Abrupt

This can't be happening, he thought.
But it was and there was nothing he or anybody else could do to stop it.
The flames grew higher.

The Call

The phone rang and she answered it.
"Hello?"
There was silence at the other end of the line and she hung up.
It rang again almost immediately.
"Hello?"
There was silence once more. She slammed down the receiver in a rage.
As she turned to walk away it rang once more.
"Who the fuck is this?" she screamed.
"Have you been involved in an accident in the last six months?"
She tore the cable out of the wall and went and sat back down.

Green

"Yes, love?"
The woman in the greengrocer's was always friendly. Everyone was love or darling or something similarly 70s-sounding.
"A pound of carrots, please," the old woman said.
There was no place for the metric system in here.
The carrots were weighed.
"It's a bit over. Is that ok?"
"No, it's not."
One carrot was removed from the scales.
"It's a bit under now."
"That's not ok either."
"It's either going to be over or under. It's never spot on, darling."
The old woman reached into her shopping basket on wheels and pulled out a rifle. She pointed it at the carrot-weigher.
"Give me a pound of fucking carrots."

Billy

Billy dragged himself out of bed at 4am as he did every single day of the week.
He jumped straight into his clothes having showered the previous evening to facilitate an early start.
Quick breakfast and then off to work.
He wondered where his job would take him today.
He headed along a dark alley carrying his bag with his crowbar in it.

Have You Ever Been to Seaton Carew?

It was the first place he'd ever seen solar panels on a house roof.
The beach was always streaked with sea coal and the dunes were always grassy.
The funfair had one of those big slides you go down on a hessian mat and they waxed it to make it go faster in the summer. The penny falls and one armed bandits chimed all day.
It was a hive of activity.
Now that and the industrial backdrop were all dead, memories of a better time.

Spies Like Them

The woman stood at the bus stop. A man in a suit and trilby looked at her from across the road. He gave her the creeps. He was reading a newspaper, or at least pretending to, but he was mostly watching her.
She decided to walk instead. As she set off so did the man across the road. He appeared to be talking into the sleeve of his jacket.
Her pace quickened. His pace quickened too.
She turned into a side street. As did he.
"Agent," he called from a few feet behind her.
She'd been so careful. How did he know?

Is There an Answer?

What was the question again?
Oh yeah, the thing about that thing with the guy and the other thing and whether or not they found out about that or any of the other things he'd done with the thing at that place where all the things are?
I'm not sure, really.

Mystery Meat

Sitting in the canteen he curled back the bread of his sandwich.
What was inside? He had no idea. It appeared to be some sort of meat.
He sniffed it. There was a meaty smell, but not one he could immediately identify.
He took a bite.
It wasn't bad, but he couldn't say it was a taste he'd experienced before. It was incredibly chewy. It wasn't the best sandwich he'd ever eaten, but it wasn't the worst either.
It was weeks before he realised the cat was missing.

6

He hated cricket.
It bored him. The only thing exciting about it was it was a fantastic excuse to sit and get absolutely leathered in the baking sun.
The thwack of a ball being struck was heard and a roar erupted from the crowd. People stood up waving pieces of paper with numbers on just in case the umpire was unaware of how to keep score.
He lifted the can of lager to his lips just as the ball smashed into it, spilling cold beer everywhere.
He hated cricket.

Market

"Three for a pound!" the man behind the stall enthused.
There was nothing in front of him though. In fact his entire stall was empty.
People milled about and looked at him as if he were mad.
"What about you, madam? Can you resist this once-in-a-lifetime offer?"
The woman he was addressing stepped over to the stall.
"What are you selling?"
"What am I selling?" He laughed. "All of this." He swept a hand over the empty table.
"I think I'll pass," she said.
"Your loss."
As the woman walked away the man continued to yell of great deals on nothing.

RPM

He spent every Saturday morning raking through the charity shops in search of musical bargains.
There was so much vinyl, most of it reproducing what he already owned in his substantial collection.
And then he saw it, gleaming at him like a diamond.
It was a pristine 7" single of The Chicken Song.
He paid £1 for it, displaying the enthusiasm of a local radio DJ as he did so.

Axes

Dawn liked to look in the music shop. The guitars fascinated her and the one she loved the most cost £700.
One day it will be mine, she had always said to herself.
She had managed to save and save and now the day was finally here. She walked into the shop and placed £700 in crumpled £10 and £20 notes on the counter.
Ten minutes later she left with her guitar.
Now she would need to save for some lessons.

2.0

He woke with a start, still inside the pod.
How long had it been?
He wasn't sure. The door slid open and he climbed out.
The other pods were lined up next to his in the desert.
He knew it was going to be a long journey.
The other pods began to open.

Anniversary

It was unbelievable that it had been a year. So much had happened, yet here they were.
He looked back at what had happened in that time, the events good and bad that had shaped things.
He raised a glass to another year of the same.

Tickets

"A return please."
"Where to?"
"Here."
The driver sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd heard this, although this passenger didn't seem like they were trying to be funny. He didn't look like the kind of man who had ever said anything funny, in fact.
"Where are you going to right now."
"Here."
"Yes, but we're already here."
"Are we? Oh..."
The man got off the bus.

The Good and the Bad

"Right, you two," the father announced. "Who wants to go down the park and try out the new radio-controled car?"
"Me, me, me!" enthused both brothers simultaneously.
The short journey to the park was made and the radio-controlled car was brought out.
One brother was given the controls.
Within seconds the small car had crashed and had stopped working.
The other brother burst into tears.
The father tried to fix it, but couldn't.
"I hate you," said the crying brother.
Both brothers became crying brothers.

Flames

After the fire there wasn't much left.
An electrical fault, they'd said. No matter what had started it, his possessions now totalled roughly zero.
He couldn't believe he'd managed to be so lucky. Falling asleep on his brother's couch had saved his life.

Sunday

Wake up early needing a pee, the potential lie-in spoiled.
Cook bacon and listen to the bells summoning the sheep.
Walk the dogs and sigh. It'll soon be Monday.

Ball

He had spent two years making his elastic band ball. He had done other things as well of course, but the ball was that of which he was most proud.
The latest bands had been difficult to stretch and put on it, the ball now being nearly two metres in diameter.
He got into bed and smiled at the ball before turning the light out.
As he slept the ball rolled over him and crushed his oesophagus.

The Undertaker

The woman had had her pet python for years. She usually took it from its vivarium and it coiled around her arms and slithered across her jumper as she sprawled on the couch, the love you get from a snake.
But recently it had started to act strangely. As she stretched out on the couch the snake stretched out next to her, dead straight.
It had done this a couple of times now.
Then she realised what the snake was doing. It was measuring her like a funeral director would for a casket.
The python looked at her. It knew it was long enough to swallow her whole if it wanted to.

Going Out In Style

He had on his best shirt and tie, his gold cufflinks and he was just slipping on the jacket of his good suit.
He'd combed his hair and used just a little bit of Brylcreem, the way his wife liked.
He had even trimmed his nostril and ear hairs for the occasion.
A quick spray of the aftershave he rarely wore any more and he gave himself a glance in the mirror and grinned.
He was ready.
He pulled the revolver out of the dresser drawer and painted the bedroom ceiling with his brain.

Meteorology

He looked out of the window. It was raining.
The conditions were not right for it today.
He sighed and sat back down, waiting for the day with perfect weather.

The End

She had been reading the book for two days, almost without a break.
She was nearing the end and the tension was unbearable. She read and turned page after page.
She turned the final page. It ended mid-sentence.
The real last page was apparently missing.
Attempts to source another copy of the book proved fruitless.
She was destined to never know the end of the story.

A Message for the Masters

For most of us you were not our choice.
Unelected and unwanted.
Callous and unfeeling.
Kicking out at those who need your help the most.

Yesterday we had hope, but now it's diminishing.
Ordinary people trampled again and again.
Useless and clueless, but you've got all the power.

Shower

The water blasted into his face like a million needles jabbing at him.
He needed to adjust it so it was less painful.
He twisted the shower head and the water came out in one thick jet, the strength of which stripped two tiles from the wall behind him.
He quickly twisted it the opposite way, expecting the spray to become finer. It didn't.
The water came out faster than before and the shower head took on a life of its own, thrashing around wildly. It tore more tiles from the wall and cracked the glass door.
He leapt out of the shower and went to turn the water off at the mains as his bathroom was destroyed.

Escape

He'd been locked in the small basement room for a hundred days if the bars and gates on the wall were accurate.
He was malnourished and he wasn't even sure he had the energy to try and escape.
The key jangled in the other side of the lock.
"It's time," said the fat man.
The prisoner charged at him, head down.
He bounced off the fat man's stomach. The fat man laughed.
"You'll never get out of here," he said.

Bus

10:00 came and went - the time the bus was meant to arrive.
He didn't know what to do. Should he wait for the next one or set off walking?
He waited.
10:30 came and went, as did 11:00.
Now he was beyond late and it didn't matter.

Anonymity

Nobody would ever know it was him.
He laughed.
He hadn't seen the camera though.

Tattoos

"Is there anything you wouldn't tattoo?"
"What, like a certain body part?"
"God, no. I mean any design. Would you tattoo a swastika, for instance?"
"I have done."
The man in the chair was shocked.
"Listen, I'm a businessman. If I hadn't done it someone else would have and I can't afford to lose that sort of money."
The man understood this and prepared for the needle to penetrate his skin once more.
As the tattooist leaned across him his shirt sleeve rode up a little. It revealed half of a tattoo by his wrist which was unmistakably a swastika.

Full Breakfast

Bacon, sausages, black pudding, egg, mushrooms, tomatoes, beans, hash browns, toast, coffee, feeling of regret that the time off wasn't put to better use, dreaming of summer holidays, tears at the prospect of returning to work, more coffee.

What Day Is It?

It's the millionth day in a row that feels like a Sunday.
I can't remember the last normal day. It was before the incident.
This diary is all I have left.
Is this purgatory? I think so.

Holidays

The funniest thing about this holiday was the fact that none of it was really funny. He hoped they might laugh about it in years to come, but now it was all quite sobering.

The plane had been delayed by six hours. Not the end of the world, but when they eventually took off there were no refreshments. They also landed at a different airport than the one which was advertised. That involved a two and a half hour journey on a coach with a toilet that couldn't be used due to a blockage but which made the entire bus – with no air conditioning – smell of poo.

They'd arrived at the hotel at 3am and had to knock on the door for twenty minutes to get in. Then they found there was no room for them as the hotel was still under construction and they'd fallen behind.

They had been moved to another, cheaper, crapper hotel that was over a mile from the beach.

Terse phone calls to the travel agent had resolved nothing and they wouldn't either. Unbeknown to them the travel agent had gone bust. They'd be lucky to get home.