The Doom

Originally written for 52storeys.com. A sci-fi thriller short story.

The trailing fabric of my coat flutters sporadically as my aching legs carry us away from doom. The tiredness wraps around my legs like a vine, tightening with each stride. I have used these legs for too long; this will be the last time. My companion, hard and mechanical, is held fast under my arm, its safety more important than mine, although totally dependent on my being there. I must stay alive so that it does. That injects something fresh into my muscles and I raise my head to face the oncoming breeze, allowing it to push against my eyes, water falling away from the cheekbones.

The streets of -usoBar- are bustling with the crowds of shoppers, ecstatic with the prospect of late afternoon shopping, many fresh from their beds, dressed in the latest fashions. The markets have been opened; the aromas of fruit, perfumes and freshly made clothes begin to dance around me, filling the air. Ahead the giant screens, embedded within the marble walls of the Great Hall of Trade, welcome the people in with pleasant, joyful music. I begin to face resistance in the crowd, the numbers are increasing. Smiling faces turn towards me and suddenly change to shock as they evade my path. This is all I get; most continue on their way, the smiles swiftly returning. We are quick to forgive, the people of -usoBar-.

Bearing Fruit

A short story I wrote last year.

I was conceived on a summer’s eve amongst the orchard near the house. I was separated at birth from the others and grew quickly with the space I was granted. Due to my healthy and nutritious upbringing I flourished, spreading my legs and doing as I pleased. I got used to the space, to being different, but whilst my freedom was at times refreshing I was always stood alone whilst they congregated half a dozen meters or so away from me, chattering, laughing. Far enough away that I couldn’t join in but close enough that I could hear their conversations. I didn’t really get to experience the things they did despite being taller and stronger but ultimately they were more attractive. Whilst men came amongst them every week to pick at their limbs for fruit, I simply endured, redundant in my spot. Often lonely I felt myself drooping under the weight of the air, not shared with a dozen other brothers all working together to please the master of the orchard.

One day the one called Danid began to wilt, he had not born fruit for 2 weeks and his skin was green with the sickness. I could hear the moan of his brothers through the tremors in the ground as the blood of life faded from him. He was the first of the brothers I saw die. A few more followed in the coming months, their lifeless hulk’s standing as they did before, only now they did not speak, their colour lost. I began to understand my youth; I would stand here long after many of the others had gone and beyond. As I contemplated this, a bird landed upon my skull and stayed there for a while simply observing all that surrounded it. It seemed content and as it took in the orchard, the big house in the distance and the hills beyond that, it grew and lit up in a way I never knew was possible. I decided I too would begin to take notice of other things in the orchard and delight in their difference.

The Soldier

It was a standard visit to the grandparents, more of an obligation than a mutual longing to see each other. Of course we wanted to see them. I mean, I got to sleep in a king sized bed and eat like a king too. Just, it would have been nicer if it was next weekend, and I’d rather it not be a two hour car journey to get there…and I’d probably miss Liverpool vs. Man U.

Grandpa could get on my nerves too. I don’t know if it’s really right to say that, him being my elder and supposedly ten times wiser than I am, therefore making any of my opinions invalid, as he’s probably seen and done everything there is to see and do in life, the universe and everything.