’ Drew said.

Drake waved Drew’s words away, ‘It ain’t magic!’

‘So why you got all excited and called me up?’ Bill asked.

‘I want your take on the situation.’ Drake started toward the kitchen, motioning with his head, ‘Come on!’

Bill followed and looked at the plastic bottle, ‘so why is it magic?’

‘It’s a bottle that never fills up!’ Drew said excitedly.

Bill did the same as Drew had done and ran his fingers all around the plastic, looking for any holes or cracks.
Finding no fault, he shrugged his shoulders and turned the tap. ‘Now let’s see,’ he muttered to himself.
The sound of the water gushed between them while a cartoon played out on the TV in the living room. Bill turned the water off, put the bottle down and tilted his head, ‘Well,’ he pursed his lips, ‘I’ll be damned!’

‘See! It doesn’t fill up!’ Drew rocked back on forth on his feet with agitation and excitement.

Bill scratched his head, ‘it makes no sense.’

‘Or it’s bigger on the inside than it is outside!’ Drew repeated

‘That’s impossible!’ Bill baulked

Drake put the kettle on and leant against the kitchen worktop, ‘It’s not the…’ an idea occurred to him as the hum of the kettle resonated in his ears, ‘A watched kettle never boils!’ he beamed suddenly.

‘What?’

‘What?’
Both Drew and Bill said in unison.

‘y’ know that sayin’? The one where if you watch a kettle it never boils.’ Drake skidded toward the sink and placed the bottle on the drain before turning on the tap. ‘Now turn around and don’t look!’ Drake checked that the water was aiming at the right spot to land in the bottle then turned around.
‘Well, that’s one theory out the window!’ Bill said.
All of them stood around the sink, looking down at the bottle.

‘I’d swear I was high If I knew I hadn’t smoked anything t’day!’ Drake remarked.

‘And I never smoke anything and it ain’t filling up for me either!’ Bill added.

Drew asked, ‘So if it’s not a magic bottle, what is it?’

Drake and Bill looked at one another than at Drew.
‘Don’t have a fuckin’ clue!’ Drake shrugged.

Sitting on the couch tired of trying to figure it out the TV kept their attention until adverts interrupted the cartoon.
‘you know what it might be?’ Drake asked casually.

‘Magic?’ Bill asked.

Drew grinned, ‘I knew it!’

‘What if it’s a physical manifestation of a metaphor!’ Drake beamed.

‘A metaphor for what?’ Bill slid to the edge of his seat, his car keys dangling from his fingers.

‘Life,’ Drake replied. No longer beaming with enthusiasm and curiosity, he slumped back on the sofa. ‘Life,’ he repeated through a deflated breath.

‘It’s magic is what it is, and I stick by it!’ Drew sat back and folded his arms.

With a sudden movement, Drake lifted himself off the couch and threw the remote at the TV.
The remote hit the screen and the picture went fuzzy over a perfume advert.

Pulp.

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Dave was the smallest of the trees. “Barb,” He shouted across to his auntie, “They’re coming!” He screamed, the alarm rose up a notch in his voice.
“Who is?” Barb trilled, a blue tit perched on one of her branches.
“They are!” Dave pointed behind him with one of his branches.
“You’ve got so many branches, Dave! How am I supposed to know which way you’re pointing!”
Dave rolled his eyes, “They’re coming to chop us down!”
Barb’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed an O shape. The blue tit that was perched on her flapped its wings and flew into her mouth. “Ya iccle shit,” She struggled to say as it’s feet padded along her tongue.
“Hurry, auntie Barb! They want to make books!”
Auntie Barb stopped in her tracks and spat out the blue tit. The bird landed in a pile of leaves and looked around dazed and confused. “What book they making?”
Dave rolled his eyes again, “Listen, Barb! We really gotta catch up with the rest! Do you want to be a book!”
Barb continued to dawdle her eyes heavy from lack of sleep, “Depends what book I’d be.”
Dave formed an O with his mouth now, his eyes blinking in astonishment. The bluetit had since caught up with them and flew into his mouth. “Oh ya….” He started and spat out the little cheeky git.
“What book do you suppose I’d be?”
“You wouldn’t be one book! You’re too big!”
Barb gasped, “Are you calling me fat?”
“NO!” Dave shouted in irritation.
“Oh, you’re saying I’m tall.” She smiled and puffed up her afro of branches, “One of the things your uncle loved about me!” She looked up to the heavens opening above, “Oh for the love of all things!” She cursed, “Have you got an umbrella?”
“Why would a tree have an umbrella?” Dave asked appalled.
“You don’t have an umbrella then?”
“No! Trees don’t use umbrellas!”
“Well,” Barb closed her eyes and lifted her face proudly, “I do!” Barb huffed.
“Mum told me you were weird.”
“I bet she bloody did!”
Dave looked behind him at the men driving their big machines, “Hurry!” He started faster.
“I hope I don’t become a Stephen King book!” Barb blabbed on with herself.
“If you hurry up no one will be turning you into a novel!”
“What about a scientific textbook then?”
“Or any kind of book!”
“If I become a Stephen King book it’ll be a real fright!” Barb said, picking up her pace to catch up with Dave who was now running on ahead.
“Where is ya dad?”
“He’s at the front!”
Barb leaned closer to Dave, “Do ya think,” She whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Do ya think that If I were a book, I could be the bible?”
“Bound in leather?” Dave humoured her.
“Oh my god! With gold at the edges of the pages!”
“Poor old cow.” Dave shook his body and trudged along sadly.
“Did you just call me an old cow?” Barb huffed, “I’ll have you know I’m an old dear, not an old cow.”
“I’m talking about Shelia.” Dave reminded her of the field across the road.
Barb took a glimpse, “What about Shelia?”
“She’s gonna be wrapped around you when you’re a holy bible!”
“She wouldn’t wrap herself around me!” Barb said dismissively.
“I didn’t say she’d do it voluntarily.”
“And I won’t be holy that’d ruin the aesthetics.”
“Come on mad Barb,” Dave started to usher her along faster, “Let’s keep up with the others now!”
“If I could choose what book I’d be,” Barb continued drawling on, “I’d be a Matt Johnson book.”
“Who the fuck is Matt Johnson?” A male tree in front of them piped up.
“You know! That Gorilla!”
“A gorilla?”
“Yes, James! A gorilla!” She tutted.
“A gorilla that writes, that’s insane!” James beamed.
They stopped talking as the army of trees came to a sudden halt. An eerie stillness settled over them and a breeze flitted through their branches. The sky became grey with a pregnant silence before the shudder of thunder and a lick of lightning, but the sound of the marching trees outmatches the storm. The trees have risen and are on a rampage of vengeance; we humans shall become pulp fiction!

Cherophobia

Matt6 Comments

What do you fear most? Heights? Spiders? Snakes? All the usual fears.
Me? I have something called Cherophobia, do you know what that means? It means I fear happiness. Oh you better believe it, I properly fucking fear those smiles stitched on your faces. The pivotal word there being stitch! You’re not happy to just stitch yourselves up, no you try to stitch me up too. You’re all walking around in a masquerade ball I evidently wasn’t invited to. I want to rip your masks off and reveal the true darkness within, the raging sadness that treads on your soul. Because deep down you know you’re just like me, a syringe of air and bubbles and when you sigh, like me, it’s simply the bubbles and air releasing from the pressure and then you breathe in and more bubbles and air consume your organs. I consumed my own lungs, I’m almost dead. The air isn’t weightless, it’s got a heavy mass to it, people describe depression sometimes as being empty, this is what that emptiness is, it’s empty but it’s heavy. Its air and bubbles, it’s dinosaur piss.
It’s the food we consume; it’s the air we breathe. I’ve felt this since I can remember, how could I not fear happiness? It is the unknown to me.
Like with most fears, I probably fear something that is nothing. As in happiness doesn’t exist in the first place, a manifestation of a prolonged childhood nightmare

In masquerade ball terms I stand bare before you, naked in all my splendour as you gaze upon the darkness. And I believe that you see your own reflection in my darkness, that you gaze upon him or her and then you look away. I fear you. You fear me. I remember as kid tiny glimpses, a butterflies wing worth of a glimpse into something that could be labelled happiness, joy, but I found it to be only veils and walls of lies. It lasted for a moment, with the click of the fingers it’s GONE! The wall tumbles under the weight of its own pressure and the veils are flung open by the wind and you see the darkness, the tears, the blood, the dirt, the consuming of one another.

And I’m lost in a sea of dancing bodies, each move they make is lit up in a different colour as the lights flash manically and I feel like I’m stood in the middle of a mass exorcism. I begin to wonder if I’m stood in the middle of a cult, disguised as individuality. My knuckles are sore and my eyes are bloodshot. The hood still shrouding my head and my eyes are puffed up from tears I couldn’t cry. A woman smiles at me with a green face and then winks with a purple face and then she’s wriggling her way around me, I brush past her and she looks genuinely disgusted that I didn’t pay her any attention. I stand outside the club, the music blaring even outside and I stand under the pink neon sign and light a cigarette. A bouncer looks over to me, in that way they always do where they suspect everyone, especially men like me. I blow smoke out through my mouth and imagine myself as a bull stood in the middle of a ring exhaling morning air through my nostrils and my front leg kicking up a sand storm underneath me, shrouding me for a moment from the crowd before a red flag waves before me and I charge. “What you lookin at?” I jut my chin forwards at him
“A mess” the bouncer replies with a sly smile
“Don’t look in mirrors for too long” I reply
He has his big tattooed arms folded over his chest and he laughs but doesn’t say anything else.
The night is through; no one wants a fight no one wants to fuck. I don’t want to fuck either. I think I might just go home, switch all the lights off and look at the walls, if I stare long enough I can spook myself out and for an hour or two I’ll be running on adrenalin and I’ll have a reason to thrive again.

The Beast, revised version.

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*Explicit content to follow

I spread my fingers closing my left eye and looking at my grazed knuckles, flexing my fingers back and forth before planting my hand on his head and thrusting myself deep into his mouth. I take the cigarette from between my lips with my left hand and look up to the ceiling, watching the smoke mingle with dust in the air.
The warmth of his breath on my cock doesn’t make me feel any less alone, to the contrary, i want to cry while also confess to the deepest of my sins.
Really, I just want to punch his face in.

earlier tonight, before I got this geezer guzzling me down like a first prize I was like a bull let loose for the first time. I stood at the bar watching dust particles float in the rays of strobe lights, drinking whiskey and smoking possibly smoking my millionth cigarette of the day. The world was red and like a bull I kicked up my hooves and I charged. I saw him, my doppleganger and h was dressed in a black hoodie, the hood over his head and bloodshot eyes from all the sleepless nights trying to tame the savage inside. I see him, he’s walking through trails of lights, he’s laughing at everything I’ve ever done and seen just by walking on this earth bearing my name and my face. He’s a mockery of everything I’ve ever wanted to be. He doesn’t know I’ve locked onto him yet. I’m following him through the haze of smoke and lights and the music is loud as loud can be, the music is so loud that my skull is fractured from the sound waves and I’m fairly certain it damaged some of my brain. I drop the cigarette on the ground and someone else treads on it in their high heels, I brush past her, her silky dress touches the skin on my hand and the hair on my neck stands up. But my eyes are honing in on him, my doppleganger and I’m following him and I’m letting the beast run. I had already spun the web, I knew the beast in me would devour him, mouth gaping open wide, jaws snapping, crunching at the very core of him, the bad apple, and my twin. For all the memories, all the fucked up seeds he planted in my head,  only to find they couldn’t germinate because the visions were wrong, the grief, the yearnings and he kept on planting those seeds and I grieve what I never lost, but the ideas they were strong enough and all along I was following a lost cause!
The toilet lights flickered, the dingy tiles yellowing from years of piss and cigarettes. Names and insults scribbled in black marker pens. The room was the colour of sick, the sound of water dripping from a leaking pipe echoed, ricocheting from stall to stall and straight into my skull. And I see him, the man who tried to birth seeds he knew nothing about, his hoodie up as if to shroud him from any potential witnesses to his sickening face. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s looking at me and I’m looking at him and we both know what’s about to go down .I step back and let the beast finally go for what he’s been so eager to taste, and lurching forwards I grab at my doppelganger and my arms, the veins showing under my skin as my fist clenches tight and with all the power the beast can muster my fist smacks my doppelganger in the face, again, again, AGAIN! AGAIN! The bathroom goes red, everything is red. “YOU!” I scream at the top of my lungs, lunging forwards again, PHUMP, PHUMP, PHUMP. Spittle falls from my lips and the punches keep on coming and my fist is aching but I continue anyway.  “I HATE YOU”

“I love you” she whispers in my ear “I love the bare bones of you” I whisper. The sun spangles through the blind slats and we lay in bed, her legs wrapped around me and her head on my chest. And the sun spangles through the blind slats and the shadows on the wall watch on and we lay in bed and we’re at harmony with the world. She kisses my chest.

PHUMP! PHUMP! PHUMP!

it’s been 6 months. We’re laying in bed and the sun spangles through the, the wall is glittered in shadow and our bare feet stick out from under the covers. It’s just like in the beginning and she says “I love you” and I whisper “I love the bare bones of you” and the sun continues to shine rays through the slats and I watch dust particles float in the rays and I feel sick and the room is spinning and the ash tray is smashed on the carpet, a photograph is torn, a spot of blood on the carpet. I get out of the bed and I in all my naked splendour I stand at the blinds, hand on the wand ready to close them fully, for a glimpse the sun shines on my face and the bruise and gash around my eye are clear to see along with the bust lip.


PHUMP! PHUMP! PHUMP

I go online in secret, “Escaping violence” I enter into the search engine plenty of results, one has a title that implies they know exactly how to help, my mouse hovers over it then I realise the link, it says ‘justiceforwomen.com.’ Another site ‘ Women escaping violence’ another site ‘help for abused and battered women’ ‘steps to ending domestic violence leaflet for women and children’

Blood trickles down my hand, my knuckles barely seeming to exist anymore.

I try to imagine this geezer is a woman, flicking her hair back as she looks up at me with a sweet glistening sparkle in her eyes, her lips puckered as she kisses the head of my penis. I try with all my might to not notice the masculinity in his body, the clear male features of his face, closing my eyes, opening them looking down, looking up at the ceiling, pushing his head down and thrusting as deep as I can till I finally ejaculate. “Fuck off” I hiss as I zip my trousers back up “before I beat you the fuck up!”
he looks at me, still on his knees
“What the fuck are you doing? Praying?” I lift him
“You have issues!” He says, his eyes filled with the sadness of someone who feels used.
I’m sorry “LEAVE” I turn my back to him and listen carefully for the door closing behind him.
 

An unedited version of the “the best” was posted on a previous blog. So if the theme of the story and character are familiar to you, thats why.