L E C TED

L
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ST
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ORIES
BY

SM
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L S TO R I E S
 Uncollected Stories
by ‘Small Stories’

Copyright © 2009 Small Stories

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 The Trapdoor
Fred Matthews was leaving his home to go to work when a torrent of
water cascaded down from the ceiling. He reached up to stop it. Soon
the water was past his ankles.

The floor felt soft and squidgy. He felt mud between his toes. He began
to sink into it and realised he was being swallowed.

His body kept on sinking until his legs emerged on the other side.

He was under water. The saltiness stung his eyes. It was dark and cold.
He couldn’t hold his breath much longer. Strange, glowing creatures
swam around him.

His body sank deeper.

He saw a door on the sea bed and turned the handle. The door opened.
The force of the water pushed him through.

When he opened his eyes he was back in his house, lying on the floor,
covered in mud and seaweed.
 AK-47
I was practising underwater somersaults and came up for air when I
noticed they were standing at the edge of the pool.

“Hey you?” the biggest one shouted.

I blinked at him and checked behind me.

“Me?”

“Yes you.” He beckoned me across.

I swam over.

His arm lunged out. He grasped my head like a grapefruit and thrust me
under the water. Another two jumped in either side of me. I could see
thousands of tiny silvery bubbles. I struggled to the surface, coughing
and sucking in air. The two in the water pulled me down. It wasn’t long
before I stopped wriggling.

I remember being pulled up by the hair, thinking it was over. “Terrorist,”

they shouted. “Terrorist! We’re going to punish you. You murdering
terrorist.”

Just as I gasped for air they ducked me again. I didn’t wriggle that
second time.

They left me clinging to the side. I heard them laughing. “Terrorist

scum!”

I had a pocket book of infantry weapons. I used to look at the pictures

and imagine myself on secret missions, infiltrating government
positions with my AK-47.
 The Worm Inside
It was the end of a school lesson in Lagos, and one boy’s stomach
ached. He went to the toilet but couldn’t go.

During class his bottom had been itching. He scratched his school
shorts but it continued to irritate him.

Before the end of the break, while the other children were playing, he
went behind a building.

There was something there, something alive and it was wriggling.

A wave of terror swept through him. What was this? The revulsion
made him feel ill.

He grabbed at it, trying to catch hold of the thing but his fingers kept
slipping.

Eventually he pulled it out. It was a giant worm.

He picked up a rock and smashed it apart.

At church that Sunday they sang to the Lord but he remained silent.
They had the Holy Spirit in them. He knew what lived inside him.
 Herman Marmaduke
By the time I met Herman Marmaduke he was no longer the famous
television star of ‘Herman’s Wild World’. No one knew him as the
‘tarantula tamer’ or ‘the man who swam with sharks’. He had withdrawn
from the world. Even his best-seller from two decades previously, ‘The
Way of the Wild Man’ was no longer in print.

Rumour had it that he sat in his garden and typed one sheet of paper
each day on his Olympia typewriter.

He wore a silk dressing gown, aviator sunglasses and a panama hat.

He drank endless glasses of tomato juice with Lea & Perrin’s. He
snacked on pickled jalapeño peppers. There he wrote, drinking juice
and munching peppers, happily typing away.

Long ago, he had fallen in love with a woman. She had left him for Larry
Waite, a local businessman known for his shady dealings.

The wedding between Larry Waite and Ms Honeysuckle Dillon (Herman

Marmaduke’s beautiful ex-fiancée) took place on specially rented land
next to Herman Marmaduke’s house. Loud speakers had blasted the
bride and groom’s vows into his garden to signal Larry Waite’s victory.
 Survivors
A virus leaked out of a top secret research laboratory. It turned the
city’s population into zombies.

I was involved with a covert military intelligence project, when I

ventured into the cellular interference force field. There was an
unknown disruption. The lab exploded and electrostatic discharge
knocked me unconscious.

When I woke the fail-safe mechanism had flooded the lab with toxic
gas, killing everyone.

But I was alive.

Everyone was dead at the decontamination area.

I found a car and drove home. My wife and children had caught the
virus. They tried to rip me apart.

I drove away.

That was two years ago. I met some people. We started a new life. We
are the survivors of an old world forging to create a new one.
Sometimes I walk into the desert. I need a break from all this post-
apocalypse cliché.
 Forbidden
They lived on the edge of a forest, by the mouth of the great river. The
houses were simple mud-box constructions. The temple stood on a hill
overlooking the city.

The father surveyed his home. They would have to build an extension
for the new baby.

His eldest son was kicking a stone.

“Father?”

“Yes, Son?”

“Why are some things forbidden?”

The boy’s father looked around to check no one was listening. “Son,”
he said, “The elders at the temple say what is allowed and what is not.
Who are we to question their wisdom?”

“I don’t understand.”

The boy’s father shook his head. “It is forbidden to question that which
is forbidden. This is the fourth rule of the temple.”

Just then his daughter drew a circle in the sand. The father ran across
and kicked dirt over it. His daughter looked up and cried.

“Never draw that sign,” he said, sternly. “That is the forbidden sign.”
 Duty
The friend I’d arranged to meet was talking to a man at the bar when I
arrived.

“It’s about duty,” the man said, finishing the conversation.

The word ‘duty’ annoyed me. “No one cares about duty,’ I said. “Look
around you.”

He frowned but didn’t reply.

“Take it easy,” my friend suggested.

I wasn’t in the mood to ‘take it easy’.

“Duty is an old fashioned idea,” I said. “No one cares about faith or
patriotism.” I looked him in the eye. “So Mr Duty ... What have you
given our glorious nation?” I laughed as he walked away.

Shortly before closing time I saw him leave. It was only then I noticed
his metal leg.

The rain came down hard as I walked home. A passing car slowed to
offer me a lift. It was the soldier. I ducked into the trees so he couldn’t
see my face.
 The Hermit
He lives in an old bear cave, wears a deerskin jacket. He carries a
rucksack with snake inside. The snake protects a poisoned apple. The
apple is his gift to perfect strangers.

On clear nights he watches the sky. The stars move through the
darkness.

The next morning he wanders through the forest eating berries. He

tastes the bitterness. He tastes the sweetness. It’s all the same to him.

He sees hikers in the distance.

“Fools,” he screams, and laughs crazily.

They watch him with surprised expressions.

“You’ll pay for your sins,” he shouts. “You’ll pay!”

He vanishes into the forest.

The hikers look at one another. “Did you see that?”

He watches them from the undergrowth. He listens to the wind and the
sound of leaves. He moves through the forest without leaving
footprints.
 The Boat
After lunch I went down to the cabin for a nap. The nausea was awful. I
needed to rest after a week of seasickness.

The others had mocked me. They’d turned it into a joke.

I must have been asleep for hours. When I woke I went up on deck. I
was confused when I got there because no one was around.

I thought the others were playing a trick on me. They must be hiding in
a cabin. Another of their jokes.

I searched every cabin but couldn’t find them.

I went on deck and began to fear something terrible had happened.

Maybe they’d jumped into the sea?

I had to discount the idea because it seemed so unlikely. Perhaps they

had gone somewhere in the dinghy?

It was still attached to the railing. It was only then that I noticed that the
anchor was up and the boat was drifting.

After a while I gave up looking and called for help.

No one knew what had happened. I can tell you it wasn’t me - they’d
done it to themselves.
 Roger
I met a woman in a pub. It never usually works like that. You know how
it is? You go out with your friends and you come back with them.

That night was different - I met Samantha. We had a laugh. It was like
we’d known one another all our lives.

I blinked and there we were back at her place. She offered me wine and
snacks and I sort of knew it was going to be different. We could talk
about anything. It was amazing.

We ended up opening a bottle of wine and reality started to slip away.

We were laughing so much she fell off the couch.

I looked at her on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“I love you, Roger,” she said.

“I’m serious,” I replied. “Are you all right?”

“I’m feeling so light ... like I’m floating.” She giggled. “I love you so
much, Roger.”

“You should get up from there,” I said. “Do you want me to help you to
the bedroom or sleep on the couch?”

“I love you, Roger.”

“Listen,’” I said. “My name’s not Roger.”

 Nemisis
All the people I’d wronged came round to my house at one Saturday
afternoon.

“You bastard!” they shouted. “You lying bastard.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry.”

I invited them in for a cup of tea and some home-made chocolate

biscuits.

“I hate you!” someone at the back shouted.

“I’ll pour you all a cup, right away,” I promised.

Someone hurled a tea cup. It smashed against my head.

“Forgive me,” I said. “I’ll never do anything bad again.”

“You cheated on me,” a woman shouted.

I didn’t recognise her – there had been so many.

Eventually they got bored of my apologies and went away.

I closed the door and smiled. I’d laced the biscuits with poison.

I glanced at my watch. This was going to be the best forty-five minutes

of my life.
 Inflatable
Daniel socialised with the senior management. People tipped him as a
man who was ‘going places’.

But things changed when he was passed up for promotion. Lawrence

Allberg, a man fifteen years his junior, got the job. Lawrence was a born
fighter, a political heavyweight.

Daniel sat alone at the barbecue. A group gathered in the kitchen to

gossip.

That week he’d dyed his hair to look younger but it made no difference.

He walked down the garden and stripped down to a g-string.

The children in the paddling pool fled in terror.

Everyone stared at him.

“What’s his problem?” someone said.

Daniel jumped into the paddling pool. The water splashed onto the
grass.

“Ahoy there,” he shouted. “Man overboard!”

 The Club
“You can’t come in,” the doorman said.

I wasn’t in the mood to take no for an answer.

“I don’t care how much it costs.”

The doorman shook his head.

I wanted to party. I’d heard great things about this place.

He smiled. “You really want to come in?”

“Absolutely.”

He stepped to one side.

Inside, the club was amazing. Some of the people looked like they’d
been in there for weeks. Others looked like they were trying to kill
themselves on alcohol and drugs.

I partied all night. By morning I was exhausted. People were being

carried upstairs on stretchers.

Eventually I was so tired I wanted to go home. I made my way to the

exit but the doorman blocked my way.

“If you come in,” he said, “you never leave.”

 The Check-Sum
Calibrate your thoughts. Be prepared to change your opinion at any
moment. Maintain an openness to the facts. Verify and go over them.
Repeat this until you are certain. Never become dogmatic about
information. The search for knowledge is not a religion, it is a belief in
the facts.

Everything can be recorded. Everything recordable can be quantified.

Everything quantifiable can be checked for accuracy. It can be checked
by a third-party. It can be rechecked.

When I attacked the man I was confused. He had lied to me. He made
me angry. I couldn’t help what I did. I lost my reason.

The police took me to an interview room. I refused to tell them

anything. Finally, I told them the truth.
 Afternoon
I didn’t want to cause any distress and it is with regret that the
ambulance and the police were required.

I’d been celebrating my new job and been a bit over eager with the
drink. The next thing I knew I’d stripped off my clothes and I was
running naked through the park.

In an unfortunate coincidence a religious gathering was taking place.

Two women collapsed. One of them was in a state of shock.

A man ran towards me. “You’re possessed by a demon,” he shouted. “I

will extract it from your tormented soul!”

A priest or holy man, or whatever he was, tried to stop the guy. They
got into a fight. While everyone watched I put my clothes on.

The ambulance crew took the woman away and the police arrested the
two men.
 HMS Unsinkable
As HMS Unsinkable, the legendary dreadnought of the Imperial British
Navy, listed to one side. The Captain, Henry James Richardson, toyed
with his service revolver. He caressed the hand-grip, which bore the
Latin motto, nil desperandum, or in English, never despair.

HMS Unsinkable and it’s loyal crew had survived the attack of the
miniature robot submarines and the human biplane torpedoes. Now, to
his great sadness, the ship was going to be scrapped.

He was tortured with anguish and this temporarily rendered him insane.
He had ordered the crew off the bridge at gun point and rammed the
ship at full speed into the rocks. Those land-lovers weren’t going to get
their hands on his beloved HMS Unsinkable.

He surveyed the scene before him - the crew desperately trying to

release the life boats, which he had sabotaged, while others attempted
to break through the bridge door.

All those waiting wives and girlfriends would be rapturously proud of

them.
 Picnic
I remember that day. We were having a picnic when Dean, my closest
friend, approached my fiancée with his suggestion.

Dean and I were like brothers. I could have trusted him with my life.

He told my fiancée I was being unfaithful. Of course it was a lie - I

adored her.

Worse still, she believed him.

“I love you,” he said to her. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she replied.

I return to the park every summer to picnic with my tortured memories

and foolishly devote myself to a love that has never been.
 Trolley man
I push a trolley around the office. I see the guy with the short hair
talking to the girl with freckles.

I know she likes him. I heard her whisper to one of her friends.

He likes her. I know that because he watches her when she goes to the
water machine.

I see the woman who steals the office coffee by pouring it into zip-loc
bags. She tiptoes to her desk in designer stilettos.

I see the guy who started last week. He paces along the window like a
caged animal.

Every day I push the trolley around the office. No one sees me.

You’re invisible when you’re behind a trolley.

 Kiss you
Sometimes, in the blur between sleep and consciousness I dream I’m
kissing you. Even if you don’t yet exist.

I know for certain you’ll be alive one day. Instinct tells me.

I can’t say for sure. It will probably be when I am dead.

Then it will be your turn. You will have this feeling. The feeling of being
in love with me even though I won’t exist.

You will never be able to find me.

I don’t know the colour of your eyes or the shade of your hair but if you
were here now, just for one moment, I’d lean across and kiss you.
 Waking up as Wittgenstein
I woke up today with a puzzling thought: when does one idea begin
and another end?

I lay in bed thinking about it. The more I thought the more I realised
things begin and end when we choose them too.

When does one entity become ‘that’ entity? It could be more than one
thing, many things. We interpret concepts - an organisation, an
institution, a body, a planet, a world, a nation, a village, a city, a town, a
school, a shop, a word.

Everything comes down to words. Words are the ultimate concepts.

It’s ironic that even mathematicians need them. They need language
and stories to make sense.

I look in the mirror and ask myself: How many reflections do I see?
 Phil Jupiter
They took Phil Jupiter to a party - or rather he took them because he
was driving.

They took him camping. Guess who carried the tent.

The friends wanted to go on holiday. He wanted somewhere quiet, they

wanted somewhere loud.

“Okay,” he agreed.

On holiday, as usual, they made fun of him.

They hired a boat to sail the islands. Phil stayed on deck while they
dipped in the sea.

He spotted a huge shark and he shouted and waved.

But they took no notice, merely laughing at him for having one of his
‘tantrums’.
 Money
If I had enough money I wouldn’t need to get up in the morning to make
breakfast. I could hire someone to come round and make if for me.

If I had money I wouldn’t need to go shopping because I could get

someone to buy things for me.

I wouldn’t need to clean my bathroom or kitchen. I could hire a cleaner

and stay in bed all day.

If I felt like chocolate cake or a glass of campaign I’d ring the bell for
service.

If I was rich I wouldn’t need to meet my friends. I could pay them to

visit me. I could give them cash to buy me presents.

I could pay someone to write stories while I’m in bed drinking

champagne and opening gifts.

I can see it now. I’d call up my ghost writer, and say, “Write me a short
story called, ‘Money’.”
 Frank Disturbing
Welcome to the shocking world of Frank Disturbing. He stands on the
corner outside the supermarket smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.

“It’s only marijuana,” he yells. “What’s wrong with a puff in the

morning?”

He walks to the library and asks, “Do you have the Kharma Sutra?”

The woman points to the health section.

He goes into the shopping centre and enters a ladies underwear shop.

“I’m looking for a sexy bra and knickers,” he says.

“What size?”

“Oh, different sizes,” he replies. “I’ve got three girlfriends.”

He laughs and runs out of the shop.

In the supermarket, he asks, “Excuse me, do you stock sheep’s

brains?”

The assistant shakes his head.

Outside, he walks in front of a road sweeper and drops litter on the

pavement.
 Internet
It was the summer of 1974, the last class of term. The air was hot and
the students wanted to go home.

The science teacher, realising that no serious learning would take

place, invited the students to have a discussion. “What science-related
subjects would you like to talk about?” he said.

Seeing as they were only nine years old he wasn’t expecting much.

One boy spoke about hovercrafts. The second liked rockets. The third
was interested in computers.

“I think one day everyone will have computers,” the boy said.

The other children laughed.

He boy continued, “They will all get connected up so we’ll be able to

see what everyone else is doing. It’ll be like a telephone but with
words.”

The teacher gestured for the pupil to stop.

The other children laughed again.

“Why would an ordinary person need a computer?” the teacher asked.

“Why would we need to communicate through computers when we
already have telephones?” The teacher looked around the class. “Does
anyone have a sensible comment this time?”
 Deviant
I had to do it. It’s an irresistible compulsion I get once in a while. Of
course I play it safe – breaking the law incurs punishment.

I usually leave the house after dark. The sodium street lights make my
actions less noticeable.

The rest of my family are safe in bed. Sometimes I think my wife

suspects but I’m too afraid to discuss it.

I don’t like being branded a freak or a pervert, which is what everyone

calls people like me.

I can’t help the way I am.

I sprint down the street. There’s another person doing the same thing.
Our faces are hidden. It’s too risky to reveal your identity.

Car headlights appear. I jump into the bushes. The vehicle approaches,
slows and stops. Two policemen get out.

“Come out you perverts!”

I stay where I am, terrified.

One of the policemen points a flashlight into the bushes. The other
person runs. The policemen wrestle the person to the ground. They cuff
the subject. “You are under arrest,” the policeman says, “for wearing
orange clothing in a public place.”
 Hawthorne
Hawthorne was always telling stories about his ‘war experiences’.

“When walking in a single file on a recon mission always stick to the

middle. The people at the front will be picked out by enemy ambush.
The people at the back will be taken out by a sniper. Always stick to
the middle and never volunteer for anything.”

Hawthorne often talked about his war experiences, although no one

was quite sure which war he’d fought in.

He claimed he’d been in the special forces. Whatever it was it was all
very secret.

He acted like he knew everything about phone bugging and military

surveillance.

But since his ‘military days’ times had been hard. He’d spent years in
dead end menial jobs and bouts of long-term unemployment. Now he
was looking forward to ‘Armageddon’.

Social collapse was ‘around the corner’. But he was prepared. And
when the end came he would have the knowledge to survive. He would
no longer be an unemployed loser who made up farfetched stories
because survival would become a full time job.
 One of them
He was writing a novel set in a macabre hotel. It was about how
employees try to impress the management by saying all the right
things. How they get promoted and yet can’t do their job properly. How
the ones who keep things running are overlooked.

The hotel was a kind of hell because the guests were randomly taken to
the basement and murdered. Everyone was too afraid of the sadistic
hotel manager to ask questions.

I could see the anger in his face as he explained the story. I guessed
the hotel was just like his workplace - without the killings, I hoped.

“Are you outside the system,” he asked, “or part of it?”

“I’ve got a mortgage,” I said. “I’ve got responsibilities and things to

lose.”

He looked disappointed. It’s a shame but we all have to grow up in the

end.
 Patrick V Morgan
Patrick V Morgan, special agent, man on a mission. He drinks cocktails
and fine wine. He spends his afternoons in restaurants eating calamari
and chatting up beautiful models.

He’s on an assignment to discover the traitor selling secrets to a

foreign power. Charm and a generous entertainment allowance will
uncover the truth.

It’s not all socialising with billionaires and gorgeous women. Patrick V
Morgan is a man of action. He is persistent in the face of terrible odds.

Part man, part myth - always a legend. Patrick V Morgan is loyal and
faithful (at least to his country). Any mission he takes on, he gives his it
best. He is willing to give his life for the cause and the mystery
surrounding him makes for great after dinner conversation.
 Custer’s last stand
Custer likes to go out at night and meet lovely women. They can’t resist
him flashing his shiny white teeth and dazzling personality. He claims
he has a pilot’s licence and runs marathons.

He’s clever enough not to use cheesy chat up lines. He’s the master of
eye contact and body language. He owns a book called, The
Psychology of Sexual Behaviour.

At first women think he’s glamorous. He never talks about his job as a
supervisor on a food production line. He lets them talk about
themselves or tells them about his time living in California.

He likes being invited back to their place. His shared flat is hardly
impressive. When they do stay there he tells them he’s the landlord.

They leave in the morning, regret posted on their face like a parking
ticket.
 The bath
There was a knock on the bathroom door.

“I’m in here,” I said, thinking it was my wife.

A man walked in. “Good morning,” he said, sitting on the edge of the
bath.

I looked up at him, shocked.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a passing friend,” he said, casually.

“What are you doing in here?”

He shook his head. “There’s something in the bath.”

I could feel something moving by my toes but I couldn’t see what it was
because of the bubble bath.

Then it happened. This hideous looking creature jumped out of the

water and onto my lap. It had a face like an alien with needle teeth. I
threw the shampoo. It missed.

The monster came at me again. I punched its head and it fell into the
water like a brick.

I stood up and screamed, “Get out of my house or you’re next.”

 The hit
My superior officer said, “Your assignment is to assassinate the
president.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.

My commander gave me a folder. “The president will be addressing the

nation at a televised meeting. You will assassinate him before he
begins his speech. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

There I was with my rifle all set up and the crowd roaring as the mayor
got up onto the podium to introduce the President.

I aimed the rifle. The cross hairs were perfectly between his eyes.
Suddenly, the view through the sights went fuzzy. I saw rioting, police
beating up protesters, shootings - terrible things.

I blinked.

The President was back in my sights again. Everything was back to

normal. The crowd was still cheering.

As I took aim and my vision went blurry again. I saw people in the
streets being lined up and executed by the police.

I shook my head and rubbed my face. When I looked through the sights
again I’d missed my chance.

Then the realisation hit me - I was a dead man.

 The lover
He woke every night at 3.00am and went to his computer.

He managed to do with without waking his wife.

Each night he chatted by text to his lover.

They had never met and he had never seen her picture but he was
passionately in love.

One day his wife woke up. She went downstairs she saw him on the
computer.

Although furious, she quickly and silently went back to bed and
pretended to be asleep.

The next morning she logged onto his computer and struck up a
conversation, pretending to be her husband.

The conversation was childish and trivial. She became suspicious and
plucked up the courage to ask a question.

‘Are you a bot or are you human?’ she asked.

‘What’s the difference?’

 The job
I get an interview. The woman from HR shows me to a computer. It’s a
multiple choice test. When I’m done she comes over and asks how I’d
feel about working for the company.

Then she shows me a confidentiality agreement and asks me to sign.

I read through it and it’s mostly innocuous stuff about keeping

company secrets. But there are one of two paragraphs that get my
attention. I need the job so I sign it anyway.

I turn up for work. I’m doing basic admin and I’m getting well paid for it.

I’m laughing.

Then I start seeing things in the documents I’m processing, things that
disturb me. I can’t get them out of my head.

I’m reading material that’s so disturbing I’m in a state of shock.

One morning I get up and walk out - I can’t even tell you why.
 The wreck
We used to meet in the woods, at the Wreck. The Wreck was an old
Ford resting on concrete blocks. That was our place.

The four of us had pledged an oath of loyalty when we were nine.

Two of us left the small town, two remained.

I went back to take a look at the old place. I was surprised how small it
seemed. I took the path behind the supermarket and went into the
woods. To my delight the clearing was still there and so was the Wreck.

The windows had been smashed in. The body work had been dented
and sprayed with graffiti. Someone had set it alight.

The innocence had gone.

 Coffee break
They stand outside the back door. Some of them smoke, others drink
coffee. I don’t know what they do all day – they just stand and talk.

There’s always something to talk about – a new procedure or a

manager that’s causing problems.

“I told you so.”

They nod in agreement.

They stand there are share their frustrations.

They never liked the guy who got promoted. He was always sucking up
to the manager.

“Look at Colin!”

“Ah, bless ... I remember him as a boy.”

How times change.

It used to be better years ago. The milk tasted like milk not like water.
Now everyone is obsessed with mobile phones.

They gossip about people as they come and go knowing that they’ll still
be there in ten years time.
 Roger Corbitt
Roger Corbitt heard a muffled voice. He shrugged and kept on walking.

Then he heard it again.

“Roger,” it said. “Is that you? Why don’t you stop for a moment and
speak to me.”

Roger laughed out. Either he was hearing things or there was a voice
coming from the pavement.

He bent down but there was nothing there.

“Hey! I’m here,” the voice said. It sounded close by. “Down here!”

Roger examined his shoe.

“Yes, in here,” he voice said. “Take off your shoe.”

Roger did as the voice suggested. He expected to see a little person in

his shoe but it was empty.

“Well done,” the voice said.

He put the shoe to his ear.

A hand shot out, grabbed his ear and pulled his head inside. When it
came out it wasn’t Roger Corbitt.
 The book of cliché
He arrived in his BMW and checked the time on his Rolex.

He’d been having a secret affair with his secretary. She’d just left the
guy she met on holiday the previous summer.

Last Thursday evening he was in a bar with a woman drinking

cocktails. She spoke about her job as a lawyer and her two year old
daughter Tiffany. The daughter’s father was in the army, he and his
partner had been separated for a while. When he was at training camp
one of the recruits didn’t make it through. That man became a heroin
addict.

The addict’s brother was a successful businessman and ran a chain of

restaurants. His wife used to work as a model. Her father liked good
food and wine. He died of a heart attack on holiday in Spain.

The man who pulled the body from the pool slept with a woman whose
husband was in the British army. The child grew up, went to art school,
became a painter and paid the bills by working evenings in a
restaurant.
 Managing the situation
They wear suits. They sit in the back of cars checking their email.

They are imagining situations, which could pose a threat.

They share their frustrations by phone.

I see them talking about their house in France, skiing holidays and
sports car insurance.

Their other phone rings. It’s the one for their private life.

“It’s nothing personal. It just didn’t work out between us.”

People don’t understand how tough it is when you call the shots.
 Federico
Federico picked his nose and out popped something unusual. When he
examined it he was amazed to see a diamond.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

He put his finger up his nose and felt around again. There it was -
another one and this one was twice the size!

There was something else up there. He felt inside his right nostril. There
was defiantly something there but it was too big to pull out with his
finger.

He went and fetched tweezers.

His first attempt to dislodge the object was unsuccessful. Whatever it

was, it was huge. The bulge in his nose was enormous.

To his disappointment out popped a child’s shoe.

 Numbers
Numbers were the only thing he believed in. Sometimes he wished he
was a mathematical manifestation. That way he could take any shape
or form by recalculating himself into a new possibility.

He met a woman who worked in a home for unwanted animals. They

had some pet ants that needed a home.

He admired the precision of ants. If he studied them he might be able

to deduce some kind of pattern.

The idea of him owning insects made her laugh.

He felt a strange attraction to the woman. It was the first thing he had
ever experienced which he could not put a number on.

Years later she asked him, “What did you think the first time I said, ‘I
love you’?”

He replied, “It felt like infinity.”

 Love can find you, digitally
Christopher Johnson got an email from a woman he’d never heard of:

I have a dream where I am standing in the kitchen and I am holding an

apple. My husband comes into the kitchen and we make breakfast
together. We eat waffles with honey.

I am sad because I have never been happy. Now I am happy and life is
like my dream.

Before I was tired of routine. Now I am free. I have great feelings for the
future because I am pregnant with my husband’s baby. I long for it to
be born so that I can carry it and love it. We have a house and a room
for the baby. This is my dream. It is a beautiful dream.

But it’s only a dream.

I am lonely. I look out of the window waiting for him. But my husband
never arrives. I am bored of waiting. I am bored of the routine.

I have another dream. I dream that my message will reach you. You will
come to me because you are tired and lonely. I am open to love.

Reply to this email and I will write back to you very soon. I want to hear
what you have to say.
 Train
Sometimes I sit on the train hoping I don’t get the dream. I commute to
work by train and often doze off.

Once I had a dream that I awoke at my desk. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was paranoid that something was wrong because my co-workers
were giving me strange looks.

I carried on with my work but they continued to stare. The whole thing
made me uneasy.

Then I realised that I was wearing my pyjamas.

Today I’m determined that I’m not going to fall asleep. I had a strong
coffee for breakfast.

Half way there and I’m yawning.

I can’t help myself. My eyelids start to close.

I’M NOT GOING TO SLEEP!

Maybe just a short knap.

My eyes close. I can’t help it ...

I open my eyes and I’m exactly where I am.

 The cure
I was late for work when I jumped into the shower. I tried out my new
bottle of Blueberry’s Shower and Shampoo gel. I washed my face and I
was delighted by the fresh scent. My skin felt alive and tingling. It was
an amazing feeling. I used it on my body and it was the first time I’d felt
really clean in ages.

I used it on my hair. The patented Super Cleaning Action formulae

sorted out my dandruff. My hair looked soft and shiny.

This stuff is wonderful, I thought. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I used the Blueberry’s patented action power to clean the bath. It came
out perfect.

I tried some on the sink. The grubby marks around the plug came off
without a fuss.

I was so impressed I used it on the kitchen surfaces. They came out

sparkling.

Then I wiped the floor tiles. They looked like new.

I ran outside and cleaned the car. The Blueberry’s gave it a superb
waxy sheen.

Then I noticed that the road looked lacklustre. I got the Blueberry’s out
and in no time the tarmac was looking great.
 Simon
Simon had long hair, styled greasy like a rocker. He wore the same
clothes all week.

He spent his days travelling on the Underground defacing

advertisement posters - inking the eyes in red or blacking out glistening
white teeth.

“You don’t understand,” he told me. “It’s all lies and crap.”

“Life is more complicated,” I would reply.

He would shake his head. “You don’t get it!”

I never got the chance to tell him, “Simon, you’re the one who doesn’t
get it.”
 The cinema
Bret walked into the cinema to watch his favourite film for the eighth
time. He couldn’t help speaking out the dialogue.

The other people in the cinema told him to shut up. Finally, someone
complained to the manager and he was asked to leave.

He stood outside the cinema reciting the rest of the film, perfectly in
sync.

The whole thing was odd because the character in the film gets thrown
out of a cinema for doing the same thing.

A woman walked past and scowled. “What are you so happy about?”

“Life,” he replied.

This was even more bizarre because this happened in the film too.

A man passed by with a small dog.

Just like in the film.

No similar coincidences happened to Bret for the rest of his life.

 Escalator
It was raining hard by the time I left work. I usually finish at about
7.00pm. Most of my colleagues leave at 5.00.

It’s a few minutes walk to the Underground. I’d forgotten my umbrella

so I pulled my coat tight around my neck.

I took the Tube to Waterloo station. My mood was somewhat

melancholic. I have an aversion to the winter months.

The business I work for has been going through a difficult patch. It’s
been a bit of a slog to be honest. Every month our department
anxiously waits to see if we hit our target. It used to be different. At
least, I think it used to be different.

I was going up the escalator at Waterloo station when I saw her.

She looked the same.

All my melancholy fell away.

I prayed the escalator would stop but it didn’t. I wanted to call out her
name - I couldn’t.

I don’t think she saw me.

 The Land of First Served
You don’t get second chances in The Land of First Come First Served.
That was why I emigrated to No Worries. But they threw me out when I
got anxious.

I ended up in Tough Luck. The people there were mean and everyone
had a pitiful story. I did time in Rock Bottom.

I took a train ride to New Beginning. It seemed like the perfect place for
a fresh start. I got a job and met a woman. Things were turning out
better. I got positive about my life. I had the potential to be somebody. I
woke up in the morning and couldn’t help smiling. For the first time in
ages I knew where I was going.

I got promoted at work. My manager thanked me for my ‘outstanding

contribution’.

I could tell from my wife’s eyes that I was the most loved man in the
world.

I put in an application for Happy Ending but they sent back a refusal. In
the land of First Come First Served you don’t get second chances.
 The phone call
I was in the bath when the phone rang. It was my ex-girlfriend.

“We’re breaking up,” she said. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“We broke up two years ago,” I said.

“What do you mean we broke up two years ago? Have you been
cheating on me all this time?”

“I’m engaged,” I said. “I have a fiancé. Everyone knows that. Why do

you insist on calling me?”

The line went silent.

“I can’t believe you cheated on me!”

“We broke up two years ago,” I reminded her. “I can do what I like.”

She hung up.

I got back in the bath.

She had really annoyed me but at the same time I was worried about
her. This was the third time she’d called like this. If my fiancé found out
she would go berserk.

The phone rang again.

“Yes?”

“That’s it,” my ex said. “We’re finished. Don’t ever call me again.”

 The temptation
I went out for a drink with some friends. I was at that point in life with
so many choices to make about where I was going.

A man from work spotted me and came over.

“How are things,” he said, pulling out a chair.

“So, so … ”

He smiled.

“What’s so funny?” I said.

“You.”

“Why am I funny?”

“Why do you hang out with losers?”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“Don’t you know how to play the game?” he said.

“What game?”

He gestured to my friends. “You could be like them or you could be like

me.”
 Snow
I sat at my desk unable to focus. I couldn’t believe I was really there. It
was like I didn’t exist anymore.

The clock said 3.24am. I didn’t know what to do. Even though my mind
was blank I felt anxious.

I was thinking about her. I went to the room she called her ‘studio’ and
switched on the light. I stared at the floor, like I was expecting to
see something. There was nothing there. The room smelt of paint. Two
of her canvasses were on easels. I couldn’t look at them.

I ran to the front door. I needed to get out of there. The moon was out
and I could see clearly. An owl hooted in the distance. Then it
was silent.

I walked down the road. It was cold and I felt alone. Each step made a
loud crunching sound in the fresh snow.

Someone had made a snowman. I looked at it, it looked at me. Neither

of us said anything.

The park lay ahead. The tennis courts were snowed over.

I kept walking. All I could hear was the sound of my footsteps in the
snow. It would melt soon enough and by morning my footprints would
be gone.