Comedy

12. (Something Like Life)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Something Like Life.

Terrance left about an hour after we’d picked out a room and made the bed. That alone took far longer than it should have. Bedsheets are one of the great mysteries of life. There were three spare rooms to choose from, each one bigger than any single room in Steph’s house. If you could ignore the creepy dolls and pot figure faces, then I was living like a king.

I can’t escape the sense of banishment though. Betrayed by my family, cast out from my home, and my fortune stolen from me. Dark thoughts circle through my mind. There’s a part of me that’s seriously considering marching back to Steph’s and taking the scratchcard by whatever means necessary. I hate Pete more than I’ve ever hated someone before. Ramming a knife into his throat would be pure catharsis.

I don’t. Even through the cloud of anger I know that I’m too much a coward to do something like that. This thought triggers the self-loathing, and the vicious circle begins again.

Now I’m back at the table opposite Mabel, another cup of tea in hand. I’m getting the impression that whenever the tea reaches a drinkable temperature, the kettle is filled and set to boil. She examines me over the brim of her cup. I shift my weight uncomfortably. The moment that Terrance had left she had swapped her pink ‘Best Nan’ mug and was now using a flesh-coloured ceramic horror with a poorly sculpted dick and balls as a handle. She’s already trying hard to fuck with me. 

She offers me another biscuit. I try to decline, but she isn’t lowering her arm. I sigh and accept it. I’ve eaten more biscuits in the last hour than in the previous ten years.

“Is everything to your liking here, dear?”

Is it? I think back to the room and see outdated wallpaper, elegant oak furniture, and a wide collection of weird old people junk. The house has no internet connection. The only technology is bedside lamps and old fashioned radios. It’s even less mine than the room at Steph’s had been. Still, it’s a place to sleep, a place to maybe think and rebuild my life.

“Yeah. Everything’s good. Thanks.”

“I know exactly what my son is thinking. He’s cold these days. Everything’s about money, and I have a lot of it. He worries about me, but he worries about my money more. If it didn’t bleed out of his inheritance then he’d stick me in a nursing home in a heartbeat. We came to a compromise.”

I listen to her absently, nodding my head where it feels appropriate. She leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. 

“I intend to have a little more fun before this old body gives out on me. My clock’s ticking. I hear it in the quiet moments. Listen. Can you hear it?”

There is a loud ticking from an old grandfather clock in the corner. I have no idea how to respond. She laughs at me then bites into another biscuit. I try to change the subject.

“I never knew Terrence came from a wealthy family. He’s so… plain.”

“My husband was a steel worker who made some wise investments. We lived in squalor for years. Moved straight from a one bedroom place with a leaky roof into this house. He paid for our Steven to have a good education. Maybe Steven took away the wrong lessons though. But the past is the past. Our Larry doesn’t have the same drive as his parents. What good’s having more money than you can rightly spend? That was my Frank’s motto. Larry does what he enjoys and everything else be damned. Good on him. What about you? What do you love?”

“Me?” I try to think but my mind is blank. What do I love? What do I want from life? “I don’t know. I like telling stories I guess. Books always used to make me smile as a kid, so I wanted to feel special by making other people smile too. Now it’s just another chore. I don’t really love anything.”

“Nothing? Not even a special someone?”

“No. Maybe love is dying out. We enshrined it in Valentine’s Day cards and M&S Christmas adverts like rhinos in a zoo.”

I think back on the women I’ve been close to. Most had no emotion attached to them. The early ones did, but I was young and naive. All the hope and enthusiasm that an excitable teen could muster still hadn’t been enough to carve out one of those classical Hallmark love stories. In reality, it’s all just broken people trying to force something to work until they eventually settle. Love is just another relic of the past like affordable housing and jobs for life.

“That’s your problem then. You visit zoos to see the rhinos. Love isn’t something you set out to see. It just springs out at you one day when you least expect it. More like a snake in the grass. But enough of this heavy stuff. Let’s get some food in us. You look half starved.”

Mabel disappears into the kitchen. She returns after a while carrying a handful of cutlery. I help her carry two plates of boiled veg and canned casserole to the table then we sit down to eat. The food is bland and soggy. Tinned crap heated to a barely lukewarm temperature. Still, it fills a gap in my stomach that I haven’t realised was there. I’ve not eaten anything all day.

Mabel speaks the entire time. Her stories meander across her life almost nonsensically, one moment speaking about babysitting Terrence, then transitioning into a tale from her days as a school girl. At first I just want to be alone with my thoughts, but gradually I start to enjoy the stories. My dad used to love telling us stories around the dinner table, but after he’d died, meals had become a solemn affair. 

In the end, even the strangely pleasant company isn’t enough to keep up my energy. It’s been a long day and it’s all catching up to me now that I have a moment to breathe. I excuse myself and retreat into my temporary sanctuary. The bed is uncomfortably soft, and even with the light on the room is gloomy. 

I lay here for a while, lost in thought, until a knock on the door brings me back to the present. Mabel opens it and peers in at me.

“I’ve run a bath for you, deary. I’m not one to judge, but you look rather rough. Go and have a soak. Clean yourself up and wash away some of your worries. If you keep that frown up, your face will look as wrinkled as mine well before its time.”

She grins at me devilishly. “I won’t peek. Don’t you worry.”

I hadn’t been worried until she brought it up. Still, a bath sounds nice. I haven’t had one in years. Steph’s house doesn’t even have a bathtub, just a cramped shower. I follow Mabel to a bathroom that could be a master bedroom in a normal house. The floor is tiled with mosaics in swirling patterns and the centrepiece bathtub is pearly white ceramic.

Mabel leaves. I strip out of the dirty clothes and dip a foot through the layer of bubbles into the water below. It’s hot. Almost unbearably so, but I embrace the discomfort. As I ease myself fully into the tub, the warm water rises up around me until only my head sticks up above the bubbles.

The room is silent other than the faint crackle of the bubbles and the occasional slosh of water as I adjust my weight. Without a phone to look at, or someone to speak to, I find myself isolated from the world. There’s nothing to distract me from my own thoughts. I think about Steph, and about my life.

Something runs down my face. It takes me a moment to realise that it isn’t sweat but a tear.  For the first time in years I can cry. I sink lower into the water and let the emotions take over. It hurts and I hate it. Maybe I am human after all.

Previous – 11. (Something Like Life)

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11. (Something Like Life)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Something Like Life.

The streets Larry takes me through are more upmarket than my usual haunts. Nice detached houses, well-kept gardens, and newer model cars. We’re not far from the city centre, but it might as well be another world. The place doesn’t belong to the faded industry that was the heart of the city’s past, or to the universities and tiny offices of its present.

“It’s just up ahead, down a little cul-de-sac,” he tells me. 

He takes a final long drag on his cigarette then puts it out and tosses the butt into a carefully trimmed hedge. From one of his many pockets he pulls out a small can of deodorant and sprays himself down, then crams a handful of chewing-gum into his mouth.

“So is your family rich or something? These are pretty fancy houses.”

Larry chews heavily on the gum. He shakes his head. 

“Not rich, no. Perfectly middle class. My mum’s a dentist and my dad’s a senior accountant.”

“Sounds pretty rich to me,” I mutter. 

But then again, a steady Tesco wage seems rich compared to my upbringing of living on government handouts. From when I was ten it had just been the three of us in a rundown house, Mum too off her head on drugs to hold her own life together, let alone a job.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I add. “I already feel out of my depth here.”

“Maybe,” Larry shrugs. “But then I’ve seen puddles of piss on a night out with more depth than you’re used to. Live a little.”

“Larry, you don’t leave the house. Ever heard the term ‘pot calling the kettle black’?”

“I live plenty. Just mostly via a digital landscape.”

The cul-de-sac matches the rest of the area. The whole place puts me on edge. I know I don’t belong here. I can feel eyes watching me from the houses. Even Larry seems a little uncomfortable, though he looks shifty at the best of times. He approaches one of the doors and knocks. 

I look over the house while we wait. Like the others it’s well-kept and lacks any outward sense of personality. A black Mercedes sits on the driveway while a red BMW is parked just outside. Through the window I can see a spacious living room with a huge TV.

It was the sort of house where the scratchcard would only just cover the deposit. I could never live here. Thinking of the scratchcard sends a spike of anger through me, but it also makes me think about the woman and her Pot Noodle. I wonder what kind of place she lives in. I can’t imagine her in a prim suburban neighbourhood like this, even if her choice of meals was based on taste rather than finance.

The door opens and a middle-aged man with neat, greying hair opens it. He has glasses, is clean shaven, and is wearing a shirt and trousers despite it being a Saturday. He looks as different to Larry as it’s possible to get.

The man’s eyes move over Larry without lingering, instead focussing in on me. I shift my weight uncomfortably and wait for someone to speak. 

“Come in,” he finally says. I’m left with the distinct feeling that Larry and his dad don’t get on much. 

The inside of the house is strangely empty. There’s plenty of furniture and technology, all of it expensive looking, but the walls are plain white and there’s no shelves or pictures. It almost looks like a display house, maybe even less so. Nothing is out of place and everything is purely functional. 

As we enter the main room, a woman is working at the table on a laptop. She doesn’t look up. The man grabs a sheet of paper and a pen from beside her and hands it to me. He directs me to the kitchen counter.

“I’m not in the business of housing freeloaders,” he tells me bluntly. “This is just a trial scheme. We have full rights to kick you out at any time, and we have a connection to you so we can track you if you decide to betray our trust and try to steal from or abuse my mother. If the lodger situation works, then we can look for someone who can actually pay rent. Someone to keep an eye on her while paying us, not the other way around.”

I look at the paper. It’s a long list of rules that reads like a legal document. No smoking, no drinking, no inviting people over, and no loud music. It sounds boring, but pretty standard. I sign it without too much hesitation and hand it back.

Larry’s dad nods then disappears into another room. The woman, who I assume is Larry’s mum, still hasn’t acknowledged us. Like his dad, she looks attractive enough. I can’t imagine Larry being a product of their genes. 

I open a cupboard and it’s empty. Looking around the kitchen I can’t see any food. There are plenty of appliances, but I’m again left with the feeling that they’re more for show than actual use. I give Larry a questioning look and he just rolls his eyes.

“Let’s wait outside,” he says. He turns to the woman. “Tell Dad we’ll be out front.”

“Sure.”

We leave the house and Larry fidgets with anything he can touch. I can tell he’s desperate for a fag. 

“Your parents are weird. You adopted?”

“Not to my knowledge. It’d make things easier.”

“So what gives? Why aren’t you handsome and successful? It seems to run in the family.”

“Luck of the draw.” 

He leans against the car and takes out his comically large collection of keys and starts moving them along the ring like a Catholic would with Rosary beads. 

“They tried, believe me. I spent my childhood studying, and when my grades weren’t where they wanted them to be, they piled more and more on. I didn’t have friends. They saw it as a waste of time, like being social was the reason I was failing. That I just needed to work harder. Turns out some people just aren’t that smart.”

“You work with computers, don’t you? That’s got to take some brains.”

“Yeah. I’m good at it too. It’s not traditional though. Coding just seems to click with me, you know? It doesn’t matter that I’m making decent money from something I enjoy. To them, if you’re not a doctor or a manager of some kind then you’re a failure. But they stopped trying to push me, so now we just civilly coexist.”

“That sounds kind of fucked.”

“It is what it is.”

Larry’s dad steps out. The car clicks open and he motions for us to get in. I climb into the backseat and admire the interior. This is possibly the first time I’ve ever been inside a car that isn’t filled with crumbs and food wrappers. 

The engine starts and the radio fills the car with the dull voice of a man talking about quarterly financial statements. Larry’s dad makes no move to change the channel, so I settle in for the dullest ride imaginable. Nobody speaks. I stare out the tinted windows and watch as we leave the main city behind. There’s more trees now, and the buildings become more eclectic. 

It’s about twenty minutes of stock forecasts and heavy silence until we pull up outside a large house. We get out and approach it. It looks like one of those big American houses that are built to imitate European mansions but lack any of the style of the original. Several of the houses I can see are similar. They look almost too big. I feel tiny in their presence. Insignificant. 

There’s a buzzer on the door which Larry’s dad rings. A long stretch of time passes before we hear noises behind the door. A series of locks and chains are undone, then the door opens. 

An old lady greets us. She’s thin, almost inhumanly so, but her white hair is styled in a massive perm that gives her a weird sense of proportion. She’s in a pale blue dress that looks like it was pulled straight from the sixties.

“Hello!” she exclaims enthusiastically. “It’s so nice to see you all. Is this your new partner?”

She directed the last part at Larry while pointing at me. I don’t know which of us looks more disgusted. She sees our reaction and cackles merrily.

“Well, in that case you must be my new lodger then. Come in! Come in!”

Inside, the house is nothing like that of Larry’s parents. Photographs and paintings are everywhere, as are an assortment of cups, teapots, and vases. The whole place looks filled with clutter. 

We all sit around a coffee table in a living room filled with so many armchairs and settees that there’s barely any room between them all. I introduce myself and she gives me a toothless grin.

“How lovely, dear. I’m Mabel, but you can call me Nanna. Oooh, it’s going to be so nice having a strapping young man around the house.”

I don’t think anyone has ever seen me and had the word ‘strapping’ come to mind. I hope to God that she’s just trying to mess with me. I haven’t fallen far enough yet that I’m willing to be an old lady’s toyboy. Well, not unless I can wiggle my way into a hefty inheritance.

The kettle is boiling on the hob. Mabel quickly busies herself making cups of tea for us all. She follows this up by passing around a tin of biscuits. It’s like she has a checklist of old lady tropes she’s working through. 

Larry’s dad divides his attention between watching me and then watching his mother. For the first time in my life I start to feel bad for Larry. No wonder he’s socially awkward. Finally, the older man seems satisfied that I’m not going to pocket the cutlery. He finishes his drink and stands up.

“Well, it seems like you both get on acceptably. I’ll leave you to get better acquainted. Call me if anything is amiss.” He turns to leave then pauses, suddenly remembering Larry’s existence.

“Do you need a ride back?”

“I’ll stay here a while. Thanks anyway.”

He leaves without another word. Larry doesn’t watch him go, instead just staring into the bottom of his cup between sips. Mabel hands him another biscuit.

“Cheer up, lad. Ignore the stick up his rear. Just wait for the day you can stick him in a home.” She cackles again and winks at us mischievously. “Now then, our Larry, help your dear old Nan set up a guest bedroom.”

I frown. Is the universe playing a trick on me? I look from Larry to the old lady.

“Your Larry?”

Mabel cocks her head quizzically at me. Even Larry looks at me confused. I blink, trying to make sense of everything that is happening.

“Larry, what is your full name?”

His confusion seems to grow.

“Laurence Davis. Why?”

“So I’ve just been calling you your actual name all these years?”

“Wait, you didn’t know my name was Larry?”

“Why would I call you your real name? Everyone else gets a stupid nickname but little old Larry just gets called by his name? You didn’t think that was weird?”

“Well, yeah, but then why would you pick Larry as a nickname? It’s a perfectly good name.”

“You looked like a Larry!”

“I am a Larry!”

Mabel watches us while sipping delicately on her tea. More biscuits have appeared on her plate. She’s enjoying the show. I take a calming breath.

“Alright then, Terrance, care to show me to my room?”

“You can’t just change my name! That isn’t how this works!”

“Watch me.”

Previous – 10. (Something Like Life)

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10. (Something Like Life)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Something Like Life.

I don’t pay attention to where I’m being taken. My eyes are fixed firmly on my feet. Eventually Corgi sits me down on a bench and I’m dimly aware that we’re in a small park. A light rain has started to come down so the place is empty. 

Neither of us speak. I close my eyes and try to slip away. Time passes. I don’t know how long. I feel someone grab my hand and something warm is pressed against my palm. It’s a paper cup filled with steaming hot chocolate. Beyond the cup, Toto is smiling down at me, flanked at either side by Tink and Larry.

“Christopher messaged us. You are in a bad way,” Toto tells me. He crouches down so we are eye to eye. “Life always continues, but sometimes it needs a helping hand. You luckily have several.”

“You can’t even help yourselves. There’s no place for us. There never was.” 

My words come out with more emotion than I expect. I want to thank them, to hug them for being there, for existing, but I hate that they can see me like this. I don’t think I’m built to accept help from others, or to open up. It’s like I’m reaching out a hand and can see them do the same through the darkness, but neither hand will ever meet.

“You are right. This world cares nothing for us. But would the past make you happy? Your grandfather had a place, but it was long hours in a physical job, returning to a cold home with little food and poor healthcare. My past was slavery, and Johnathan’s was death in a meaningless war. Men had places, but they were not good ones.”

“I don’t care about any of that. Life is shit, that’s a universal fact as far as I’m concerned. I’m just tired of failing. I tried and failed, so I stopped trying. But I just can’t let go, can I?”

Tink is studying me. I can feel his eyes on me from behind Toto. While Toto can be hard to read, Tink is a practical guy, simple and to the point. I know exactly what he’s thinking and I wait for the inevitable question.

“You’re not allowed to feel sorry for yourself when it’s you pilling the shit on your own head. We’re all guilty of it. My cousin’s offer is still open. Do you want me to call him?”

I close my eyes again and exhale a long breath. This was a fork in the road I’d avoided for years, but it looks like I’ve been walking in circles, going nowhere and always finding myself back at this point. 

I try to shut the world out. Odd drops of rain still linger in the air. I can smell smoke, telling me that Larry has lit a cigarette. My mouth is dry and I’m aware of the taste of stale alcohol on my breath where I haven’t had a chance to brush my teeth. I take a drink of the hot chocolate to try and wash it away.

“Sure,” I finally answer. It feels like the heaviest word that’s ever left my mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Tink nods and steps away from us to make the call.
“Do you have anywhere to stay?” Toto asks and I shake my head. He is about to continue when Larry interrupts him.

“I have a place, and it’ll be more spacious than what Toto is about to offer you.”

Toto raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “My home is yours. Larry is right though. Mamma Jaques has a very small house. It is crowded with just the two of us.”

“Exactly,” Larry says. “My Nan’s got a massive gaff where she lives all alone. The poor woman’s losing her mind though. My dad wants to throw her in an old folks home but she refuses. Promise to give her some company and you can stay there a few days while you get yourself sorted.”

“Larry, you can’t just offer your nan’s house to people without asking her.” Corgi cuts in. “Especially, and no offence meant, to someone like this dickhead.”

“She and my dad made a compromise. She gets to stay in the house but somebody has to stay with her. I’m not going to do that, and nobody else in the family is either because old Nan is batshit crazy.”

“I can’t look after myself, let alone some crazy old lady,” I point out.

“No worries. She’s pretty spry and independent, just a bit forgetful. You’re skint, so you can’t get drunk, and aside from that you’re not too awful of a human. Look, just come with me, I’ll talk things over with my dad, then I’ll introduce you to my nan. No obligations. Your alternative is Toto’s couch.”

“Fine. I’ll go with you, but like you say, no obligation. It’s not like I have anything else to do with my time anyway.”

“Great!” Larry says then breathes out a lungful of smoke. “My dad was going to force me to do it, and Nan has a zero smoke policy.”

“Smart lady.”

“You’re such a hypocrite. Alcohol is hardly a healthy lifestyle.”

“No, but nobody else has to deal with my liver failure,” I snap as I waft the smoke away.

“Nah, just your drunken bullshit.”

Tink returns before we can get stuck into the argument. 

“Josh says the job’s yours if you want it. He’s out of town for a few days, but as soon as he’s back he’ll get you signed up. Just remember, you’re there on my recommendation, so don’t fuck it up. You’re playing with my reputation as much as your own,” says Tink.

I nod solemnly. 

“Good.” His stern look lightens and he offers me a smile. “Now then, you want a drink? My round.”

I bite my lip and sigh before shaking my head. 

“I shouldn’t. It looks like I get the joy of meeting Larry’s family this afternoon.”

The prospect of that genuinely makes me want to drink. I think I’ll need a bellyful to deal with strangers, especially ones related to Larry. I don’t voice this aloud though, and for the first time in a long while, I know that I really will stay sober for it. I’m done with fucking up. Something has to change, and unfortunately, I’m pretty sure that something is me.

Previous – 9. (Something Like Life)

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9. (Something Like Life)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Something Like Life.

Without really thinking about it, I’d already walked most of the way to the pub. I shuffle in and collapse into a corner seat with the bag on the chair beside me. The big clock above the bar says it’s only quarter to ten in the morning. I realise that I don’t even know what day it is. Hell, I don’t know who I am.

I notice one of the staff watching me. Are they seeing my dishevelled appearance and bag of possessions and judging me as the homeless nobody that I am? Or are they familiar with me and the shitshow that is my life? I guess that despite everything, I have made this place my homebase. I try to mix it up, but I always end up back here. They probably do pity me. I’m just another of the miserable old pissheads but without the excuses that they at least boast.

I smile at them and make a show of pretending to text someone. I don’t have any data on my phone so I’m forced to just sit and wait for salvation. When your guardian angel is a chubby dwarf who lives with his grandparents it really puts your own life into perspective.

I spot Corgi at the bar and I’m ashamed how relieved I feel. He waddles over with two ciders and plops down opposite me. He slides one across then interlocks his fingers as he studies me with dramatic scrutiny.

“This is Doctor Wolff sitting down with patient number six. So, my files suggest that you suffer with delusions of self-grandeur, fueled by excessive use of alcohol. I’ve interviewed several acquaintances of yours and the common theme of their statements are, and I quote, “He’s an utter bastard”. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t know they did apprenticeships for psychiatrists. If it’s anything like the sparky one then I wouldn’t trust you to diagnose a dead cat as being a little under the weather.”

“I don’t think psychiatrists deal with dead cats, to be fair.”

“Was Shrodinger a psychiatrist?”

“Was the cat dead?”

I shrug. The cider stands a few inches from my hand. I stare into the pissy depths, looking for answers. The sight of it turns my stomach. I’ve drank too much the last few days, and it’s caused far too many problems. I don’t want to drink. So of course I do. Corgi hasn’t touched his. I wonder if he even drinks if I’m not around. Maybe he’s just another person I’m pulling down with me.

“What happened?” he asks after a contemplative silence between us.

“I don’t know. Everything’s a little fuzzy. Pete was being a dick like usual. He fucked everything up. I was pissed, and then something happened. I wanted to celebrate, so I might have had a few glasses from Steph’s personal stash. Then I wake up with my room gutted and Steph refusing to look at me.”

“Wait, so Pete was in your face like usual, then you wanted to celebrate?”

I think about it. Between the alcohol and all the emotional bullshit, I’m finding it hard to fish the memories from the abyss of my mind. There was a pretty girl. She stands out like a beacon. Why did she stand out so much in my memories?

“The scratchcard!” I say aloud as the memory clicks into place. Corgi stares at me blankly.

“I went to the shops and this cool chick bought me a scratchcard. It was a winning ticket! Fifty grand! Fuck! I put it in a bottle but Steph had cleared my room out by the time I woke up. How did I forget that?”

I punch myself in the face. People from the nearby tables stare at me. I bare my teeth at them and most look away. 

“Corgi, that’s it! I just need to find that card and all my problems disappear. Steph probably threw the bottle away, so I just have to dig through the brown bin, find it, and I have a lovely £50k pumped into my account. I don’t even have to talk to her.”

“Are you sure you didn’t dream this? A pretty girl giving you a winning scratchcard hours before you get kicked out of your home seems a little unbelievable.”

I neck the cider and stand up. “We have a mission. This scratchcard is the single most important thing in the world right now, okay? We head to Steph’s, grab the bottle, then get the hell out of Dodge.”

“It’s your sister’s bin, not Fort Knox.”

“Are you in?”

Corgi sighs and starts to sip his drink. “Sure. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

I impatiently wait for Corgi to finish. I know the brown bin isn’t due for collection, but I still feel tense. I’m pinning all my hopes on a piece of paper. If it isn’t there, I genuinely don’t know what I’ll do. 

It seems to take an age for him to finish before we finally set off. I’m lazy by nature, but I can’t help but power walk along the streets with Corgi trotting behind me. I don’t know if it’s the weight of the bag and speed of my pace, or pure nerves, but god damn do I need to start working out. I’m sweating like a priest at a preschool.

I round the corner and Steph’s house comes into view. Seeing it gives me a strange jolt of anxiety. I lived there for years and have only been gone for an hour, so how can I already see it so differently?

The three bins are lined up against the fence between our garden and the neighbours to the right. They’re in clear view of the kitchen window. I take the time to scope out the house in search of Steph. Her car is there, but I can’t see her through the window. This is my chance.

I open the bin and find it filled with bottles. It’s almost like we have an ingrained drinking problem. There’s zero chance of being quiet with the clinking glass so I go for speed over subtlety. I dig, wincing with every sharp sound. A whisky bottle slides to the side and I see the scratchcard rolled up inside a wine bottle. I reach for it.

A hand grabs my shoulder and pushes me away roughly. I stagger back and catch my balance just before I fall.

“Digging through the bins like the rat you are.”

It’s Pete. I tense up and hate myself for it. 

“Look, something of mine was thrown away. I just want it back then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Something of yours? You don’t get it, do you? You own nothing and you are nothing. The clothes on your back, the stuff in that bag, and the inevitable booze in your gut, it’s all just charity. You’ve never earned an honest penny to buy anything for yourself, and if you did, you’d owe it to everyone you’ve leached from your entire life. So no, there’s absolutely nothing of yours here. Or anywhere. Now get lost.”

I take a step closer to him. My fist curls.

“I need this.” My conscience is waging war with itself. I take a breath and swallow my pride. “Please.”

“Aww, what’s up? You going to cry?”

The genuine part of my conscience surrenders. His words are like steroids to my inner bastard. That suits me just fine.

“Cry? Nah mate. What do I have to cry about? I know who I am. I’m not the bratty rich kid who spends his life trying to find meaning in his own disillusioned sense of superiority. Let me guess, Mummy and Daddy never gave you any love so you can only feel by holding power over others. Pay people to kiss your ass because nobody would even look at you otherwise. I bet you can’t look in a mirror, can you? You’re a tiny dicked moneybags who’s never physically or emotionally satisfied a living creature in your life. Even Steph is only with you for your money. It certainly isn’t for the two minute circus that you call your love life.”

I can’t begin to describe the satisfaction I take from the look in his eyes. I know I’ve hit a nerve and a Cheshire cat grin splits my face. The satisfaction is instantly replaced by agony as he lunges a fist into my throat.

This time I do fall. I can’t breathe. I’m clutching my throat and writhe with my legs. Seconds of panic feel unending, then something releases and I can draw a gaping breath. In the corner of my hazy vision I see Corgi crouch beside me. Pete is breathing almost as heavily as I am.

“If I see you here again I’m calling the police. Now fuck off out of Stephany’s life. Go die in a ditch like you deserve.”

Pete turns back to the house, making sure to wheel the bin with him as he leaves. With him goes any hope I had left. I lay there struggling to breathe, my mind blank other than an overwhelming longing for death.

“You okay?” Corgi asks. I don’t answer. What’s the point?

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

He tries to help me up. After a few moments I pull myself up and let him lead me away. He even grabs my bag. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve anyone.

Previous – 8. (Something Like Life)

Next – 10. (Something Like Life)

Chapter 7. A New Look. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

To believe that we live in a world of order is to ignore just how hard it is to be ‘good’. Indulging in your desires is the easy path, it is our instinct and grants us the most personal satisfaction. Take what you want and have fun doing it. The only fear in this world is crossing someone stronger. To be good though requires sacrifice. It requires patience, compassion, and often sees you doing things against your best interests for the benefits of others.

We see this here in our protagonists. Damian tears at his body and soul, killing or manipulating any that stand against his ideals. He commits sin in a quest for power, but a quest that is motivated by a desire to do good.

Peace though, well, he isn’t really a nice person. He lives for himself and actually enjoys the wanton violence that his powers permit him. But he isn’t grasping for power, and neither is he going out of his way to hurt others without cause. As we look down upon him we actually see him protecting a downtrodden minority against a cruel world. The fact that this is purely for personal gain will be forgotten. Actions speak louder than intentions afterall.

So we find Peace yawning expressively beside a burned out campfire. For him it was the small hours of the morning. To the more grounded Daisy, it was the dizzying heights of 10:30 AM. Not that time had much meaning anymore.

Peace chewed idly on a handful of berries from a small bag he had been collecting them in. He’d never been that knowledgeable on nature, but even he was sure that the Change had affected plants like it had people. Everything looked and tasted different. His general theory at the moment rested on the hope that if anything was poisonous then his new body could take it. So far that had proven to be the case.

Daisy stood nearby, tapping her foot agitatedly. Peace had made her power his phone well into the night, and even after he had fallen asleep, she had found little rest. Life had taught her not to be trusting. She didn’t trust Peace, she didn’t trust being out in the open, and she didn’t trust anybody else that might have been nearby. So she sat awake for most of the night, the stungun clasped firmly in her oversized hands.

“Are you going to sit here all day?” she asked.

Peace shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t have anywhere more pressing to be. Neither do you, so far as I can tell. You seem in a real rush to be going nowhere.”

“No. Here is nowhere. Anywhere else is somewhere. We’re sitting ducks out here. I need to find somewhere far away from people, somewhere safe where I can live in pea… err… live undisturbed.”

“Yeah? You want a little cottage out in the woods that’s nice and secluded. Sounds real nice. But hey, where are you going to find food? What about clothes? You any good at foraging, hunting, sewing, you know, anything useful for solo survival?”

Peace crammed the last few berries into his mouth and chewed them messily. “You see, our new powers are worthless out in the wilds. Here in the cities and towns though, we’re kings, or queens, maybe, I dunno. What good is your electric powers out there? In a city you are a god! Goddess! Whatever you damn well want to be! Don’t you get it? You’re strong now. You don’t have to run and hide anymore.”

The words had all the effect of bugs hitting the windscreen of a truck going at 80mph down a motorway. It apparently takes more than superpowers to overcome years of victimhood and self loathing. To Daisy, the world had changed, but she hadn’t. Though of course she had. Everything had.

“You can keep your delusions of grandeur. We’re in the bloody apocalypse, not some fantasy story.”

Peace stood up and threw his phone over to the woman. She clumsily caught it and the screen instantly lit up. Peace stood in front of her, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the phone to start up. 

It is a universally acknowledged fact that nothing is slower than a piece of technology when you need something from it quickly. Waiting for the phone to boot up every time he wanted to look at it was going to become annoying very quickly. Peace vaguely wondered if he could run some wires from Daisy’s body. The phone finally loaded and Peace tapped the screen a few times. Guitar and drums began to play from the speaker. He nodded then hopped up onto a log.

“Delusions and dreams are just opposite sides of the same coin,” Peace began in an attempt at an inspirational speech. “You have lived a fake life. The world forced you to be something that you didn’t want, tortured you for it and taught you to run and hide. I hated that old world. It was an utter bastard. But now it’s broken body is lying bleeding on the ground, just waiting for us to finish it off. 

“For people like you the world isn’t any scarier now. People wanted to abuse and kill you before and they want to abuse and kill you now. Well fuck that. Fuck them and the horses they ride in on. This is your time now. Don’t run from it.”

Peace had grown up watching movies where inspirational speeches were made and the group cheered or looked on with teary eyes. Daisy just sighed and shook her head. An important part of such characters was charisma or gravitas. Peace had the charisma of a puppy on cocaine. Sure, most people liked him, but they were also worried by his continued existence and felt pity as they wait for the OD to kick in while he dies in a pool of his own vomit.

“That’s all a little rich coming from you, a suicidal teen with no long term plans.”

“I prefer the term ‘Motivationally Challenged’ thank you. But that’s what you’re not understanding. I wanted to escape, just like you. I don’t have to anymore. Here I can just exist, and that’s really all I’ve ever wanted. Why complicate it with other things? So what say we head into town, rob a store and get you some nice clothes and some makeup. Treat yourself. It’s the end of the world afterall, that’s a pretty special occasion.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy, lazy, and my motivations are hazy. So what say you, Daisy?” Peace rapped poorly. He turned his back and started to walk toward the town, singing offkey to himself. Daisy cursed then jogged after him, his phone still in her hand.

They walked back into town and made their way to the shell of a supermarket. The place was a mess. Shelves were smashed and the ground was littered with boxes and spilled liquids. A group of three men were scavenging through the debris, but after one look at Peace they quickly left.

“Bloody idiots,” Peace muttered, indicating the wreckage. “Society has broken down with all food chains falling apart, so what does some bright little prick do? He destroys food supplies for the shits and giggles. This is why we can’t have nice things.”

That phrase actually sums up humanity quite well. Human history is filled with death and destruction that all basically stem back to someone wanting something and making it bad for everyone in the process. One wonders what humanity could have achieved if they took a step back and worked together. But then, they wouldn’t be human, would they? It’s one of the species’ main quirks. 

If Peace could gaze back into the mists of time then he would have seen that two women had actually cut the expected lifespan of the locals by destroying a source of food. Being an ambiguous narrator makes me basically a god, so that’s no problem for me. You see, once the initial dust of the change had settled and the adrenaline faded, base human nature took the reins again. The looting became less about panicked survival and more about filling the void of impending doom with pretty things. It’s the human way.

So it was that we find two women looting the supermarket two days before Peace arrived. A nice dress caught both of their eyes, but what a tragedy, there was only one. The women fought, destroying the store, and the dress in the process.

Back in the present though, Peace picked his way through the store with the thinly veiled anger that men in a supermarket who are unable to find what they want can relate to. He hadn’t visited the store in over two years, and even without the destruction, nothing was displayed in the same area as it had been back then. 

He finally found what he wanted and called Daisy over. He was surrounded by makeup, most of which was somehow intact. The change had taken the concept of beauty down a few pegs, replaced instead by the concept of how nice a tin of baked beans actually was. 

Peace motioned towards the pile proudly. Daisy still looked unimpressed. 

“New world, new woman,” he stated. “Let’s ignore the fact that your dreams of transitioning have likely been dashed on the rocks like a newborn seal after society’s collapse. Embrace yourself. What have you got to lose at this point?”

“This isn’t about who I am. I’m not scared to embrace myself, If I was I’d have never come out in the first place. This is about survival. Pretty clothes and makeup aren’t going to help with that. Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t.” Peace shrugged. “It’s just my personal philosophy. I value freedom. So many rules and expectations are stifling. I want to live my life how I want to live. If it doesn’t inconvenience me then I’ll help anyone find their freedom. Consider me a missionary for the Church of Not Giving a Fuck.”

As he spoke, he dug through the makeup until he found a tube of eyeliner. He was no stranger to makeup himself and began framing his eyes in black. As he dug through the supplies, applying and pocketing anything that took his fancy, Daisy simply watched. When he was finished he looked peak emo as though he was ready to join the Black Parade itself. 

“This is a waste of time,” Daisy snapped when Peace held up a selection of bottles and tubes.

“What even is time anymore? You’re in such a rush but you don’t have any destination or goal in mind. Life is for living, and all time is now is a measure of life. So either try and relax or tell me what you’d rather be doing?”

“I don’t know. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is to feel safe. Well, feel safe and feel comfortable in my own body, but that isn’t going to happen now.”

 “I’ve heard rumours of people gathering together in the south. It sounds like they’re trying to rebuild things. That’s as safe as you’re gonna get unless you learn to live off the land real quick. I’ll take you there. How’s that sound?”

“Why would you do that for me? You’ve already said you don’t care what I do.”

“I don’t care what I do either. Wander south or wander north, it makes no difference to me. There’s zero additional effort to help you out.”

“You just want access to your phone for a while longer, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Daisy took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go south with you. But first, let me find some good makeup.”

Previous – Chapter 6. A Shelter of Hope.

Next – Chapter 8.

8. (Something Like Life)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Something Like Life.

A vague notion that I’m alive nags at the corner of my brain. This quickly grows into a piercing pain that wars with the urge to slip back into blissful unconsciousness. I can hear bangs, each thud and clink driving icicles into my skull. 

It takes me a moment to unstick my eyes. The curtains are open, flooding my room with light. They’re never open. I don’t have time to wonder about it before an unholy roar tears into my head. 

Steph enters my room with the vacuum cleaner. The noise hurts. I try to retreat under the covers but the thin sheet does nothing to dull the assault. The pain makes it hard to collect my thoughts. 

“Jesus, Steph. Fuck off with that. You’re killing me.” 

She isn’t looking at me. I glance blearily around the room and it seems bare. My desk is empty and the usual piles of rubbish that litter the floor are missing.

“Hey, don’t mess with my stuff. Where’s my laptop?”

“Fuck you and fuck your laptop!” she shouts. “I spent all night defending you to Pete and when I get back I find you passed out from my wine! Time and time again I keep giving you chances that you throw away. You’re determined to drown yourself and I can’t let you pull me down with you anymore. I have a chance for a better life with Pete. I won’t let you ruin that!”

“Steph, I-”

“No more excuses! I want you out.”

The words hit me hard. She still isn’t looking at me. I try to form a response but the words seem to slip through my grip like sand. My whole body feels like lead. 

“Your stuff’s in that bag,” she says then leaves the room. 

I don’t move. Time ticks by, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. I feel sick. My legs still won’t support me. I blink and cast a slow glance around the room. I can see the bag Steph mentioned. It’s a Tesco bag for life. Now it contains my entire life. Over twenty years of life and I don’t even have enough possessions to fill it up completely. A handful of old clothes, a laptop, Xbox, a small screen TV, a handful of games and books, and dozens of bits of paper. Piled together as they are, it all looks so insignificant. 

The only things that haven’t been tidied away are the wall of post-it notes on the wall above my bed. It all feels like a bad dream. I know it isn’t. The list of failures stare down at me. Each one stings. I know what they say even though I can’t make out the bad handwriting from here. I suddenly can’t bear the thought of them.

Anger races to fill the emptiness. I stagger to my feet and tear at the notes. They fall down around me like snow. In seconds the wall is bare. I’m breathing heavily but the anger has drained away as quickly as it came, leaving behind an even deeper emptiness than before.

I start to collect them up, more to busy my hands than anything else. A part of me is aware that I should be crying, but there’s no threat of tears. I drop the notes into the bag and pick it up. It’s heavy and I know I won’t be able to carry it for long. The coarse handle is already uncomfortable to hold.

I’m too proud to beg Steph to change her mind. I’m pretty sure I could. Why would I though? The knowledge that she sided with a controlling dick like Pete over her own brother is more devastating than I can admit. It hurts. Through everything that we’ve been through, we always have each other’s backs. Maybe we don’t actually like each other, and maybe I’m not reliable, but we’re always there for one another. Apparently that doesn’t mean much in the face of a shitty relationship with a man who overcompensates for his small penis with bags of money and an ego the size of a student’s debts.

I never took my shoes off yesterday, so I waste no time swinging the door open and slamming it shut behind me without so much as a backwards glance. I’ll never give anyone the pleasure of seeing me upset or full of regret. Spite is about the only motivation that hasn’t been burned away from me.

It’s not until I’m near the city centre that I slow down and allow myself a moment to think. I have no home, no family, and no money. It wasn’t a great start. I consider my options and quickly realise that I don’t actually have many to consider. I reluctantly grab my phone and tap my contacts. 

“Hey Corgi. You fancy a drink?”

“What’s up?”

“What’s up? I just want a drink. Does something have to be up?”

“You never call me and you always sound extra confident when you’re upset. Conmen only ever con strangers.”

I can’t keep it up. I slump against a shop wall and close my eyes. 

“Steph kicked me out. I… I don’t know what to do.”

Corgi doesn’t answer straight away. I can feel him piecing together his response like a jigsaw puzzle.

“Sounds like you fucked up.”

“Big surprise, I know.”

“Shocking.”

“Yeah.”

“Right. I’ll see you at Spoons. My round.”

“Thanks, Corgi.”

“Don’t start getting sentimental on me. You’re a miserable bastard and don’t forget it, okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon, prick.”

“That’s more like it.”

I end the call. I want to laugh. I want to cry. I don’t do either.

Previous – 7. (Something Like Life)

Next – 9. (Something Like Life)

Chapter 5. An Electrifying Transition. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Peace gazed into the still water of the canal. It was brown and smelled, but compared to the smell coming from Peace himself, it was the lesser of two evils. He hadn’t had a wash since the night before the Change. It had rained on the previous day, but he was beginning to doubt the benefits of his natural shower.

His clothes were in a bad state and his hair was slick with grease. The bandages that wrapped around his arms were yellowed and torn. All in all, he looked like something the cat had dragged in from a minefield.

He stripped then unwound the bandages before climbing down metal rungs set into the stone into the water below. It was cold, but then Peace was numb to most sensations so it didn’t affect him much. He scrubbed at his skin and the bundle of clothes, splashing around noisily as he sang out of tune to himself.

These past two weeks had been the best of his life. The gray cloud that had hung over his soul for the past few years had faded. There were no expectations placed upon him and there was no stress about money or finding a career. He didn’t have to fake being nice to people and he didn’t have to do anything that he didn’t want. This was true freedom.

Lots of people had tried to attack him at first, but word of the black haired youth with wrapped up arms had spread quickly and people had learned to keep their distance from him. Now his life was simple. Pure survival was his only concern and that was almost too easy with his newfound strength and endurance. 

Only a few minutes had passed when his bath was interrupted by nearby shouts. He tried to ignore them but they showed no signs of going away.

“Damn it!” he hissed angrily. “As fun as it is, I wanted five minutes without having to smash someone through a wall. Inconsiderate pricks.”

Peace grabbed one of the rungs and launched himself straight out of the water and onto the grass with a single movement. Not even thinking to dress, he stormed off in the direction of the voices. The commotion was coming from an adjacent bungalow where a group of men could be seen through the front window. 

Peace kicked the door open. It flew off of its hinges and through several walls before exiting the building on the other side. The men all turned to see the intruder. Peace took in the scene before him. Six men stood around a seventh person with an assortment of makeshift weapons. 

In stories, the character’s eyes, the narrator’s eyes and the reader’s eyes can all see very different things. What Peace saw was a long haired man in a dress stood in the centre. An effeminate man, sure, but a man none the less. As an omniscient presence, I can delve deeper into the scene and say that, despite what evidence her eyes suggested, this person fervently believes with her whole heart and soul that she is a woman. As I have stated before, personal belief usually supersedes universal fact, so who am I as a voice in your head to argue with her?

“Six against one doesn’t sound like very sporting odds,” Peace said into the tense quiet. “Unless I am the one. If you want to fight me then I’d call in some friends if I were you.”

“Stay out of this!” the woman growled determinedly. “This is my fight. I will not be pushed around any longer!” Her voice was not right either but Peace couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Peace stared at her for a moment then shrugged and slumped into an over-stuffed armchair.

“Go ahead then. Put on a good show.”

In this time the men had not reacted. Two of them turned back to the woman while the others watched Peace cautiously. Having a naked man barge in on them then sit himself down to watch had not been a part of their expectations for how this scene was going to go down. Peace simply watched with an amused expression. 

The woman gripped something tightly in her hand. Peace observed her curiously. Weapons didn’t do much good since the Change. He couldn’t see what it was but knives struggled to cut through human skin and blunt objects could barely make a bruise, let alone break bones. Whatever it was, it looked too small to do much of anything.

“This is our place now, freak,” spat one of the men. 

He grabbed her shoulder and made to shove her. Her hand darted out into his ribs and there was a flash of light and a crackling sound. The man’s entire body convulsed and shook violently. He fell to the floor in a twitching heap.

This sparked events into action. All of the men jumped towards her. She jabbed out with the small object repeatedly, filling the room with flashes of light. The sheer number of opponents still overwhelmed her. She took several hits but kept fighting, using her nails and feet as well as the tiny weapon.

Peace was pretty impressed with the display. She had zero fighting skill but refused to go down. Without the device she would have been beaten quickly but with it she was actually winning. This just made Peace all the more curious.

The last man spasmed then fell. Covered in her own blood and panting, the woman staggered away from the pile of unconscious men and supported herself on a nearby table.

Peace appeared at her side. “Not bad, though it was over too quickly. Where’s the fun if you knock everyone out with a single jab?”

“Fun?” she muttered. “I was fighting for my life.”

“Yeah. Heart pounding, adrenaline flowing and everything on the line. That is how you feel! That is a real thrill.”

“You’re mental.”

Peace just grinned insanely at her.

She shook her head. “Who exactly are you?”

“Me? I’m a nobody. Peace is my name though.”

“Peace?”

“Yeah. Hippy parents. Named my sister Love. I think that I came off easy. Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What the hell did you do to them?”

The woman opened her hand and turned it toward Peace while keeping it far enough away from him that he couldn’t easily grab it. It was a small, black stungun.

“Hold up a second,” Peace began. “Electronics don’t work any more. Trust me, I tried. Life without music was unbearable until I discovered the sweet sounds of carnage. How can your stungun still be working?”

“Haven’t you noticed that people have developed more powers than just being really strong and fast?”

“Not really.”

“How are you still alive when you are this ignorant of what’s going on around you?”

Peace thought about this. “I punch things really hard until they leave me alone.”

The woman sighed. “Look, people can do things now that we never could before. I can make technology work. I don’t know how but it’s like any electronic that is touching me becomes a part of my body. I can control and power them. Our bodies are stronger now but they seem weak to electricity. I’m not sure why but electric shocks hit people really hard now.

“So let’s say that I find a phone with some good music on it…”

“It would only work in my hands. I can’t just get something working then hand it back.”

“Crap. So you’re useless.”

“Excuse me?” the woman exclaimed, affront in her voice. “Is that it? I can’t charge your bloody phone so you no longer care at all about me? You have no intention of even asking my name?”

“Nope.”

 The woman’s face was becoming flushed with indignation. 

“Well I’m going to tell you anyway! It’s Daisy! Remember it! I’ve found out humanity’s new weakness and have, to my knowledge, sole access to use it. I will not be pushed anymore!”

Peace ignored most of what she had said. He looked at her quizzically. 

“Daisy?”

“That’s right. You got a problem with it?”

“No. Only, Daisy is a girl’s name and you kinda look and sound like a man. No offense.”

Daisy clenched her fist around the stungun. “Saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t make something not offensive. I am a woman locked away in a man’s body. Are you a bigoted jerk who is going to take issue with that?”

Peace shrugged again. “Not really. It’s just weird is all.”

“Weird? Coming from the guy with scars all across your arms. Self inflicted by the look of them. Cutting yourself up to feel. Attempted suicide too, right?”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I am pretty weird. You know what though, I see it as a badge of honour. I’m weird and I’m proud of it. My insanity keeps me sane and my pain brings relief. I am not normal and never want to be. To be normal is to be boring, to be part of the 99%. I am me and you are you and nobody can take that away from us.”

Daisy lowered the stungun and dropped onto a wooden stool. She didn’t know whether to punch Peace or hug him. She had spent the weeks since the Change hiding wherever she could. She had been homeless before the Change and had plenty of enemies for no other reason than what she was. She had escaped most but there were always people ready to lash out at that which they did not understand. This bungalow had only been her home for two days but now it looked time to move on.

“What’s your plan then, kid?” she asked him as she began to gather up supplies. “Got a family to go back to? A place to go?”

“I’m just wandering around. I checked out my house but it was empty. No idea where the folks could be,” he answered through a long yawn.

“Don’t you want to find them?”

“Nah. I’m enjoying this life. They’ll be fine without me. Or already dead. Either way means I’m good to just chill wherever. What about you?”

Daisy thought hard about her answer. Her general plan had never progressed beyond survive.

“I’ll find somewhere new to hole up in. It’s worked alright up to now.”

“It’s gonna be dark soon,” Peace observed. “You won’t have much time to look around. I have a shelter in the woods if you want somewhere to camp for the night.”

“Really?” Nobody had shown her any compassion since the Change. If she had a kind word thrown her way then that was a blessing but here was someone offering her a roof over her head and some company, if only for the night.

“I’d be grateful. I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone for months. Though I’d appreciate it more if you put some clothes on first.”

Peace offered her a grin. “Cool. I still have my phone on me. You get my amazing company and I get some music. Everybody’s happy.”

“God damn it…”

Previous – Chapter 4. A Flock of Faithful.

Next – Chapter 6. A Shelter of Hope.

3. (Something Like Life)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Something Like Life.

Corgi is already outside waiting for me. I sometimes wonder where he goes when he’s not with me. He never really mentions his home or family, though I know he has them. He feels almost like a side character in my life, always waiting on the sidelines for somebody else to appear. Maybe I should ask him. I know he hasn’t been having an easy time recently.

“You linger like a bad smell,” is what I end up saying though.

“Yeah, and your attitude stinks, so that’s probably why we get along.”

I snort and give him the middle finger, which he returns like a patriotic salute. I start down the road and he trots behind me to catch up. Even at this time the streets are busy. The sky is black and a fine drizzle hangs in the air, but city life never slows. I notice that most of the beggars are gone though. I wonder where they go when crowds die down and the nights set in. 

I take the path that I’ve walked so many times I could retrace it with my eyes closed. It’s a good job too, because coming back I’m usually so far gone that I might as well be blind. We don’t really talk as we walk. Most of our store of conversations had been drained during the morning. Thankfully, it isn’t long before we’re back in the shadow of the Wetherspoons.

Larry and Toto are already waiting for us inside. They’re sitting at the same table we had occupied hours earlier. The place is much busier now. Steak nights always draw in a good crowd. I slump into the chair beside Toto while Corgi goes to the bar to get us drinks. Again, I vaguely wonder where he gets his money from, but know I’ll never bother to ask him. 

“You are looking well, all things considered,” Toto tells me. “I worry about you at times.”

“Life is just the interconnecting tissue between moments of misery. I accept that, so have no reason not to live it to the fullest. YOLO and all that bollocks, you know?” I answer with a smile that rivals Toto’s. “Alcohol is just the mortar to fill in the cracks in that confidence.”

“To be fair mate, that sounds like something an alcoholic would say,” Larry quips.

“An alcoholic probably wouldn’t have the coherency required to articulate philosophical theories regarding the ephemeral nature of existence,” I answer, my brain working in overdrive to pull out the most pretentious chain of words possible and speak them without fucking up. My brain fails me on most things, but any attempt to be a dick usually succeeds with flying colours.

“That’s proper good mate. It’s almost like you should be a poet or something.”

“Fuck you.”

It’s at this moment Corgi returns, placing an orangish pitcher down in front of me.

“What the fuck’s this?”

“It’s a cocktail. Sex on the Beach. The bar lady recommended it.”

“Corgi, under no circumstances do I ever want to drink cocktails with you, let alone one named Sex on the Beach. Sex is the last thing I want to think about when I see your face. And why would you ever do it on a beach? Sand gets everywhere. That’s real uncomfortable. I can only imagine it’s like tossing off with sandpaper. Awful. So why have you put these thoughts in my head?”

“Because it’s fruity and filled with alcohol.”

I take a sip and it is indeed very sweet and filled with alcohol. I shrug and drink more. “Fair enough.”

Larry leans across the table and lowers his voice. “How’s Steph doing? I heard she’s been ill.”

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer to the balls. I want you to take any thoughts in your head involving my sister and thoroughly wash them away with bleach.”

“Hey, I’m only asking. It’s not like you care.”

“I care by association.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that I don’t care what she or you do in your own lives, but I don’t ever want to imagine anything involving either of you, let alone together. I have enough nightmares as it is. I’m pretty sure that she finds you disgusting though, so thankfully I don’t really have to worry about it.”

“That’s harsh.”

“The truth hurts. What can I say? It’s only the flu, so don’t worry your little head about it, okay?”

“You just don’t like to see people being happy.”

“True enough. I wouldn’t surround myself with miserable bastards like you lot if I did. Except Toto. His outlook is as bright as your pasty skin.”

“And your thoughts are as dark as mine,” Toto adds merrily. “Yet somehow you gather people around you like a mother hen. Fate laughs at your attempts to push people away.”

“Yeah? Well fate can take a long walk off a short pier. Let’s not get the wrong idea here, I don’t hang around you for your optimism or company. You just make good food and are generous with your portion sizes. It’s purely a selfish, one way relationship.”

Toto just laughs and drains his drink. He isn’t wrong though. Somehow it’s me that holds this little group together. None of the others knew each other before me. I’m the common denominator. I guess that shows how desperate they all are if I’m the best option to spend time with.

“Tink say’s he’ll meet us at the house. He’s heading there with his brother,” Corgi says into the lull between banter. He has his phone in one hand and the cocktail pitcher in the other. “He expressly states that nobody is to cause trouble.”

“I wonder why he felt the need to specify that?” I say innocently. “At no point have I ever started a fight when Tink has invited us to these little gatherings.”

“You did draw a dick on that fancy painting when we were at his uncle’s BBQ. I’m pretty sure you spent most of his cousin’s wedding reception flirting with the bride.”

“Look, this is an invitation from little Po, and frankly, I’m not going to do anything to get on his bad side. I’ll be on my best behaviour. Scouts honour.”

“You were never in the scouts.”

“No. And from what I read in the news, they don’t have much honour, so it all works out in the end.”

“Touché.”

Previous – 2.

Next – 4.

Chapter 1. (Thorns of the Shadow: The Taste of Lead and Lightning)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Heat rolled in shimmering waves across every surface. The sun hung proudly in a cloudless sky above. It was the kind of day that seemed to drag on and seep the energy from the world. 

On a suburban street, in a house like every other upon it, a young woman sat slouched across a sofa where she had been for the past few hours without moving. She was called Catherine Redthorn, but prefered to go by KT. Her black hair ended half way down her back and she had an athletic build that was currently clad in black jeans and a simple white vest. A few scars marked her arms but many more lay hidden in a chaotic pattern across her torso.

On the other end of the sofa was the sprawled out shape of her twin brother, Mordekai,  known better as Kai. He was taller and broader than his sister but shared her green eyes and love of dark clothing. He too bore scars, as did their mother and father, but nothing near to the level that punctuated KT’s skin.

To the best of the Redthorn family’s memories, they had been visiting the twin’s Aunt Susan up in Scotland when her guest lodge had suffered a gas leak which resulted in a terrible explosion. It had killed several of the guests, including Susan, and left the survivors with varying degrees of injuries.

Only, that was not what had happened. The truth was darker and near unbelievable. KT remembered it all too well. She remembered being attacked by a succubus, meeting the mysterious hunter Déaþscúa, and returning to find the lodge in flames, her mother crucified, and the other guests gone without a trace. She remembered herself and Kai fighting alongside Déaþscúa and meeting vampires, werewolves and witches. She remembered coming so close to ending the life of the infamous Black Annis when the Grand Moot, the magical equivalent to the government, arrived and stopped them. Déaþscúa had been arrested and KT, Kai, and the surviving lodge guests had had their memories altered.

Unfortunately for the Grand Moot though, nobody had informed them that KT was a Resistant, someone with a strong resistance to the effects of magic. Her real memories had returned after only a few hours. Not that anybody would have believed her if she had spoken out.

The television droned on about politics in the corner of the room. Nobody was really watching it but the remote had been left in the kitchen and nobody could muster the energy to go and get it. The sound passed KT by without notice until a single word snagged at her attention.

“That’s right, Clair. We are currently live here in Scotland where local businessman and entrepreneur, Roger Golman has announced his intention to stand in the Parliamentary elections. Golman had begun to make a name for himself in the international business world until a suspected terrorist attack on one of his compounds left him in hospital for much of this last year. Now he has returned to the public view and is already gaining considerable support.”

The screen was showing footage of a tall man in his late twenties with short black hair and an expensive suit addressing a crowd. His features were slightly on the pudgy side but he wore confidence like a second skin. His voice took over where the reporter’s had left.

“I have seen the best of humanity, and the worst. It is my dream te change the world and te help create a society that is not weighed down by crime, greed and corruption. This is but a first step on my mission to forge a better future for us all.”

KT couldn’t help but to snort at the words. Everything that the man said was bullshit. He was nothing more than an overambitious criminal. After a moment she amended this since all politicians were nothing more than overambitious criminals. Golman had sided with Black Annis for personal gain and had captured and abused the vampire, Ailia. The ‘terrorist attack’ in the report had been none other than KT and Kai breaking in to free Ailia. His hospitalisation had been Ailia’s parting gift to him. KT still shivered to remember that moment.

“I didn’t realise that you were so invested in politics that you could look so disgusted when one speaks,” her father said with a smile. Bob Redthorn was an easy going man who was quick to smile and slow to anger. He had dark hair, wore glasses and had a slender build.

“Bah! They’re all the same,” interjected Kai. “Politics, made up of the word ‘poly’ meaning multiple and the word ‘tics’ meaning blood-sucking parasites. Still, there’s something about that guy’s face that just pisses me off. He’s a businessman so you know he’d slit his own granny’s throat for a quick fiver.”

“Disgusting,” their father agreed. “You can’t buy anything with a fiver anymore. I’d struggle getting a Freddo and a bottle of Coke in this economy. Greedy green bastard. If you raised it up to a tenner we might have a deal though.”

It was nice to see him return to his usual self again. After the events of the new year that lead to his sister’s death, Bob had sunk into a darkness that KT had never seen before. The physical recovery had been hard for all of them, but the mental healing had taken much longer. Luckily the arrival of summer had done wonders for everybody’s mood.

“Stop casualising moral corruption. Kai doesn’t need the encouragement,” added their mother, Tara. Unlike Bob, she was a strong, stern woman with little time for nonsense. She had blonde hair and always wore smart clothes. Unlike the other members of the Redthorn family though, her injuries still affected her day to day life, leaving her weaker than she would have liked. The holes in her palms where she had been nailed to a cross rendered her hands near useless and her new reliance on others hurt her far more than any of the wounds to her flesh had managed. 

“Your words cut me deep,” Kai said with mock hurt. “I’ll have you know that I am a pillar of this community and a paragon of virtue.”

Tara raised her eyebrow. “Oh. You mean how you help all those poor young women with their studies? It is all for the good of their education and not for anything more selfish.”

“Those are some bold allegations there. If my irresistible charm clouds their concentration then I cannot be held responsible for that.”

KT couldn’t help but smile at the friendly banter. It felt good to hear everyone happy and carefree. The problem was that she felt like she was in a bubble that separated her from her family and friends now. Her memories prevented her from relaxing. While she sought the peace and happiness of normality, a greater determination pulled at her. How could she go back to regular life after killing men and monsters, meeting immortals and fighting at the centre of bloody battles that nobody else even knew had happened?

‘Such connections are worthless. Do not concern yourself with fitting in but with rising above your surroundings.’

The internal voice cut through her own thoughts roughly. She smothered it out with a practiced ease. The voice belonged to Ghodot, the former king of the fairies. He had tried to possess KT’s body in exchange for passage through a faegate but KT’s resistance to magic had meant that he had been the one to fade instead. Now he was little more than an annoying voice in her head. The intrusion upon her thoughts was frustrating enough but the fact that he could see and feel everything that she could, as well as being privy to her own thoughts, made him insufferable.

The trouble was that everything had begun and ended so suddenly that she could almost mistake it all for a vivid dream. Only her scars and memories told her different. She had not wanted it to end. She had had no choice in the matter though. No matter how hard she tried, she could not shake the feeling that she belonged in that world more than her own. 

Kai and her parents were still bickering good-naturedly so she decided to get up and try to clear her head. She wandered upstairs into her room and just stood staring at the space that had once been the core of her life. It seemed so hollow now.

Her shelves filled with fantasy books no longer held an escape from reality but as a reminder of what she had left behind. The same applied to her DVD and video game collection too. Only music helped her to lose herself now. 

She wandered into the bathroom, connecting her phone to the speakers on the shelf, then scrolled through the vast library of music without anything particular in mind. Tapping the screen at random, a heavy drumbeat echoed through the small room.

Showering had become much more difficult with the fairy making lecherous comments in her head, but she had grown accustomed to washing with her eyes closed. Efficiency was the aim of the game. Almost everything in her life followed that principle now.

‘When will you accept that I am a part of you, girl? We are one. Why hide from me?’

‘I’ll accept it when I can finally block you out of my mind.’

‘Ah, so cold. But we work so well together. The unmolded clay of your body combined with my unparalleled intellect. Just let me take over and all of your problems will fade away like mist.’

‘The last time you spoke of things fading away it didn’t quite go to plan, did it?’

Ghodot became silent. For all his talk of grandeur and power he tended to pout like a child. Enjoying the brief respite from his incessant comments, KT washed then dressed herself in jogging trousers and a t-shirt. She already felt sticky again from the humid air.

“Since when did England get this kind of heat? A bit of rain would be wonderful.”

‘The air feels… constrained. Something is building.’

‘Climate change?’

‘Magic.’

Ghodot would say no more. Months of knowing him had taught KT that he was only reserved when he didn’t have the answers, even if he didn’t like to admit it. Magic was building and the king of fairies didn’t know why. Or wasn’t certain at the least. It scared him.

She headed downstairs and back through the living room. Nobody else had moved since she had gone. 

“I’m heading out for a bit. Need anything picking up while I’m out?”

“A winning lottery ticket would be nice,” her father muttered wistfully.

“Milk and bread would be more practical,” her mother added. “Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Stop worrying, Mum. Most of my injuries were superficial. I feel fine.” Superficial might have been an understatement. Really, KT should have been dead after being impaled multiple times. Those were small details though that her mother didn’t need to worry about.

Tara sighed. “Why am I cursed with such a stubborn family?”

KT didn’t bother answering, instead just waving cheerfully and making her way to the door. She stepped out into the street and immediately felt the full force of the sun on her skin. Kai appeared at her side, cursing the heat. The thought of dressing in lighter colours had never crossed his mind.

“You planning to join me for a jog?” she asked him playfully. “That’s not like you.”

“I’ll pass. You can run through this humidity and come back looking and smelling like a drowned rat. I have other places to be. Better places. I just wanted to… well, I wanted to ask you something.”

KT slowed her walking slightly. It was almost as though Kai was being shy. A devilish smile tugged at her lips.

“Now then, little brother, what could you possibly be so sheepish about?”

“Shut up!” he snapped. He wrapped himself in what bravado he could muster. “We are the same age and I don’t care what you say to the contrary. I was just being a gentleman and let you out first. Ladies first and all that bollocks.” He fidgeted with one of his rings for a moment before continuing. “What I wanted to ask was, I, err… I’m kinda seeing someone and I, well, I wanted to introduce you to her sometime.”

KT burst out laughing. “Since when did you introduce anyone to the family.”

“Haha, laugh it up. This is different to usual. I met her at the hospital and we just talked for a few months. Maybe my near-death experience changed the way I see the world but I just kinda wanted to get to know her, you know? Do you think something is wrong with me?”

“It’s called being an empathetic adult.

“Implying that sluts are unempathetic and immature is stereotyping and is harmful for society.”
 “I’m making no judgement on the poor souls you’ve led astray.”

“Ha! Assuming any reference to sluts is referring to women is sexist!”

“So you are calling yourself a slut?”

“I’m calling myself a coitus connoisseur.”

“That phrase makes me deeply uncomfortable. Please never repeat it.”

“Yeah, that was pretty bad. So, do you agree to meet her?  I just want your approval to make sure I’ve not gone crazy, okay. This means a lot to me.”

“You know I hate awkward social encounters, but if it’s important to you then of course I will. Is that where you’re going now?”

Kai nodded. “There’s a market on in town. Handcrafted junk and lots of food stalls. We’re going to head there for a while then grab some drinks.  You can join us at the Silver Spoon after you’ve tortured yourself.”

“Fine. I’ll go for my jog then get ready. Hmm. What do you even wear for meeting potential sister-in-laws?”

“Whoa there! Let’s not get carried away with allusions to the ‘M’ word. It’s just casual drinks, okay. Be yourself and the two of you will get along great. I mean, she does like me, and you’re just a watered down, slightly less charming version of that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, kiddo. Your personality only seems stronger because it’s been left to rot. Think of it like a smell. Stronger isn’t better.”

“You know which cheeses cost the most? The foul smelling ones that are absolutely crusted with mold. That’s me.”

“Whatever you say, cheese boy. Don’t leave this girl waiting now. Go on. I’ll speak to you later.”

Kai grinned and turned, heading back towards the house. Shaking her head as she chuckled, KT picked up her pace and started her jog. 

It was strange just how seamlessly life had picked up after been completely shattered. Nobody remembered those events but they had left such an impact on each of their lives, mostly for the better. Their mother had needed to open herself up to cope with her injuries and now had a better bond with everyone because of it, while Kai had met someone that he finally connected with while at the hospital, a hospital they were only in because of the injuries they had all received in Scotland. 

And then there was KT, as disjointed as ever. Possibly moreso. So she trained and trained, pushing herself to her limits in the hope that her life didn’t return to the mundane grind of reality. She hadn’t liked that back when it was all she had known. Now it profoundly unsettled her.

Her feet pounded down the all too familiar pavement. The air was so heavy that she was already struggling to breathe. She lifted her headphones over her ears and pawed at her phone’s screen until sudden music blasted into her ears. She swore then quickly turned it down before increasing her pace. 

Minutes dragged by until her sanctuary of sound was interrupted by a commotion ahead of her. Her eyes drifted over to a street corner a short distance away. Three men stood facing down a fearful looking girl a few years younger than KT. They laughed and jeered at her obvious discomfort, one of them holding her arms so she couldn’t escape. KT slowed in front of them, stopping at the girl’s side. She bend down, resting her hands on her knees as she took heavy breaths.

“Whats up, luv? We take your breath away?” one asked her with a smirk.

KT held up a finger for him to wait a moment. She’d only been jogging for a short time but was already completely drenched. She straightened herself then steadied her breathing.

“Afraid not. It’s this thing called exercise. You should try it sometime. It might help you bulk up those twiggs you call arms.”

The young man’s friends laughed. The man muttered something under his breath then let go of the girl, turning his full attention to KT.

“What’s it to you anyway?”

“Your friend here doesn’t look like she wants your company. Figured I’d have a look since you already threw off my concentration.”

“We’re just having fun, right. We aren’t goin’ to hurt her or anything. Bloody ‘ell, you can’t even talk to girls anymore without being the bad guy.”

KT sighed. “I don’t think you could comprehend what it means to be the bad guy. Being bad and being a bit of a dick aren’t mutually inclusive you know.”

“You what?”

“I think she called you a dick.”

KT ignored the men and turned to the girl. “You okay?”

The girl nodded. KT placed a hand on her shoulder and prompted her to start walking. She called over her shoulder to the men as she left. “See you around. Maybe work on those people skills in the meantime, okay?”

“Thanks for helping,” the younger girl said when they were out of sight of the men. “They regularly do that. They think they’re just playing around but it’s scary, you know?”

“No worries. Glad to help. They seemed alright, if a bit obnoxious. Most people like that just need a firm word.” She offered the girl a reassuring smile. “And if that fails you just gotta kick their ass.”

“I don’t think that’s very realistic,” the girl pointed out. 

“Yeah, maybe not,” KT reflected. “The world’s a scary place filled with things stronger than us.” Her thoughts found themselves drawn back to the tunnels beneath Glasgow, to the fear she had felt while hunted by the cannibal, Christie. No amount of ‘can do’ attitude would have worked there. It didn’t even take a supernatural being like that to be dominating for the average woman. She suddenly didn’t know what to say to the girl. 

“Err, just remember to punch their nose with the base of your palm in an upwards strike. Sends the cartilage straight into their brain.”

This information only seemed to make the girl unsettled. She quickly gave her thanks once again then took off down a side street.

“Dammit,” KT muttered. Her mood only soured further when she realised that she would have to hold up a polite conversation with a stranger as soon as she got back. What the Hell did normal people even talk about? It had been hard to interact with people before, but now it seemed impossible.

She set off at a full sprint to drown her negativity beneath a wave of exhaustion. It didn’t work. Gasping for air, she slowed to a walk again, her mood sinking further. Back then, after seeing what Christie had done, she had felt a great drive to protect others who were vulnerable. As that adrenaline had faded though, the reality of the world had set in. She wasn’t some kind of superhero. She couldn’t solve the world’s problems with her fists. But then she could inspire people either. Where did that leave her?

Her hands fumbled with the door handle and she nearly collapsed over the threshold. She took a step forward then fell onto the carpet. Her mother poked her head around the corner to investigate the noise. 

“You have a fun run?”

KT raised a feeble thumbs up and made some vague sounds that could be interpreted loosely as words.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard you know? Why the sudden need to get fit?”

Why? KT mulled the word over. She dragged herself into a sitting position with her back leant against the wall. 

“I guess that… the future scares me. I don’t know what the Hell I’m doing with my life, but getting stronger is the one thing I can control. I can’t walk into my dream career and tell them to hire me. I can’t just go out there and know what to say to people. I can run though, and I can lift. I can get stronger, and then maybe that strength will come in handy.”

Her mother didn’t say anything, instead awkwardly sliding down the wall to sit beside her. It was a sentimental gesture she never would have engaged in previously.

“I don’t envy you kids. Ha, kids, just the word is belittling. We were adults at your age. Everything was simpler. Your generation are the driftwood in the tidal twilight of the times.”

“That was very poetic, coming from you.”

“You’d probably not believe that I used to write poetry as a girl. That’s what I wanted to do back in school. But then there was a pressure on girls to step up and cast down the shackles of femininity in order to work respectable jobs for good money. So I turned my imagination towards business and never looked back.”

“Huh, I never knew that.”

“I don’t really speak about it. What I’m trying to say is, the world is changing faster than at any other point in history. It’s okay to be scared. It terrifies me to see you and Kai feeling so lost because I know there’s nothing I can do to help you. I can’t imagine living through it first hand. Just… go easy on yourself and know that me and your dad are here for you. It isn’t your fault that the world hasn’t left you a seat.”

KT felt tears sting her eyes. “Thanks, Mum,” she sniffed, turning to embrace the older woman. Her mum held her back.

“Maybe grab another shower before the hugs, okay.”

KT glanced down at her dripping clothes and dank hair. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She stood up, noticing a wet blotch on the wall where she had been leant. Then to drive home the fact, she remembered she had to meet up with Kai.

An hour later she stepped back out of the house in a simple pair of jeans and a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a cat on it. Even this heat couldn’t encourage her to wear a skirt or dress. She sent Kai a quick text as she walked and he responded straight away. They were at the pub awaiting her. There was no backing out now.

The Silver Spoon was a chain pub that had a reputation for being cheap and little else. It was hardly the most romantic of places but it did have a strange charm about it. KT entered the pub and spotted Kai at a table in the far corner. She crossed the distance, her attention on the chestnut haired figure that sat opposite him. 

On seeing her approaching, Kai got to his feet quickly. He looked genuinely nervous. Seeing him like this brought a smile to her face, his sudden shyness helping to dispel her bad mood. 

“Hey KT. Thanks for coming. Did that sound too formal? Definitely too formal. Sup, Sis. Nope, that just sounds stupid. Okay, starting over. So, you are here, which is a thing. A good thing. Another good thing, and by thing I mean person, is Cayla. Cayla, this is my sister, KT. KT this is my, wait, what are we? Girlfriend? Partner? Or do the kids call it SO these days? Oh god, I said ‘the kids’ and ‘these days’ This is it! Old age is setting in. I’m not cool anymore. Please tell me ‘cool’ is still a thing!”

The chestnut haired woman, Cayla, stood up and rested her hands on Kai’s shoulders until he stopped floundering. She was tall for a girl, just inching out KT’s height, but had a slighter build. A light smattering of freckles was dashed across the bridge of her nose. She wore a long chequered skirt and a band shirt. She smiled and offered her hand to KT.

“I’m Cayla. Pleased to meet you. Kai has told me so much about you.”

KT took her hand. She couldn’t imagine what Kai would be saying about her but she ignored the lurching feeling of dread. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you.” That seed of apprehension in her stomach flared again as no other words presented themselves in her head. Thankfully Cayla took the reins. 

They all sat down around the table, Kai and Cayla at one side with KT at the other, while Cayla chatted pleasantly about meeting Kai. A huge blush covered his face for the entire story. Both women found enjoyment in his discomfort. It was weird to hear a nice story about Kai. If KT didn’t know better she would have thought Cayla was speaking of someone completely different.

Drinks were ordered and small talk about music eased the group dynamic. KT found the other woman to be easy to talk with and they shared similar tastes in most things. Kai had been right about that. She was happy to let Cayla carry the conversations too, and the woman seemed happy to do so. 

“So, Kai never told me what it is you do. Are you an athlete?” Cayla asked once music had been thoroughly been discussed.

KT couldn’t suppress a surprised laugh. “An athlete? No. I’m a part time receptionist. Making the world a better place one generic email at a time.”

“Really. You look so strong. Don’t you play any sports?”

“I used to. Now I just like to workout alone.” A wave of self consciousness washed over KT. She hadn’t really considered that she would look any different. Looking across the table she suddenly felt like she was in an interview. 

Kai noticed the brief look on her face and steered the conversation away from KT’s life. As the drinks came and went, the atmosphere was light-hearted, and even KT started to enjoy herself. Kai got over his nerves and became his usual abrasively charming self. Seeing him being himself again, KT watched the interaction between him and Cayla. She always had a witty response to his quips and made him laugh in a way that she hadn’t seen before. It was nice.

Eventually, many drinks later, the evening had gone so well that Kai made a resolution. 

“You know what?”

“What?” KT asked as she went to take a sip of her drink, spilling it over the table.

“Today went really well. Cayla, congratulations, you’ve passed the trial period with flying colours.”

“I’m honoured,” she answered dryly. “I guess you scrape a passing grade yourself.”

“Well, maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I really like you. KT likes you too.”

KT made a thumbs up gesture without looking. She was currently occupied with being face down on the table in the pool of spilled drink. The excessive exercise, alcohol, and lack of food was starting to hit her hard.

“So I think it’s time,” Kai continued. He took a deep breath. “Time to introduce you to the family!”

This perked up KT. She sat up and stared intensely at her twin’s features. “Are you serious?”

“Super serious,” he slurred. “In fact, let’s go now! I’mma walk right up to Tara and be like ‘Yo Mum, this is my commitment because you always said I could never handle a girlfriend. Yeah!”

He stood up with a fiery determination in his eyes, swayed, then toppled to the floor. 

KT stumbled over to him and prodded him with her foot. “Hey, you can’t back out now. Passing out isn’t gonna get you out of this.”

“I have made a mistake.”

“You’ve made hundreds. This probably isn’t one though. Cayla, grab his other arm for me. Is this something you want?”

A brief look of deer in the headlights flitted across her face. When she looked down at Kai it resolved itself into a soft smile. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Good. Now help me carry him. Don’t let go once you have him or he’ll make a run for it.”

Kai blinked drunkenly. “No. This is the right thing to do. Because I… what’s that ‘L’ word? Oh yeah. Like. Because I strongly like you.”

Cayla waved her middle finger across his vision, causing him to cackle maniacally. The two women hoisted him to his feet between them and started the short journey to the Redthorn house.

Next – Chapter 2.

Chapter 2. A Father’s Duty. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Humans are surprisingly dim for such clever creatures. It took them a while to work out that they had changed. People no longer got ill. They didn’t tire as easily, and they were stronger and faster than ever before. Lots of things happened that could only point toward humans having become more powerful, but people don’t like to connect the dots if the bigger picture is one that they don’t want to acknowledge. 

Even so, it was only a matter of days until the governments of the world were forced to announce that the experiment may not have gone entirely to plan. It went something along the lines of: “Somebody forgot to carry the one in the calculations and now the Earth and everything in it is atomically unstable. On a side note, you are all basically superman now. Please don’t use these powers and continue with your life as normal.”

If you think that anybody took that advice then you are more naive than I gave credit for. When confronted with power, human minds reach for extremities. They realise that they have no need to work when they could take anything that they want, or they develop a hero complex. Only, neither works when everybody is the same. 

How do you use your newfound powers to rob an old lady when she turns around and slaps you straight through a building? How do you protect the innocent when they can fully protect themselves?

Just like in nature though, not everyone was affected in equal measures. Some became stronger than others for reasons that nobody could tell. Many great stories of tragedy, triumph and the like rose during this time. There were millions of tales, such as Mrs Baker, and elderly woman who had been on her deathbed. After the Change she stood back up and took her poor dog on a long overdue walk in the park. Then there was Mr Dale who had thrown himself off of a skyscraper moments before the Change only to crash down onto a car and walk away unharmed, much to his own chagrin. 

None of these events factor into this particular narrative though. Instead we must shift our way through the chaos and miracles to a small terrace house in a rundown neighbourhood. It had always been run down but of late had been reduced to crumbling ruins.

Damian Smithson stood in the center of his living room with a crying baby cradled in one arm. He stared at his free arm, held out before him with fingers splayed, and watched tendrils of smoke curl around it. Before him on the ground lay a mound of charred bones.

Things had happened quickly. The bones belonged to a man who had broken into the house. This was a very literal statement too since there was a wide hole in the wall that marked the man’s entrance. He had come to steal from the single father, and Damian had done what he had to in order to protect his daughter. Only, neither man had expected Damian to fire a laser beam from his hand. People were stronger, faster, and could take more damage, but lasers? That was something new.

Slowly, Damian lowered his arm and tried to sooth the baby absentmindedly. He had always been weak. He was scrawny and had never advanced his career past being a supervisor at a fastfood restaurant. He had been bullied throughout his youth and had been unable to save his wife when she had been hit by a drunk driver two months ago. 

So why was he suddenly so powerful? Since the Change he had outclassed those around him. The man at his feet had not been the first to cross him. People could survive gunshots now but Damian had broken bones with a childlike ease. Only one explanation came to his mind.

He had been chosen.

“Hush Amelia,” he whispered to the child. “Don’t cry. Daddy is going to make the world a better place for you. Don’t fear the chaos, for I’ll bring order. Just you wait and see.”

Previous – Chapter 1. A Good Day for An Apocalypse.

Next – Chapter 3. A Brave New World.