As Beautiful Chloe gazed down into her open, little, black bag, the whole of her face slid off, into it, like hot saturated fat.
Faceless Chloe calmly zipped the bag closed and placed it on the bedside table, fumbled the cover off her bed and rolled under it, only then to wait impatiently for her sleep to arrive before morning.
The very most splendid train service,
never late nor leaves it’s track.
As it goes deeper underground,
accidentally switching to another line,
it stumbles across secret stations,
And now the return service is not so good.
While I’m in bed, I’m trying to sleep.
When I’m trying, I sometimes think.
No-one sleeps by counting damn sheep.
There’s too many and then they go out of sync.
Hang on what is that? Feels… Looks like bloody wool!
Did they escape? They’ve made a right mess.
That’s weird I can, I seem to be looking down upon myself, on the bed.
Oh! The covers have fallen on the… What the F***, It can’t be!
Where are my limbs? I’m killer sheep meal!
I am just but a head, a right knee, oh, and a heel?
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
‘Hello, I wondered if you c—‘
‘Help you? Yes I can’
‘Oh…ok great, well, are you able t—‘
‘Yes, yes I can do that for you.’
‘I’m sorry but can you please s—‘
‘Stop Interrupting! Sorry, no, I can’t possibly do that!’
‘Ok, well I’ll–‘
‘Go somewhere else?’
‘Yes! Sorry but, but do you do this t–‘
‘All my customers…yes I’m afraid I do, is it–‘
‘Annoying! Yes! Yes it bloody well is!’
‘Ah, but you’ve been here before you see, not five minutes ago, asking me for the same thing. Actually, every-day, you come in everyday and ask for something, we always have this conversation.’
‘Oh, sorry I–‘
‘No its fine, really, please come again.’
‘But I’ve forgotten what I came in for now!’
‘Precisely, it’s your conscience you see. I have lots of other customers identical to you and they never come in for the reason they thought they did. They just feel they need to.’
‘Really, what shop is this anyway? What do you sell?’
‘Shop! This isn’t a shop! No, no, no, this is, I mean to say I am…This is your conscience, like I was saying, we, we together are your conscience. It’s always like this. You see, your real-self is actually out there, outside of here, somewhere.’
‘Ok. Well if that’s the case I’m gonna go now, out there, Ok, get some air.’
‘Goodbye yes, goodbye, you were going earlier as well weren’t you, but then, yet again you needed some filling in, as always, anyway, goodbye it is then.’
‘Hello, I wondered if you can –‘
‘Help you? Yes I can.’
.
Di don dow wad iddis abowd davina dold thad
Id mades mead downed lide a ride didiot!
Bud da grade thig is idd gis you a grade readon da dee won!
Ad dis won made dew downed lide won…Atchoo!
At the slicing of the cake, Biff stealthily took shape as a hunting feline and inhaled all the helium that his lungs could muster.
Standing back, he felt repelled by the deafening scenes of frenetic gluttony. He opened his well-rested mouth to release some verbal pressure that impounded in his head.
The sound of his very first syllable caused the surrounding windows to shatter into thousands of shark-like teeth. Consequently, an almighty vacuum of air sucked him out of the house as if he were suddenly grabbed by a colossal hand. Up, up into the gaping void of turquoise sky he floated.
As he rose into the sky with his elation from escape, he could hear the sweet slow fade of lung-bursting screams; expelled from the children’s unending hellish choir in the house below him.
Wailing from their distress of flaccid balloons and exploding glass, Biff had gone too far this time; he floated higher than he had foreseen, Biff froze as hypothermia set his body.
His helium had long expired, he plummeted towards terra firma at over a hundred miles an hour and landed face up on the lawn of a children’s garden tea party. With Biff’s brains and guts having covered the sweet treats; a limp balloon remained frozen stuck to his hand, with two frosted words, Happy Birthday!
When the children screamed, Biff lay with a magnificent smile.
“I see.” Replied the Apprentice, he was unnerved.
“No, I don’t think you do see! I’m not dead yet! Get me…to…the…Hospital!” croaked the Dying Man.
His apprentice did as he was told; he hadn’t driven for a good few years, but felt the time was right to get back behind the wheel.
The Apprentice held the Dying Man upright, until he threw him into the backseat of his car, the Dying Man was now semi-conscious; with his treatment that bore resemblance to raw meat on a butcher’s slab.
The Apprentice then drove to the hospital with extreme caution. Slowly through the traffic he went, every wrong turn possible, he even began to enjoy the drive, he slipped an old John Williams Film Soundtrack tape into the cassette player for old time sake.
The Apprentice screamed, “Yeeees!” Suddenly, maniacal to the nostalgic sounds of Indiana Jones; whilst somehow, simultaneously, surprising himself at his over-reaction to joy.
He sang along, “Da dadada daa da da, dada dadaa da da da da da!” He cracked his imaginary whip out of the driver’s window and bucked his hips into the distressed driver’s seat of his knackered Ford Mondeo. The Apprentice had become somewhat hysterical; a middle-aged demon away with the fairies.
The music, so thunderous and active, so out of sync to his Mondeo’s pathetic speed that a mini epidemic of voyeurs were gathering like bacteria, and with more pace than the car itself.
Finally, two hours later they arrived at the hospital, music still blaring.
As soon as the passenger door was opened by a passing paramedic, the paramedics face rippled with distorted brass notes as she then bellowed, “He’s dead!”
As the day’s passed the result from the autopsy concluded that the Dead Man wouldn’t have died had he not spooned his own eyes out with his seat belt latch plate, and consequently stuffed them into his despairing ears; he simply lost the will to live, his illness was a mystery to all except one.
For many years after the Dead Man’s death they continued with their tempestuous relationship. To the Dead Man’s indignation his colleague had become one of the most successful entertainers on earth, and revoltingly rich.
The Apprentice was no longer the Apprentice, for he had gained worldwide fame and made an absolute killing from his live and often violent televised séances as Jenson De’ath.
(Man)
“You’re very tall?”
(Woman)
“Yes.”
(Man again)
“What I mean is you’re very tall for a woman!”
“Yes I know what you meant, yes suppose I am.”
(Awkward silence)
(Woman again)
“You’re quite small really…for a–“
“For a man, yes I know.”
He then shrinks to a size of which she can inhale him, and as a result, the woman grows one millimetre taller.
Every time this happens she finds her new size amusing because she never really found the time to grow-up.
Originally the man was never really into her, but now he was.
Jeff hated his hair,
It looked ridiculous,
never looked right, ever.
He had tried many styles
and many colours to suit.
One day he simply had enough,
Jeff let his real hair grow.
Finally, he braved the world,
and the world was horrified.
From the sight of his real hair,
he was stunned by laser-gun
egged and kicked,
pushed over and spat at.
And then kissed, passionately,
by a young girl dressed in red.
Jeff was then arrested
by masked men in black;
for disturbing the peace
and exposing himself in public.
If that wasn’t enough
he then found himself hair-cuffed
And led away,
quarantined as soon as thrown
into a pulsating orb.
Suddenly the town was
back on program.
As for Jeff,
He really did hate his hair.
Last weekend, Carol and Denny were a right randy little twosome.
They moaned together, writhing in their heavily soiled bed for two days straight.
All the while, stumbling about in their front garden, were rotting neighbours Bob and Jess.
Of which, were also moaning; all lumpen, stinking like mouldy old human paste in a bin full of used dog-s**t bags.
Apparently Bob and Jess had completely escaped Carol and Denny’s attention.
Until the next morning that was, when Monday’s blues bit them harder than usual.
I Eat Let.ers 