Mattress

Golden sunlight streamed through the slats in the badly painted shutters, leaking light onto the perforated mattress that lay forgotten in the dust. The mattress, which was a suspicious shade of grey, had long since been used as a dumping ground for dirty plates and audacious, semi-naked women, waking up to find their money gone and only their host smirking down at them. Although the bedroom itself was grubby, the rest of the house was almost palatial, decorated in only the finest and most fashionable styles.

Turtle Sachet

Prologue

Happiness is just a lick away.

It was a cold dismal night and the streets were desolate; as always. Towering abandoned skyscrapers - skeletons of what they once were - perforated the clouds, casting a permanent shadow onto everything. It never got completely dark or light in this place - the sun was old now. Everything was old. Once beautiful mirrors, now just shattered shards. A dark shifting fog crept its way between the buildings, watching the world. Watching everything.

Eddie gazed up at it all, his back against the damp pavement, and quietly sung a song he’d once heard at the dock. Wind, bitter and frosty trickled down his neck, forcing him to pull his coat higher around his ears. He’d gotten used to the cold; there wasn’t much heat anymore without the sun and with oil in such scarcity. It had come to the bit in the song where you whistled, but Eddie couldn’t whistle, he didn’t have any teeth, and so he just hummed.

Back at home his mother would be wondering where her son had gone and if he was ever coming back. She would be drinking her way through a bottle of whisky and crying because she couldn’t remember his name or her own and because she was a bad parent and she knew it. It wasn’t that she meant to be neglectful; she just couldn’t focus her mind on any one thing at a time anymore. Eddie brought food for the both of them by looking in the bins behind the fast food restaurants. If he had something to leave in return, he occasionally borrowed from those better off – he knew stealing was wrong.

Gobdang, it’s baltic here. He reached into a pocket and retrieved his final sachet, wondering if he was making a mistake by opening his last one. It would be a while until he could get another. With a shiver, he disregarded the future and tore it open.

A small turtle crawled out of the sachet and up his arm to his shoulder. Once there, it turned and smiled at him. He smiled toothlessly back. It licked him and within moments the lifeless alleyways contorted into indefinable shapes disintegrating into nothingness. The world was black and warm and wet. It was comfortable. It was happy.

1

Mr. Jitsu

“It’s a disgrace what’s happened to this world. It’s gone to shit.”

When no response was received, he continued.

“Just look at that throbo there. Out of his head on sachet. I should get my SA80 and do the world a favour.”

Nathan thought that there was probably a reason the grubby man was lying in the street and felt a hint of sympathy toward him. He mentioned no such thing to him though.

“Well, boy?”

Silence.

“Are you listening to me, boy?”

The back of a hand.

“Well?”

“Yes, Sir, those junkie scumbags make me want to puke my fucking brains out.”

There was a startled pause during which Nathan’s father seemed to consider if his son were mocking him.

“Good, good. Me too, son. Me too.”

He glared at all the little windows high above him, furious that they had to walk through this part of the city. His face was contorted through the years by his lack of comfort with anything he encountered outside of his box. His features were almost as harsh as his views and in his view almost everybody should be shot. The man on the floor was smiling and singing to himself. He looked happy in a half-starved kind of way. Nathan doubted the man had eaten in the past few days.

“The problems really started when they legalised sachets. They sell them in vending machines now, did you know that?”

Nathan nodded, paying little attention to anything except the man with no teeth. He looked so cold. He looked up suddenly, straight at Nathan and grinned. It wasn’t an unfriendly grin, but with the lack of teeth it made him look ghastly. Nathan subconsciously shrunk back as the man slowly got to his feet and dragged his way through the streets, stumbling occasionally. He was still singing.

*****

The sea of cardboard boxes and plastic sachets filled the deserted wasteland like a rubbish tip in summer; a surreal Tartarus. Grey dust fell from nowhere in particular onto nothing in particular, making everything look dead. Clive just gazed at it all; at his empire, his universe. He was the inventor of the low-budget accommodation now used throughout the world to house those living in penury. Some (generally low status celebrities and pretentious students with too much money) lived in the superior alternative which was lined in bubble wrap - cold, but “fashionable”.

Clive despised fashion, and completely failed to see the point in it. He did, however, see the point in making money and “off the wall” housing estates were proving to be very lucrative indeed.

A female voice emitted from a small machine on his desk.

“Mr. Gilliam – a client here to see you.”

“Who is it?” There was a pause.

“Mr. Jitsu.”

Clive was silent for a moment or two. He sent a quick prayer to God, Allah, Vishnu and Satan, realising that now was probably not the time to become polytheistic.

“Tell him to wait a moment.”

“He’s already on his way.”

Cursing, Clive opened the window to his office on the 42^nd floor and leapt out.

Emo Nation

He stood by the window gazing into the deserted grey street. Nothing was moving and everything was grey.

Grey and bleak.

Grey and bleak.

The only colour was of the tiny yellow flower in his hand. Clouds swirled around the rooftops like a wolf. Searching and hunting for its prey.

Searching and hunting.

Searching and hunting.

For some reason he could spend hours just staring out into the empty fields beyond, looking for something that could tell him why he felt like this. Why he felt so empty. But nothing ever did. Every day was the same. The same high, the same lows. And there were a lot of lows. He could never quite put a finger on what he loved so much about the way the sky seemed to just open up whenever he looked at it. He wasn’t sure if it did this to other people. He didn’t care. Sighing, he walked away and sat on his floor, staring up at his fairy lit ceiling. They danced around like drunken dragonflies and span on their toes. He didn’t mind them doing this, it made him feel strangely calm. He liked this calm. The calm that flows over you like a huge black blanket pulled over your head. You’re told not to worry because it won’t make any difference. And he was used to it now anyway.

“Get up.”

He did so reluctantly and walked to his chair where he sat down heavily.

“Yes?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

“Oh. Right.”

The door shut and he was left alone once again. He never properly understood why his parents married if they didn’t love each other. Glancing towards a sharp implement, he knocked it in a drawer.

I hate myself.

It was true. He did. He hated everything about himself. Everything from his fake coloured hair to his addiction to self-harm. Everything.

I’m so, so sad.

There was a knock at the front door, which he ignored. Somebody downstairs answered it and called him down. Dragging his legs behind him, he stumbled to the kitchen. His mother stood next to a tall dark-haired man.

It’s true what she said. Everyone does go through life silently scared.

*****

“I don’t like talking about myself. Otherwise I’d tell the truth when I say I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Crap small talk isn’t it? ‘Hello, how are you?’, ‘Oh well, you know, I’ve tried to kill myself every night for the past 3 days, not much.’”

The Story of David the Butcher Boy

Once upon a time, in a place not all that far from where you live, was a village called Felbon. You may have heard of it and you may have been there. Felbon is a very small village with only a few families who live there. Among them was a family with the last name ‘Peach’. Remember this family, as this is the family this story will be about.

Now, along with the few families who lived there, there was also a butchers shop and it is this butchers shop I will be basing this story. The butchers shop was not very large, but rather small, with only two counters; one for meat and one for cheese and bread. Now, if you will kindly remember back to the family with the last name ‘Peach’ and I will tell you about their family and how they lived in this very butchers shop.

Firstly, there was Daddy Peach and he used to cut meat but nowadays mostly dealt with the complicated things like money.

Then, there was Mummy Peach and she was big and strong and handsome and all the men loved her and thought her very beautiful.

Simon Peach was big and strong like Mummy. He didn’t have a lot of hair and he always wore chequered shirts and silly ties.

David Peach was the specialist Peach and it is David Peach this story will be focusing on.

David was a little man who looked a lot like his brother in that he didn’t have very much hair and always wore chequered shirts and silly ties.

*****

Once upon a time in Peach’s butcher shop, David was bored.
“Mummy, I’m bored” David cried.
“Here, David” said his mummy, “take this plate of sausages round to the cheese and bread counter.” David, being the good boy he was, didn’t want to say that he didn’t want to do something boring like that, so he did as he was told and took the plate in both hands. As he left the shelter of the meat counter, he noticed a new face behind the cheese and bread counter. A suspicious new face.
David decided he didn’t like this new visitor, whoever he was. Why should this new visitor be allowed to serve customers when he, David, was 45 and still not allowed?
“Hello, you must be David,” said the suspicious new face.
David didn’t return the greeting in case it was a trick, so he carefully slid the plate of sausages onto the counter.
“Thank you, David,” the suspicious new face said with a smile.
“Who are you?” David asked.
“Well, I’m Steve” said Steve.
“Oh,” replied David.
“Would you like a maple and pecan slice?” asked Steve.
“No,” said David, taking three.
“Are those for Mummy?”
“Yes.”
David padded softly back to the meat counter, the maple and pecan slices tucked safely in his butchers pouch.
“Shut up, will you?”
“Oh, look, I’m Simon!”
“I do not have my sleeves like that!”
“I have big muscles and I’m all strong.”
“Stop it! My arms don’t fit properly, these sleeves are too small.”
“My arms are too muscular for sleeves!”
“STOP IT!”
David was shocked. There were some men behind his counter.

The Serious and Possibly Dangerous Effects of Taking LSD

PROLOGUE

Quies-etis Amoenus

This is perhaps the only place anywhere in any universe where almost without exception, every single living; respiring organism retires.

This is the Quies-etis Amoenus.

The Dream Land.

Everyone goes there at some time or other, and this is without fail.

The only other place of course is Enfer, Infierno, Hölle, κόλαση, ад.

For those of you who speak neither French, Spanish, German, Greek or Russian, this place is known more commonly to you as:

HELL

* * *

Objects floated past Tom's head, taking on ghostly, ethereal forms. Tom gazed at them curiously, wondering if they were real or simply creations of his mind amplified by what he had taken. He was wondering if he’d ever get out of this dazed half-dream when a tall man, seemingly made from darkness and sewn together sacks moved elegantly yet slowly towards him. He had two dark gashes where he assumed eyes were looking out of; though Tom could see none. Another split appeared, giving the impression of an opening mouth....

GOOD MORNING TOM. I AM THE SANDMAN.

The Sandman pulled out a sack. It was filled with sand. He poured it over Tom’s head.

Tom began to fall into a sleep he knew, and didn’t care; he would never awake from.

Chapter 1

The room was dark and cosy. All the lights were off except for the bedside lamp on the little cupboard under the window. James yawned and typed his goodbyes to his friends before signing off for the night. He stood up to his full height of 6”2. A single glance in the mirror told him he wasn’t well. His skin was pale for one with such dark features which made him look unhealthy at the best of times. He swept his straight black hair out of his midnight eyes and climbed into bed. A moment later his mother entered the room.

“Night, James.” She was tall, like him, and only slightly plump. A head of grey hairs bore the only evidence of the stressful life she led.

“I don’t feel well.”

His mother looked at him hard. Her intense eyes that James had inherited from her cut through him like the gaze of hungry wolves. She finally replied with a smile.

“You’re fine dear. If I didn’t know your incredible acting abilities, maybe I would have given it more thought.”

James stared blankly at her.

“Mum, you know I can’t act. I completely failed drama.”

She grinned at him.

“You say - the boy with five Oscars!”

James sat bemused. “What?”

She waved her hand towards a shelf in his room. Sure enough, there were five gleaming Oscar’s leaning smugly against his wall.

“I’m dreaming,” James decided firmly, and went to sleep.

“Sleep well dear…” His mother said as she turned into an oddly shaped blob named Marvin…

Chapter ? - Bew

James awoke with a start. It was perfectly normal for him to have strange dreams, but he always hated the ones featuring his grandparents wrestling in anti-wrinkle cream, wearing provocative lingerie. He looked around to find a world quite unlike anything he had ever seen. If he was dreaming, he was worried his sanity would never quite be entirely returned to him when he woke up. For one, he was up a tree. It wasn’t uncomfortable either, but he decided he couldn’t spend all day up a tree where he didn’t know where he was and what he was doing there.

He climbed out of his tree and put on some sardines that happened to be passing.

“By golly!” said the sardine as it turned into a nibbled looking penguin. “You are one messed up little boy, aren’t you!”

James glared at it until it spontaneously combusted, and wondered what the hell was going on. He walked, and as he did so he found an interesting looking teapot wearing a sombrero, and conversation began.

“What’s going on?” James asked the teapot politely.

“You’re on a trip, dear James,” it replied with a tea-looking grin.

“Why?”

The teapot flew over James’ shoulder, poured him some tea and flew back.

“It’s what happens if you take acid, my dear child.”

James thought back to when he took the LSD. He remembered sitting in his room, thinking about Jennifer and putting the patch on his arm. He remembered wondering when something would happen. He remembered his mother turning into an oddly shaped blob called Marvin.

He wondered how he had known the blob was called Marvin.

He remembered talking to a flying teapot and then remembered he still was. He looked around for it, only to find it had emptied its contents on his head and flown off with a masked moustache.

“…” James muttered.

A few moments later he found himself in the company of an orange tinted GM cow.

“Moo.” Said the orange tinted GM cow.

James stared at it and wondered what he should say. He decided to moo back.

“Wise move,” said the cow. “Lick your elbow.”

James did so, realised what he had done, licked it again, and realised why it had been decided that ones elbow shouldn’t be licked.

“Eurgh!” he said, and spat it out. “It tastes like Skoda!”

The cow agreed and played him Gymnopedie No1 on classical acoustic guitar with a lamppost.

James waited until the cow had finished, applauded, and then asked for the cows help.

“How can I stop this trip and get home?”

The cow thought about this a long time. Considered cheesecake a longer time, and then decided to tell him.

“I don’t know,” The cow told him. “Follow the yellow brick tortoise and he will lead you to something. He usually does.” And with that, the cow gave a pop and vanished.

“Great help…” James mumbled to himself.

He looked around for the yellow brick tortoise and wasn’t at all surprised to find it crawling slowly up the leg of a giant worm. He sighed. Things didn’t seem to be getting any easier. He approached the worm carefully, so as to avoid stepping on its teeth.

“Excuse me, but could I possibly borrow your yellow brick tortoise?” he asked the worm politely enough. The worm scowled at him.

“This is my tortoise, James. Why should I give it to you?”

It was a fair enough question; the tortoise did not belong to James.

“It doesn’t matter, it was just a question. It just means I can’t get home...”

The worm fluttered its eyelashes at him for a few minutes. James looked at it imploringly to stop. When it eventually did, its teeth dropped out, its eyelashes malted and its legs shrunk into its wormy body under the ground. It had a satisfied look on its face like a small child with a clean nappy.

“I’m sorry for my attitude. My name is Barry. I am Barry the Worm.” The worm said this as if he had expected James to recognise the name.

Instead James stared blankly at it before saying, “Lovely name, truly beautiful. Can I have my tortoise?”

The worm was taken aback that James was not already worshipping him and licking his peristomium. “Why aren’t you already worshipping me and licking my peristomium?” It asked.

James stared at it.

“Look over there! A giant birdie!” he cried, grabbing the yellow brick tortoise and running off with it.

James placed the tortoise on the ground and watched it carefully, hoping it wouldn’t be as slow as he expected. Thankfully it wasn’t, and led him through a field of stick men. They were just leaving when James heard a Bew from nearby.

“Bew!” It said. James searched for what was making the sound, and found what could only be described as a spleen.

The spleen smiled at James and he picked it up. It bewed at him.

“Can you talk?” James asked the spleen.

“Yes of course I can fucking well talk, you insolent shit!”

James dropped it in surprise.

“No need to get angry…” he mumbled. The spleen apologised.

“Look I’m fucking sorry, okay? It’s just I’ve lost my censor. You don’t happen to have one do you?” It said, looking doubtfully at James.

“Erm…No… Sorry. Look, I’m following this yellow brick tortoise. Maybe it can lead you to it?”

The spleen studied James carefully and seemed to be satisfied.

“Fucking hell, you fucking weed! Fine, I’ll come! But only because you won’t ever fucking make it without me!”

James figured this was how spleens talked, and so decided not to take offence. For the first time, James looked at it properly. It looked like a badly drawn cat. Its eyes were too far apart and it had no nose, giving it an adorable look. It was bright pink and glowing slightly.

“Oh, by the fucking way,” the spleen said. “My name is Bew.”

“James,” said James.

“Well then, James,” said Bew. “If we’re going to be travelling with each other, you best be telling me why you’re following this yellow tortoise made of brick?”

James shrugged.

“I’m bored?”

The spleen cursed sharply.

“I want to get home,” James said simply.

Bew coughed.

“Well that’s a bit of a waste…” he muttered.

James asked why.

“Why?”

But the spleen just rolled its dots nonchalantly.

******

“I’m just going to check on James, dear,”

James’ mother knocked softly on his door. “James, darling? Are you awake?” She opened it slowly.

James was topless, and hunched over. He was covered in sweat and shaking uncontrollably.

She went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“James, are you alright?”

As she turned his chair to face her, she saw with horror, the syringe deeply embedded in his arm…

Chapter ? - Sally

The world was dark. Nothing moved nor made sound. James knelt down and whispered to the spleen.

"Bew." James hissed. "Bew, what's going on?"

"I don't fucking know." It replied solemnly.

James felt around for something that would explain anything. He looked up. The sun was slowly rising a dark, vermillion, red. It shone a little light onto James and Bew, and also on a nearby tree.

The tree was blackened and twisted. So twisted it looked more like barbed wire than anything else, and its colour reminded James of a persons heart; blackened with hatred and jealousy and anger.

Underneath the tree sat a girl. Her long dark hair flowed freely over her shoulders and her autumn red dress covered her and the floor around her completely.

Harps played tunes of glorious wonder, inspiring the very soul of James. He knew he loved this mysterious girl, whoever she was…

James looked down. The spleen was deeply concentrating on playing the harp. It was very beautiful what he was playing, but it was also rather cheesily romantic, and it was starting to make James fall in love.

"Bew…" James said, trying with all his might to prevent his body from falling into the arms of the beautiful girl. "Bew, please…" The spleen carried on playing. "Bew…stop…please…?" The spleen ignored him.

"BEW!"

"Hmm? What?" the spleen awakened from his own trance and gazed dazedly at James. "Oh…sorry…" it looked at him for a few seconds, then its badly drawn face turned into one of sheer horror.

"James!? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO YOUR FUCKING ARM?!?!"

James looked down. His left arm had a hole in it, as though there was something stabbing him, though there was nothing…Blood started to trickle down his arm…

"James, is that supposed to fucking happen?!" cried Bew.

"I…I don't know…" James mumbled.

The bleeding had appeared to have stopped when he heard a voice. It was unclear, yet clear. It was far away, yet near…It was female, and a voice he recognised.

“James darling? Are you awake?”

James looked around for where the voice was coming from. Although it was almost impossible to see, James could tell it wasn't coming from outside his head.

“James, are you alright?”

“Yes I'm fine…” he murmured. “Who are you?”

He heard a scream from inside his head. Then more shrieks and screams emitted from his mind, making his skull throb. He stumbled under the staggering pressure it was making on his brain. Then it stopped.

The girl dropped from the tree in front of him, her black hair sweeping behind her as she fell.

"I'm Sally." She said simply. "James, what's going on?"

THE ENDING (I knowwww, I've skipped most of the story. It IS only a draft)

Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.

“James?”

James stirred.

“Sally?”

His mother held her husband’s hand tightly.

“I…”

James’ heart rate increased.

“Yes?”

Everyone watched terrified.

“I think I love you.”

James’ writhed violently for the very last time.

“I think I love you too.”

The life machine stopped with a tone.

The Weatherman

Clouds and rainbows shone and danced and shimmered as they played in their wonderland of azure skies and beautiful infinity. Everything was golden in this haven of eternity. Nothing was bad and nothing was wrong. It's hard to describe the sky when you're in it - actually in it. It's like trying to describe the world to somebody who doesn't exist.

He sat and gazed at the blanket sky, sighing in admiration of his creation. His kindly face, however, showed no expression other than the one it always wore, and that was of content. The clouds had always loved the Weatherman, and he had always enjoyed their company; for without them and the stars and the sun and moon, time would be a lot longer and lonelier for the man who lived forever.

The Weatherman, as he was known by to all in existence, was tall with soft features and happy eyes. He didn't have a proper name, because he wasn't a proper person, and so the Weatherman had had to do. He wore glasses, not because he needed them - his vision was so perfect he could see every single ecstatic face on every single snowflake - but because he liked them and the way that they looked. He reasoned that they made him look cleverer, though nobody ever saw him, and he was more clever than anyone else in existence. His hair was a soft, light grey and he fashioned a moustache on his upper lip, for when he had fashioned it in other places he had found it to look silly. He had once worn it on his shoe, and the clouds had laughed for years.

The rain was getting restless, and as much as he didn't like making the homo-sapiens (or humans as they had called themselves) unhappy, he didn't want the rain to feel under appreciated so he let the little droplets fly freely, singing their little song as they went.

The Weatherman couldn't sing. He often wished he could, but when he tried the grumpy rain clouds moaned at him for ruining their little darlings' beautiful voices. Today the rainclouds hadn't gone to watch their offspring on their trip down to Earth, and so he quietly sang to himself the song the raindrops always sang when they poured down from his sky.

Rain, rain, rain
Here we come again
Playing through your drain
Rain, oh rain, oh rain

Pitter patter, pitter patter
Chasing through the sky
Chitter chatter, splitter splatter
Good luck, my friends, goodbye

It always amazed him that the little droplets didn't mind that they would never again see their loved ones in that form. When questioned on the matter, they merely said that they would return as they evaporated, and so would once again see their families and friends.

Today was a very special day for the Weatherman as today was the first of May. This of course meant that the Sun had to shine and not a single droplet must escape from his precious blanket sky (because, as every child knows, the sky is not an expanse of space, but a huge blanket lain over heaven for the lethargic dragons to sleep upon).

An Unusual Relationship

It was an unusual relationship.


* * * * *


She watched his hands move. Clicking, flexing, running their way over the perfect white of the plastic keyboard, chasing each letter as it came to him. His hands were beautiful - the fingers slender and strong, the wrists elegant and supple. For a reason well known to her they were darker than the rest of his scrawny white person, totally covered in tiny scars. They were tanned because he often sat with his hands on his knees in the afternoon sunlight; his skin absorbing the soft warmth. His naked body sat before her, allowing her eyes to wander freely over him for the first time. He was pale – much paler than she had already assumed – and his back was marked with pubescent spots. He must have weighed a mere eight stone, no more, for he was tiny in body, though of average height. Dark hair brushed against his lower neck, ending in the beginning of tiny curls. She watched for a good long while before she eventually she dared lean towards him.
“How’s it going?”
“Fine. It should be finished soon.”
There was a pause while she waited for him to finish clicking.