Curled against the wind, our bodies entwined, the heat of our hearts act as a coat warmer than a fleece. The wind whips at tail ends and scarf threads, like angry snakes in a pit, like lashes against our cold flesh.
We are offered a lift home. We could pay for a taxi or walk to a friends house, but we don’t. We stay where we are, never feeling closer. And never being as close again. Everything changes after this night.
So we enjoy this time together, while we can.
So I’m at this dog farm. Like a big house why they just breed dogs to make money? And I have to fight the two midget owners so that the dogs can be free to have normal lives because all they do at the moment is get pregnant and then die. So once I freed all the dogs they don’t go and be free they join back up with the midgets and form a freak show who come and get my by calling through my letter box…
I really need to stop drinking gin.
“It is believed that this is what humans called “trees”. Although now extinct, the tree was a beautiful and diverse member of the Eco system and its demise can often be attributed to the eradication of homospaiens on Earth. Incidentally, historic fossil evidence strongly suggests that it was actually the later generational humans who caused the destruction of so many of these beautiful organic beings that in turn led to the homosapiens being wiped from the face of the Earth. Originally up to 100 foot tall in some species, the tree was an incredible sight to see. Now, like this one, they rarely grow tall than three foot. It is believed that by the end of the century, they will be all gone and the Earth will never see life again.
That gentlemen, as the people of Earth would say, is why I propose to save the planet. And it would be relatively cheap to do.”
“What’s in it for us?” Asked the big grey blob that presided over the council.
“Well you’d be saving an entire planet and it is my hope, my belief that we may even be able to reintroduce humans that were bred in captivity back onto the planet. We could restart.”
“Will it make money?”
“Probably not,” said Alex with the bitter taste of honesty on his tongue.
“We’re not really looking for a charity investment right now. Please leave.”
“A bit more to the right right,” my daughter said to me.
“You you sure, pumpkin?”
“Daddy, of course I’m right!” She always knows what to say to make me smile. She’s knows I’m upset, I’m always upset on this day.
I step back and look at the painting, the left hand side is slightly higher than the right but it’s good enough and I’m not going to change it in front of Frankie, she’d never let me. “Thanks for that, honey.”
“That’s ok. Daddy, who is the picture of.”
“That’s your mummy, that’s my favourite picture of her. You were there then too, but you were only little.”
“I don’t remember that,” she said. The innocence of the world expressed in her voice.
“Well, you were only very little so that’s ok. I very nearly didn’t get this picture actually. I was going to go back to the car to get my phone but your mummy convinced me to leave it. I’m glad I did. She was always right, your mum,” I face her and she looks a little sad without her mum now. I always feel guilty talking about her because I know Frankie is losing memory of her fast. I don’t want her hating me for remembering the woman who have her life. The love of my life. “I bit like someone else I know,” I say as I start to tickle her.
Based on HDHC Photography
The alleyway had a reputation. It was dark, damp and there was a smell that couldn’t quite be explained, changing every time a breeze from the docks rolled in. The garbage men had now learnt to avoid the place, with rubbish pulled high and used needles in every other sack, it was like an STI lucky dip.
Only the worst kind of people were found there now. And that’s exactly why I’m standing in its mouth, bracing myself to go in. I check, as I have done three times already, that no one can see someone of my reputation enter a place like this and when I am confident that no one is watch, for the third time, I finally place one foot in front of the other and head in.
I can’t lie and say that this is my first time here and as I walk down the Tarmac, avoid in puddles of what I hope is water but know isn’t, the memories of my last two visits come back to me. The first time was, how long, less than six years ago now. I needed inspiration and I needed it badly. I’d heard about this place, as everyone had. A place where certain someone’s could get any kind of inspiration. It worked really well two, I was euphoric.
The second time was only two years ago. I needed it more than ever then. I was a mess, I was a nervous wreck and this was my ladder out of the pit that I had dug.
And now I was back, peering round the doorways to find my guy.
Continue reading I Need A Story | 20th November 2014 (23:59)
“And although this year will be a little different, I think it is always important to remember the ones that you love at this time. Christmas, no matter whether you believe in the religiousness of it all, is about love and caring and coming together. I think that is more important now, than it ever has been.” The old chap with the thick moustache gave a curt nod and shuffled off screen.
“Thank you Joshua, powerful words indeed,” he paused whilst he shuffles his papers and, looking back up at the camera over black rimmed glasses and under a slick black quiff, he continued. “Nows the part of the show when we would normally open up the lines of communication and invite you, the viewer to send in your love with messages and hellos to your loved ones, far and wide. This year, we’d like to do the same. Of course, we have been cut off the air in most areas now, but if any of you out there would like to get a message in, please do so by calling the number on the bottom of the screen now.”
The number appears on the screen and it fades to an email address and then fades again to a SMS number, giving to text rate at £1.50 per message, as though people still had that kind of money.
“I’d like to remind you that we cannot in fact read messages out that are quite frankly traitorous and treasonous on towards our supreme leaders and we will have to shut down the communication lines if this mass influx does not diffuse,” he looks at the camera, then at his notes. His fists clenched and then he added, “no matter how right they are. Fascists! Rise against them my fellow man, fight the fascis….”
The screen goes black. There is no sound but the gentle hum of the television.
“I do apologise for the slight interruption there guys. It would appear that… Erm… We had an operative from an enemy state planted in our media to deliver false messages,” she said.
Thump thump. Thump thump what makes us alive?
Thump thump. Thump thump is it our hearts, beating?
Thump thump. Thump thump or the blood that it pumps?
Thump thump. Thump thump is it our brans who regulate the heart?
Thump thump. Thump thump or the sight of a loved one that makes it skip?
Thump thump. Thump thump perhaps it’s fear, that makes it flutter?
Thump thump. Thump thump or even the body that protects if?
Thump thump. Thump thump is it our superior intellect?
Thump thump. Thump thump or is it a greater being?
Thump thump. Thump thump or maybe it’s all just a computer game that someone else is playing?
Thump thump. Thump thump or, perhaps none of us ever really live?
Thump thump. Thump thump
Young Ronald fled from the town as soon as he was old enough. He did not say good bye to his parents, who were often as bad as the bullies from school, and he had no friends to bid farewell to, the bullies saw to that. So Ronald left one night, and he was never seen near his home town again.
For years after, Ronald, not trusting society to bully him wherever he went, lived in woodland, and scrubland, and mountain ranges and back to woodlands. Anywhere and everywhere that he could roam free and unmolested was his home. He learnt how to hunt from watching the city slickers from afar, learnt how to warm himself and how to cook the food he caught. The only thing he never did do, was learn to shave.
As he roamed from place to place, Ronald became haired and hairier. He became more menacing and aggressive and ape like. He was a beast before his 25th birthday. Seven long years in the wild, seven blistering hot summers as he swam in streams and hunters with bears and seven bitterly cold winters where he foraged for food with the wolves and hid in unoccupied caves and burrows at night.
Before long, Ronald was dead, and in his place, the true Bigfoot had taken his place.
With language no longer to his memory, at 25 years old, Bigfoot was a grunting shuffling mess. Hunters shot at him, if ever they were lucky enough to stumble across him, tourists and ramblers would run in fear if their paths ever crossed. He was alone and yearned for company.
A chance meeting in the summer of 1976, found the animal that had once answered to Ronald, stumble across a young couple, sunbathing by a shallow pond. As Bigfoot watched them, he saw that they were very much in love, with their bodies glistening from their afternoon swim, they lay dosing as the sunlight shone off their youthful faces. Bigfoot watched them for a while, the young woman especially, the bounds of her breasts and the curve of her hips enticed him. He was acutely aware of the smoothness beneath her bikini bottoms, a curiosity arose in him.
After a time, when he was sure that they would not hear his approach, he made his way to the clearing where the young couple soaked up the rays. A smile on both of their faces.
Bigfoots shadow fell on them, and it wasn’t long before their eyes flickered open, looking to the clouds, wondering why their fun had ceased. Once adjusted, their eyes met Bigfoots. He had only eyes for the beauty that had found her way into his summer woods, until the man she was with screamed at the site of Bigfoot.
Bigfoot turned to face the screaming man who’s lungs must have been on fire. He recognised the screamer immediately.
His old bully, once upon a time, the boy.
Bigfoot roared, as the animals had taught him, he reared, high, high, higher. He was angry and was distraught. He was ready for murder. His heart raced in his chest, the thundering of that muscle against rib cages was deafening.
Continue reading Bigfoot of the Tundra Part 2 | 17th December 2014 (22:51)
A thousand hunks of metal, chugging out burnt fossil smoke, melting ice caps and allowing their drivers to get fat with disgrace. Tail to bumper, bumper to tail, no one could move.
Drivers were asleep at the wheel, but for once it didn’t matter, there was nowhere to go. Pizza and Chinese food and curry and Thai food were all ordered to cars, the drivers not able to move away from their precious cars.
Continue reading The Ring Road | 16th December 2014 (23:59)
“Bigfoot, Bigfoot, where are you, Bigfoot, Bigfoot, I’m coming to get you. Bigfoot, Big, ready or not, Bigfoot, Bigfoot, you’re hated a lot.”
“Stop it, Tommy!”
“You’re not meant to tell me where you are! No wonder they call you Big foot and not Big brain.”
“Tommy, stop it. You’re being mean.”
“Awwww, what you going to do Bigfoot? Step on my with your big foot, Bigfoot.”
Ronald, the boy who had been branded Bigfoot ever since his first day of school, and not allowed to forget it, began to cry. Continue reading Bigfoot of the Tundra Part 1 | 15th December 2014 (23:13)
Harry Daniel 