Over The Iron Desert (Part Two)

Part three will definitely be the conclusion! Thank you for reading, leave comments or whatever. I hope you enjoy this one.

Over The Iron Desert (Part Two)

I am standing on the porch and cannot believe what I’m hearing; my life seems to be crumbling to dust. Sylvia touches my arm gently, her eyes are very round and very sad but the steely resolution lurking behind her pupils does not fade. “I’m sorry” she tells me.

“But I just don’t want to do this anymore... You’re a lovely guy and everybody knows it but I just don’t want to stay in this relationship, please don’t hate me... Can we still be friends?”

The grey clouds roll on behind her head and before the water begins flooding from their weighty bodies a tear forms in my eye and I feel it streaming down my cheek. I am humiliated and I hate myself. “Maybe” I tell her, in barely more than a choke. The rain begins and the pathetic fallacy does nothing to help my mood. She dawdles for a moment on my front door and tells me in an apologetic way: “I’ve really got to run! I’m sorry, I’ll call you!” and she puts up her hood and runs down the drive before getting into her car. I do not turn back into my house but stand there numbly for a moment, the tears are falling freely now and I vomit. It splashes onto the pavement and is quickly diluted by the rainwater. I bury my face in my hands and cry in a more unrestrained way than I ever have done in my life as I stand there wondering if the end of the world is coming.

Then I wake up, my front carved beautifully around Jessica’s. I marvel at how she has retained her womanly softness to the touch despite everything. There is still tear in my eye which I blink away, but I do not move, I allow our spoon to persist before I have to get up off this filthy mattress and return to real life.

Anthony stood up slowly and stretched. There was no real light outside, but then again there never was, he estimated it to be around 8 in the morning. It had been four days now since he had awoken to the universe he now inhabited, met Jessica and started off on their trek home. The progress had been much slower than he would have liked, but he supposed they were in no real hurry and he was now sure they were only a few hours away. He looked at her on the mattress on the floor and decided she would be ok if he left her for a few minutes, he pushed open the wooden door to the smallish abandoned shack they had decided to stop at. They had met a man the day before who had traded them a few sandwiches and some sugary orange drink that Anthony suspected was Fanta for helping him to plant some seeds in a long stretch of decent enough and seemingly uncontaminated earth he had found. After several hours work they had taken his supplies, thanked him and told him they may return at some point to lend further assistance. In an ominous move he had also given the pair of them a handgun and a clips-worth of bullets. He told them he had several guns and that he was just looking out for them. Neither of them really knowing how to use a gun they had accepted it with some trepidation, but thanked him nonetheless.

The food and drink had felt good last night and Anthony now nibbled on one as he made his way down to a relatively clean river they had located, a river that he used to paddle in when he had been a child. It was only a few hours walk from his old house, and a two minute walk for where the pair were staying that night. Dipping his feet into the cold water was refreshing and he stood for a moment, worrying about what was next. He had gotten used to the desolate landscape and the scarcity of basic supplies over the last few days but this tramping had all been in aid of getting home, what if there were no answers or relief to be found there? He shrugged off this thought and removed his trousers and jumper so that he stood there in simply boxer shorts and t-shirt. He crouched down by the bank and began to wash his face thoroughly. After a few moments he heard a twig snap behind him and as he turned around he was greeted with a punch to the mouth which sent him spinning into the water. He rolled over frantically and was seized by his neck and dragged upwards by a heavily built man wielding a vicious looking short sword, Anthony could feel his pulse banging against the large man’s fingers and managed to splutter

“What do you want?”

“Nothing fancy” he grunted.

“Just to rob you.”

The large man let him go and pointed the sword at him, turned on its side. He took a few steps back. “Your clothes” he demanded.

“All of them”.

It was an exceptionally strange feeling, standing submerged in a small body of water and being robbed of his clothes, but he was in no mood to try and test the man’s patience and so slowly and resignedly Anthony took off his T-shirt and removed his underwear too. He threw them on the river bank. “Now get lost” he scowled. The man’s sinister face contorted however and he chuckled.

“I don’t think so, you’re obviously sheltering somewhere near here and I want everything you have, so show me where you’re staying, right now”.

Dread filled his stomach, hot dread which seemed to weight a ton. Anthony stood there for a second before deciding to decide later on a more definite plan of action. He took several steps forward to the man with the raised sword and was within half a foot before a voice rang out.

“Let him go!”

The man span round and Anthony squinted, Jessica was standing behind a building a few feet away and now stepped out into plain view, and she was pointing the gun at the thief. “Let him go” she repeated. There was  silence for a few moments and Anthony acted quickly, while the man’s attention was still divided. He threw his fist hard into the side of his face, flooring him immediately. He fell with a splash but still held onto his sword and in the panic Jessica shrieked “Don’t move!" But it was too late, the man had already pulled himself up with a furious roar, he gritted his teeth and drew his hand back. Before he had managed to swing it however there a sound like a whip-crack rent the air and the man jerked forward and like a marionette with cut strings he collapsed. Anthony’s breath was coming sharp and fast and he looked over at Jessica who was standing stock still. He ran over to her and asked her urgently if she was ok, she replied with simply – “Yes”. Neither of them were particularly shaken up by the necessity to kill, Jessica didn’t need much consoling after Anthony had revealed that the dead man was about to ransack their belongings and do god-knows what with her should he have discovered her asleep in their small lodgings. They stood there for a few minutes before Jessica looked properly at Anthony’s naked form and grinned. “Does this remind you of anything?” she asked him, he smiled at her and shrugged. “I’ll put some clothes on" he told her, but she gripped his hand and stopped him. “What?” he asked, as she drew in. His heart dropped in his stomach as she kissed him and although he enjoyed it he pulled away after a moment.

“You – you’ve been through a lot, you were nearly raped a couple of days ago, I don’t want to take any kind of ad – advantage” he spluttered. She smiled. “I trust you. I want to know you as thoroughly as I can.” Her look of sincerity was enough to convince him and he took her top off. “I think though” he tittered nervously “that we should take this back to the mattress. It does seem slightly inappropriate to do anything here... You did just shoot and kill somebody about five yards away”. She laughed dryly as he threw his clothes over his shoulder, then picked her up and took her back to the small shack down the road.

30 minutes later the pair were cuddling on the mattress again. “It’s funny”. Jessica mumbled. “I feel so close to you and it feels like we have our own private world...” Anthony laughed softly. “You know what I mean?”

“Yeah... We kind of do and well... it sucks”

“Yeah”. After a couple of minutes, Anthony asked Jessica: “What happens after 2011?”

“What do you mean?” She said with a quizzical frown. “Well...” he began “What stuff happened? War stuff aside”. He was fascinated to hear her relay what she knew about people’s careers and various bits she could remember from the news, but it came back down to the same problem as before - she was very young and had not been interested enough and what she could remember was not necessarily reliable. They spent longer than they usually did when they awoke sitting around and talking, and Anthony suspected if this was due to his worry about what he would find when he was finally home and Jessica did not attempt to hurry him along, she was happy to talk to him about whatever he wanted to know. She had discussed her passion for technology at length, her failed attempts at holding a relationship down, the way her father had walked out in her teens and her brother several months later, how every cat she had ever owned seemed to move on within a few months. Although the consequences of this inability to hold onto one feline for more than a few months had obviously been less monumental than the premature departure of both her father and brother, Anthony could not help but wonder if she put them all together in her head now and worried that it was somehow her fault.

After they had packed everything up they walked the last few hours in near silence; Anthony found the walk down the roads he once knew so well depressing now that it all lay heavily damaged or destroyed. When they got to the row of houses that had been Anthony’s old home he pointed it out and they stood and stared without really knowing what to say. The gate was hanging off its hinges and there were many roof-tiles missing as well as window panes, regardless of this it was a relief to him to see that the house was at least standing and after a long incalculable moment he sighed and nodded. “Let’s get this over with” he spoke in an attempt at a bold, unperturbed adventurer’s voice. They walked down the weed-strewn path and pushed the door carefully. Everything was as he remembered it, except for the obvious change that it was mostly ruined. He had resigned himself to the fact that nobody would be in the house, after all why would they? They had barely encountered anybody at all on their trek so far and it seemed very unlikely that there was anything to stay here for. This however only made it more alarming for Anthony when a gruff voice barked from another room “Who’s there!? I’m armed!” and into the doorway popped a man with a long beard, pointing a rifle at the two of them. “Dennis!?” Anthony gasped, and the bearded man squinted at him. The two brothers stood a few feet apart before Dennis laughed in a sort of barking manner. “Imposter!” he shouted, and Anthony could feel Jessica fidgeting nervously behind him. “No it really is me!” he protested, but this just seemed to anger the man. “If it’s you then I hate you for going and never coming back! If you’re an imposter then I’m gonna blow your head off anyway!” he snarled and before he could react, he fired the rifle in their general direction. He had not been paying much attention to where he was aiming in his distraction and the bullet went far wide, but the pair of them dived under a nearby sofa which was exactly how he remembered it to be apart from its decrepit state. “Please!” he shouted out to Dennis

“Please don’t make me shoot you, I need some answers!”

“You had all the chance! You could’ve come back years ago, it’s just as well you’ve turned up now though because I’m going to eat you!” he raved insanely. Hoping he could frighten Dennis into a more subdued state he took the pistol from Jessica and stood bolt upright with it, pointing it straight at him. “People came looking for you y’know!” Dennis bellowed at him. “You were the most sought after man in the country because some rumour got around that you were the saviour, that you could rescue the entire world from the destruction you see before you”. Anthony decided this nonsensical statement was just another manifestation of madness however and spoke in a calm voice in an attempt to stifle his trembling.

“Just put that rifle down. I need to work out what to do next, how to survive indefinitely and see if there’s any way we can help”

“Pah! Help? Help?” Dennis was almost screaming now, tears were running freely down his face and every ‘p’ sent spit flying everywhere. “Where were you to help five years ago? You fucked off! You left for no reason! Mum was taken! Dad spent years looking for you and now he’s dead too!” His rantings were growing less coherent and his shrieking broken up with gasping for air. “I hate you, you could have helped but you were supposed to be dead, but now you’re back? To HELP?” and with that he raised the rifle again and instinctively, as though he were born to do it, Anthony raised the gun considerably quicker and fired it twice. The bullets whizzed through the air and cut straight into Dennis’s throat sending him slamming back into the wall and sliding down it. Following this was the loudest silence that Anthony had ever heard, he ran over to Dennis who’s eyes were rolling but mouth still moving. He crouched down and sobbed silently but drew very close and managed to hear the last feeble words his brother spoke. “The book... under... my b-b-ed.” And he went limp, the blood running down his front and collecting in a sickening, expanding puddle underneath him. Jessica timidly approached and asked him gently – “What did he say?” Anthony considered for a moment before replying in a voice of forced calm.

“I never heard.”

Over The Iron Desert (Part One)

Second (final?) part to come soon. Leave feedback if you like or let me know about any obvious mistakes in there. Thank you for reading!

Over The Iron Desert (Part One)

All of the lads had come out for Gary’s birthday and a lot of them had brought their girlfriends as well. Gary had just turned 27 and everybody knew his night out would be the event of the year, the group assembled in the pub at eight and intended to move on to a bar in town later on that night to drink ridiculous amounts and maybe do a couple of cheeky lines. Despite disliking being in the company of all those couples, Anthony decided to come along too. He had not caught up with Gary for several months now and he felt it was long overdue. He had packed a bag with a spare change of clothes in to take with him as he knew the long nights out did not always end where you’d expect them to end and he ought to be prepared in case he woke up somewhere completely alien to him. When the group got together in ‘The Hanged Bandit’ at just after eight there was 19 in total, they occupied a large section of the pub and they were being fairly raucous early on but after everybody had got through a few drinks the loud banter and shouting got much louder. Anthony was engaged in a conversation with the only other man there who had not brought his girlfriend along – Terry told him not to worry and that,

“You’ll find her eventually son, and when you do you’ll get very sick of her very quickly, don’t worry about that.”

Although it was an occasion and he was out with many of his old university friends and a couple from beyond that even, Anthony could not enjoy himself and it was most likely this reason that led to him getting bored at the relatively slow rate the others were drinking at and ordering himself three pints in a row. The first two of his drinks he downed swiftly at the bar much to the shock of the barman, and the third he sat back down with. Around 10 o’clock the boys were indicating they were ready to move on and Anthony did his best to agree through the haze that had descended around him. “Quick piss break though lads!”, Gary proclaimed. Another thing that Anthony tried to agree with. The majority of the group left their tables littered with pint glasses, tumblers and VK bottles and headed for the door while Gary and Anthony stumbled to the toilets. Anthony shouldered his backback as Gary clapped him on the shoulders and began saying things to him that he couldn’t quite make out. In order to try and clear his head he headed straight for a cubicle. He managed to put his bag on the floor and after a moment of trying to steady himself he slipped over and fell, hitting his head on the locked door and knocking himself out.

He blinked a few times and lay exactly where he was, his head was throbbing and he had an awful taste in his mouth. Wondering exactly how long he had been lying there he slowly got to his feet and noted that he felt dehydrated and his head hurt on account of where he had bashed it... But past that he didn’t feel particularly drunk or even hung-over. He stood up and brushed himself down thoroughly. He then moved his hand to the lock and noted with intense confusion that it had changed colour to a sort of brown. He touched it and it almost completely rotted away; the door swung open. When it did he nearly passed out again with shock; the roof had disappeared and some of the wall was missing, he realised he was standing in a shell of a room. The doorway led to nowhere and the entire pub was pretty much gone except for a few mouldering walls, here and there a table leg could be seen. He stepped out onto the pavement and looked around him, he saw more of the same all down the road, what he remembered as his town centre was now comprised of mouldering buildings and bricks, it appeared almost completely destroyed. A few signs he recognised were strewn across the floor under beams of wood, bricks and stone. He appeared to be looking at life through a grey filter of despair; a panic began to rise within him as he wondered what was going on and where everybody was for as far as his eye could see there was not a soul in sight.

He walked quickly back to the cubicle where he had come from and quickly found his rucksack, the presence of which soothed him considerably for some reason, it seemed like he had taken a part of home with him, and this at least was something. He knew that the taxi from his house to the pub was about 30 minutes (he had shared with a lot of people to reduce the high fare) and that walking would take an age, but then he considered that he had literally nothing else to do and if he could find the way then he may as well make the effort. He looked around at the ruins of the town centre; the old stone fountain lay in disarray with over half of it missing entirely and the rest crumbling to pieces. He managed to control the panic washing over him and set off at a trudge to walk home across the deadened landscape. The rubble was jagged under his shoes, the spit in his mouth tasted foul, (he knew he must soon find a drink) and the almost complete lack of a wind evoked misery to his core. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was and consequently became difficult to keep track of time or how long he had been walking but if he was forced to estimate, he would’ve said maybe two hours had gone by when he heard the screaming. A rotting door was knocked off its hinges and out of it flew a youngish girl (Anthony estimated her age to be 21 at the oldest) who was completely naked, head to toe. She was sobbing frantically and upon seeing Anthony she flung herself upon his startled figure and gripped him tightly. “Please” she gasped between sobs “they’re going to rape me.” He tried to gently prise her off him but despite her shaking her grip was firm and she would not let go. Anthony look behind her and in the doorway she had smashed off its rusted hinges stood two men of a medium height and a fairly unimpressive build. Their clothes were little more than filthy rags and their hair was long, tangled and dirty. Between the rasping sobs of the young girl there was no noise being made.

“Fuck off”. Anthony told them firmly, startled to hear his voice sound much more authoritative than he was used to and barely blighted at all by the fact he had not used his voice at all for god-knows how long. One of the scruffy thugs scowled and took a step forward but the other one touched his arm.

“Let’s leave it. I’m hungry anyway.”

The silence persisted and the one who stepped forward eventually scowled and simply spat on the floor. They both turned around and walked back into the building. The young girl let go of Anthony who she had been hugging tightly up to this point and met his eyes, he could see that she had bruises around her face and what wasn’t bruised was puffed up from the crying. “Thank you” she sniffed and they stood there awkwardly for a moment or two. “I have some spare clothes y’know” he offered, and she beamed at him. The change was remarkable and for a second, all her troubles were wiped away and even the bruises and swellings seemed less prominent and Anthony saw that she was beautiful. He took his bag off and handed her: boxer shorts (which she gratefully immediately pulled on), some jeans (he took his belt off and gave it to her to compensate for the size difference), a t-shirt, a hoodie, some socks and a pair of trainers. He tied the laces as hard as possible on her so as to minimise any slipping around in shoes a few sizes too large for her. He also discovered a bottle of water in the bottom that he had forgotten he had packed, he took a swig from it and so did she, thanking him sincerely. He smiled warmly at her. “You’re safe now.” He told her and she hugged him again, although this time in a more gentle and less ‘running for my life’ manner. They sat down against the side of the building and began to swap stories. “So I have to ask a few questions... Because I don’t even know how I got here.” He told her, and she replied

 “My name is Jessica <”Anthony!” He interjected, and they shook hands> and I haven’t really got any answers, I barely know what’s going on at all, after the explosions and all that I just ran for my life. I don’t know what’s happened to any my family or anything.”

 He stared at her for a moment before asking a question he had seen asked many a time before –

 “What year is it?”

 She raised her eyebrows at him. “2020.” She replied. The most shocking thing Anthony found about this information was not how ridiculously far into the future he had somehow been propelled... but how little. Her version of events was patchy and not helped by the fact that she was only 11 in 2011 (she turned out to be exactly 20 years old) but the main points were fairly by the books – war in 2015 had led to worldwide devastation and the eventual collapse of government and any kind of democracy. Her story was patchy and he was not sure how inclined he was to devote his total trust to somebody describing something she clearly wasn’t too knowledgeable about that had began when she was definitely too young to remember it properly. But as she was his only source of information and it seemed to corroborate the destruction around him, he accepted at least the main points of what she was telling him. She told him that there were reportedly still some pockets of civilisations and societies left and there were still merchants who sold things like clothes and food around, just that things were usually traded now, sometimes just in favours or manual work. This too seemed plausible enough and he accepted it without too much probing or questioning. Next came the harder part of the conversation:

 “What about you anyway? How do you not know this stuff? And asking about the year, you weirdo? I mean clearly you’re a time traveller, which explains it all.”

Her light-hearted mocking made him smile but he still sighed and felt the worry building up inside him; he really didn’t have a better story than that and didn’t really know how to reply. He decided to explain to the best of his knowledge exactly what had happened, that he had been out with friends and that that last thing he knew it had been 2011, the longer he talked the more foolish he felt; not that he had long to talk as not much had really happened beyond his waking up and walking around a bit. She questioned him about a few details and asked him what 2011 had been like, which he found an odd question and simply told her he remembered it being:

 “Hazy... and quite lonely.”

 The conversation dwindled out and Anthony asked her if she thought him crazy.

“Maybe. But I owe you a lot...”

And she snuggled close to him as the first hints of real cold swept over them. They sat there for a few more moments before Jessica asked him:

“What are you doing now then?”

“I don’t have anything to do really and about the only thing I can think of to do is to go home. Or where home used to be... I don’t know if I’ll find any answers there, I don’t know if anything will be clarified but it really is the only thing I can think of to do. It’s a personal thing probably... I want to see if any of my family is still there.”

 She didn’t reply to this and when Anthony stole a look at her she was looking morosely at the floor. “You’re welcome to come with me if you like” he told her quickly and she immediately looked up at him. “Really?” she asked, smiling again. “Really” he said. He explained his primitive navigation system of “just sort of guessing and following what looks familiar” to her and she giggled and said that sounded fine to her. They stood up and dusted themselves down and began slowly to walk. After a tentative moment he offered her his hand, his heart beating hard in his chest. She looked up at him and Anthony saw her face blush under the dirt and bruises. She grasped it tightly and he steered her onto what was once clearly the road and they walked down the middle of it in the direction Anthony was vaguely inclined to believe was homewards.

 The first real gust of wind he had yet felt was refreshing on his face, it rustled through her long hair and blew a few scattered leaves up into the air as they walked. They both looked into the sky and with a shock Anthony saw the moon, he had not even noticed its steady climb as he had been thoroughly engaged with talking to Jessica for what he now realised must have been several hours. Night had descended and the pair walked on into its heavy embrace and wondered where it would take them before their journey was complete, and what might lie in wait for them once it was. Anthony thought of speaking again several times but decided to leave it. The touch of her hand was comfort enough. 

The Red Cross 'Disappeared' Story.

So a while back there was this competition by the people at 'Red Cross' and to win you had to submit a story that

1: Fit onto an A4 side of page.
2: Was about the phrase 'The Disappeared'. Which sounds kind of annoying and pretentious I think... but still, I wrote the story and did not win. As they had over 750 entries I did not feel too rejected.

So that's how this story came to be, enjoy!

The Disappeared

Carys’s mother and step-father had not taken news of her pregnancy well, after all she was only 16. She had hoped for a little more support however and after a screaming match that shook the roof she packed up some essentials and left her council estate and set out for a friend’s house. It was of course not long before she was exhausted the hospitality of all of her friend’s parents so she decided to head to a warehouse she had once been to a rave at and knew was occupied by several friendly squatters. Her arrival did not stir up interest in most of the scruffy men and women living there, Carys thought they must be used to people coming and going often. She put down her rucksack and sleeping bag next to a collection of friendly looking teenagers a few years older than her and it only took her a few days to make friends and settle into the lifestyle. Her circle of friends were skip-divers, there was more than enough stolen or abandoned mattresses to sleep on and public restrooms were only a five minute walk away. This led to Carys beginning her new life in an almost comfortable manner, although it bothered her when people disappeared. People often disappeared from both their group and the entire congregation of squatters, they moved on constantly and a constant flow of new intake ensured that the total number was usually the same.

One late night, several months after she had first arrived there, Carys’s best friend, Adam vanished without any notice or mention of his plans and Carys was left lying on her mattress that night crying into her grimy old pillow and wondering what would happen when she gave birth, for she estimated that she must now be at least six months along. She sought out one of the few elderly members of the warehouse, a permanent resident. Her name was Vanessa and Carys greeted her sheepishly and asked why people were so easy come easy go in this strange existence. Vanessa looked long and hard at Carys and told her “You are not like us. All of us here, we have disappeared from society’s gaze. We are abandoned and carefree, but not in the childish way you think of at the mention of that word. We don’t care, Adam may have been your best friend of all the people here, but he didn’t really care. You were invisible to him, because in being here you admit to having disappeared off the map of mainstream society. You have not successfully done this because you pine for your friend, and for your mother.” Carys sobbed at the realisation of the truth in Vanessa’s words, and she realised that she had completely forgotten she had been 17 a few days before. She told Vanessa this, and Vanessa leaned in and spoke urgently to her. “You have a baby on the way whose slate is still clean; your family are most likely aching to see you again. The time is 5:30 now, in an hour the sun will be shining brightly. Return to where you came from my girl, before you disappear yourself, you owe it to your child.”

An hour later Carys stood outside the warehouse looking out onto the suburbs, she was cradling her bump and with her rucksack on her back she took a few steps back into the world she knew so well, and her baby would be properly raised in. As she took those first few steps, Carys reappeared. 

In And Out Of Control

Another short story I dreamed up recently, I hope you enjoy this one. I certainly enjoyed writing it knowing that once I finished it it would be over. I like writing three parters but I definitely wouldn't do it all the time! 

Thanks for reading, let me know if you spot a typo. More to follow very soon.

In And Out Of Control

David was giving Tim shit again. Most breaks and lunches would follow the same sort of pattern, Tim would come into the staff room to relax and moments later David would be there making fun of him, making snide comments about his slightly wiry appearance and a few times he had physically shoved him around. It was at these times that Tim was reminded that you really needed an audience to be able to bully a person, because David would certainly not put in half as much effort to humiliate or frustrate him if there was nobody there to nudge each other when it began and laugh raucously at the end of most of David’s sentences, or if Tim went the slightest bit red in the face. Today was much the same; David had decided to pick up on Tim’s new haircut. “Makes your head look even wonkier than it usually is. Makes that eye which is already blatantly bigger than the other look even more bigger” he chuckled and gestured at Tim’s face. “What d’you say Craig?” he unnecessarily shouted across the smallish staffroom. “Does Tim the twat’s face look wonkier now, or before he paid some mongoloid to hack at his greasy locks?” Craig just sniggered; he had never been one for witty wordplay or even many words at all. Everybody standing around laughed at Tim who picked up his cup of coffee and tried to walk out of the room to go and find somewhere to enjoy himself quietly, as he got to the doorway David stepped in front of him and simply stood there. Tim scowled at him, “get the fuck out of my way.” He demanded, but David just laughed. “Get out of my way now” he repeated “Or I will smash you in the face”, the room at large dissolved into laughter and David finally gave way to Tim, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. “That guy” he laughed as he casually high fived one of his friends who had moved to stand by the door in case Tim really had thrown a punch. Tim stormed down the corridor gritting his teeth and embarrassingly red in the face.

Tim arrived home to find his wife (the love of his life who he had only married last month) just finishing dinner, he strolled over to her and bent down in order to give her petite figure a proper cuddle. She was wearing a onesie that he had bought her for the previous Christmas and he couldn’t help but adore her even more in her ridiculous outfit, dressed as a bear. They kissed and he held her tight to him momentarily before taking her away, looking into her beautiful face and asking her “something’s happened..?” She shook slightly as she nodded and told him “Tim I don’t really know how to say this so I’ll just have to say it... I’m pregnant.” The young couple embraced happily and all the stress and the strain of his day washed away upon a tidal wave of joy. Tim changed into PJs and the pair ate together. Over dinner, Tim told his wife about his frustrating break-time, but how he thought he might be on to a promotion and how he had received a call-back from his dream job drawing artwork for computer games. They cuddled on the sofa for a few hours and watched TV until around 11 PM at which point they went to the bedroom with each other. They took off their clothes and stood pressed naked against each other. “I think... I think I might have been a little bit naughty” Tim’s wife muttered to him in a playful way. “You definitely have.” He spoke back, a firm note in his voice that was rarely heard there. He picked her up and placed her firmly over his lap, examining her bare bottom, he caressed it momentarily for a moment before smacking the round cheek hard. He did this several times on both before she started to make a noise, only a slight squeak escaped her lips though and he asked sternly “did I hear a noise?” “No” she pleaded, but it was too late. “Get up”, he ordered, “and go and fetch the paddle.” She walked slowly over to the cupboard and picked up a long wooden paddle. “Now bring it back here and get back in position” he told her, in that same firm tone that he had never really demonstrated for anybody else. She meekly walked back over and he pulled her back over his lap, before he spanked her again, very hard until she begged him to stop.

“How’s your bum?” Tim asked her between the sheets 25 minutes later. “Sore cheeks, and there’s definitely a red mark now.” she muttered back ruefully; but she was grinning and stuck her tongue out at him. “But I quite like it, feels naughty when I sit down tomorrow at work... I definitely need the sex afterwards though. Finishing that strongly kind of brings things back to reality. Did you enjoy yourself?” “Of course I did” he said gently, smiling back. “Was it ok for you?” “It always is” she muttered sleepily. The pair shuffled together and kissed briefly. “Night night beautiful” Tim murmured, and they rolled over in opposite directions and fell quickly asleep.

David arrived home to find his ex girlfriend he was living with on the house phone, leaving him to wonder what had happened; people didn’t often ring the house phone anymore as David and his ex tended to give their mobile numbers to people and only put their landline down on official forms. She thanked whoever was on the phone and put it down “We’ve got to go into Michael’s school tomorrow to speak to his teacher; he punched another boy again”. David strolled into the living room and yanked his son up from the floor, where he had been playing computer games, onto his feet. “Do you think we’ve got the hours in the fucking day to deal with your stupidity, you piece of shit?” he shouted in his son’s face, who immediately began to cry. “Get upstairs now, I don’t want to see you again tonight.” As he ran from the room, David’s ex girlfriend walked in and immediately began shouting too about how shouting is useless and now he was just upset and how could he not see him for the rest of the night when they were supposed to be eating dinner in five minutes? The row took up the next hour of the entire night, David finally left after eating some of his ex’s mediocre cooking. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going then?” she shouted at him as he walked to the door. “Well I’m not staying here tonight you nasty nosey bitch.” He shouted back, and he slammed the door hard behind him. He arrived at a new girlfriend’s house and knocked on the door. “Sorry I’m here babe” he apologised meekly. “Just had a row with the others and needed somewhere...” She sighed inwardly and told him to make himself at home as long as he didn’t traipse any mud on the carpet and didn’t touch any of the newly painted hallway. He took himself straight upstairs and made sure that when he removed his clothes he put them in a neat pile at the foot of the bed. When his new squeeze finally got in with him a short while later she sighed as she realised he was after sex, but decided she could probably go for some as long as it didn’t take too long. He kissed her for a few moments and then quickly climbed on top of her, his frustrations and sadness were not the best aphrodisiac and after only three minutes he lost control and realised all too late he was about to come. There was a long and silence before she sighed and told him “It’s fine. I was tired anyway.” The pair said goodnight and after a period of time lying in the dark, David dropped off.

David was giving Tim shit again. The break time was following the usual pattern but Tim just stood there rolling his eyes today, he was in far too good a mood to get wound up. “I’m talking to you, you scrawny prick” David snapped. Tim just shrugged in his general direction and said “I’m busy, I’m going now.” He walked over to the staff room door and found himself blocked again. “Wanna punch me in the face do ya?” David growled at him. “Go on, make my day you wimp! Tim opened his mouth and yawned in his face. Nearly everybody in the room laughed loudly at the comic effect and with that he walked around David and left the staff room.  The room fell silent as most of the staff looked on to see what David would do. “Hah, fuck that guy” he chuckled in an attempt at nonchalance. “Definitely a queer” he proclaimed. “Did you see his tie today? Looked like it belonged to a schoolteacher who thinks he’s funny and cool.” The room stayed silent. “He looked like a right paedo.” He sat down to further silence, looked around and almost shouted “I said he looked like a right paedo!” The room was suddenly full of people laughing uneasily. “Thank you.” He said, annoyed. He shook his head in a frustrated way and muttered “Fuckin’ loser”. 

Live Indefinitely - Part Three

So here is the end of the story. I have massively enjoyed writing the entire thing, I hope everybody who read it felt it was worth their while, will continue to visit my blog and tell anybody they think might also enjoy it to come for a look also. I am going to be away in the USA for a little while over August and September so I’ll be drafting stuff then to be written up and posted in late September or early October. Thanks for all continued support and as always – let me know if you spot any errors because despite triple checking myself, a couple always get through. 

Live Indefinitely (Part three)

Only a few weeks had passed since his encounter with Laila but Leon had already resigned himself to the fact that they would probably not meet again. After their night together she had told him in no uncertain things that although she quite liked him, she didn’t want a ‘thing’. Leon had hidden his disappointment rather well he thought and now although he was slightly morose over the matter he had recovered well; playing a few more shows to similarly positive reactions and slowly putting together a new song. The experience of song-writing over a period of weeks rather than hours was strange to him but he enjoyed the more controlled pace which granted him hindsight and time to see if the music wore thin quickly. He was having difficulty forgetting what Laila had last said to him however, just before she’d left his flat the morning after their night together she had told him his spark would be left unappreciated without a decent band behind him. “Your songs are great” she had told him earnestly, “but you need more to them, find some good musicians to add the depth and you’ll seriously be onto something”. He had contemplated her words at length lost to the will of his ever-changing mind which sometimes scorned her advice and sometimes thought she probably had a very good point. He considered the best ways to find good quality musicians, lamenting that he didn’t really know any and his small group of friends these days did not consist of anybody who could competently play an instrument.

It was convenient therefore that when Leon played his next show at a bar he had never played before that all the previous members of ‘The Champagne Supernovas’ apart from Jimmy turned up to watch him. He noticed Michael and Dan on his way into the venue and shook their hands warmly, “I’ve been thinking” he started “that I might need some help with the songs I’m writing soon... would either of you be interested in rewrites of the songs to feature a whole band and joining up?” he asked them. A wide smile broke out over Michaels face and before he could reply, Dan quickly put in “He was hoping you’d ask us that. He might be all for it but I want to see the style first.” Leon was therefore content that he already had one recruit to join him in the near future and was confident that with a good performance that night he would be able to convince Dan to sign up too. He spent the next hour or so catching up with them on the tribute band situation, which was apparently completely falling apart. “Jimmy bought his nephew in to play the drums right after you left, but he completely fucked up the songs and when the owner found out he was only 17 they chucked us all out barred us all. Since then not much has happened. We think it might be the end of the whole thing” Dan explained.  Leon chuckled and before he knew it was time he was being tapped by the events organiser to come backstage and get ready. He smiled at his old friends, downed his pint and strolled behind the stage to find his equipment.

If Leon had ever done a flawless show, he thought that one was it, the applause was loud and he knew just from the look on Dan’s face that he was finally sold on the idea of joining up and becoming a fully operational band. He nodded his head after his last song, thanked the crowd and came back onto the main floor. Before he could reach his friends however a man dressed in a casual outfit of t-shirt and jeans stopped him in his tracks. “Hello Leon! My name is Conner Vegas” he said confidently and loudly, I own a small record label and I’d love to sign you up for an album or an EP, or both! “Whatever you’re comfortable with?” Leon felt himself go slightly numb. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Absolutely serious, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow evening, come over around 8 and we’ll talk business, I’ve heard your recordings off your website and I heard you asking those guys to be in your band. If you come over tomorrow with them and an action plan I’ll sign you up for whatever you wanna put out.” He handed Leon his card and strolled serenely off in the other direction. Leon looked at the small card which featured nothing more than an address and the words: “Conner Vegas – producer”. He took a few deep breaths before heading over to his friends and explaining what had just happened. Michael and Dan showed just as much enthusiasm as him, “we’re signed!” Michael squeaked in an uncharacteristically high pitched voice. “Don’t forget though” Dan interrupted “We’re still down a drummer, if you’re gonna be on rhythm guitar and vocals, Leon. Have you thought about that?” It seemed odd to Leon that such a blatant flaw in his plan had not occurred to him. “Don’t worry, my friend is a great drummer” Michael said reassuringly and Leon smiled. “That’s that taken care of then... he’s definitely looking for a band?” Michael confirmed this and the three of them sat there, the weight they felt was palpable. “Do you think this is the start of something big?” asked Michael. “I hope so.” Leon replied. There was a long silence and then he stood up “Right...” he began but he was interrupted by Michael cutting straight across him with “Where are you going?”. “Well... it’s a Sunday, I’ve got work tomorrow” but the pair just looked back at him incredulously.

It took the two of them all of three minutes to convince Leon that he would never have to go back to work again and although Leon’s set had been over by ten he stumbled home at four in the morning, not even caring he had had to get a taxi and leave his car several miles away at the venue. Looking at his watch he realised it wasn’t long before he was supposed to be waking up to get dressed, it was here that he made a vital decision, his reasoning behind it being “if I don’t do it while I’m very drunk I won’t do it at all.” He successfully sat down at his desk, turned his computer on and navigated to his email, clicked on his boss’s name from his address book and through his squinting haze he typed the following letter out:

“Dear mister dickhead. (or terry patrickson IF THAT IS INDDEED YOUR REAL NAME) your job of seling biros was fcuccking awful and i have descided to quit becase your a nob and soon im gonna be famous 
anyway so dont wait up i wont be their in yhe mroning i will be making my album. goodbye.

ps i will rite a song about you and it will b bad about you

pps once i stole a whole box of biros from the office nad in ever even used them”

Leon sent the email and with that he slid off his computer chair and fell asleep on the floor, at the wheels.

He awoke in the early afternoon with a serious case of dry-mouth and a headache, although after drinking some water and eating a bit of cereal he felt much better, he had endured far worse hangovers before and so after a shower he left his flat feeling only slightly queasy. He did not have any overwhelmingly powerful feelings about the decisions he had made the night before, he worried what his parents might say once they heard about the email that he could just about remember writing but he also wondered how they would react to the news that his band had been signed. He also found himself wondering if he would get billed for the small box of biros he had admitted taking home with him. He got groggily into the back of a taxi and had himself taken to the gig venue where he got back into his own car and sat taking deep breaths. He double checked the address on the card he had and started his engine. 30 minutes later he had made his way across town and found himself standing at the address named in the card, he opened the small gate and as he walked through the path he took note of the overgrown garden and the badly kept front door with its chipped old paint and faint smell of rotting wood. He knocked on the door and after a moment the door was opened by Conner who was wearing a long white coat with a plastic stethoscope around his neck. There was a long silence between them which Leon finally broke by asking “Hey... we met the other night? You said you could help me release some music?” Conner frowned at him and said “I don’t remember that, come in and we can ask Jenny”. Bewildered, Leon followed him into the house which looked a bit more kept on the inside than the out but which was undoubtedly not the house of somebody who had any money to spare. He walked into the living room, and was met by a large woman with a good natured smile and casual appearance. “Hello there” she said, “I’m Jenny, Conner’s carer. We were just playing surgeons weren’t we?” she asked him with the tone of a mother addressing her 4 year old. “Yes and I am filing extremely important paper-work right now” Conner proclaimed proudly. “So what did you want again?” Leon stood there for a second allowing the reality of the situation spread over him. “You were going to help me record some music?” he almost pleaded. “Well that was yesterday, when I was being a bit shot music producer. Now I’m being a big shot surgeon who doesn’t play by the rules but gets the job done. Maybe I’ll be a producer again in a few days. Also maybe not.” And with that, he strolled out of the room and left Leon alone with Jenny. “I’m sorry about this confusion” she said to him smiling sadly. “He does sometimes make bizarre promises to strangers, I hope you didn’t get your hopes up too much. I only lost sight of him for five minutes last night, astounds me the things he manages to do when I’m not watching him carefully.” Her sad smile persisted for a moment and then she added “You were very good by the way”. Leon nodded and thanked her, before turning around and walking out of the room, out the hallway, down through the garden, opening the gate and getting back into his car.

He met the other two members along with their brand new drummer, Kane at Dan’s house as it was the biggest house any of them happened to own. As he stepped into their kitchen Michael excitedly informed him that they had arranged for a show at the 02 academy’s smallest stage in a week, there would be a few members of press there to talk about the upcoming release and well over 70 people had already indicated they were turning up. Leon sighed heavily and told the rest of the band about Conner’s situation and that there would be no professional recording taking place. Although they were all undoubtedly disappointed, their reactions were far better than Leon had dared hope for, the news did not seem to have put out the fire that engulfed them all. Kane was eager to get started and the other two both assured Leon that the gig was paid and they had nearly completed the new arrangement of the original six songs, their cover was intact and the new song had only a few parts to sort out before it was ready to be properly practised and played. “Just because we thought we would have a hard copy of our stuff and now we won’t, doesn’t mean that it’s a waste of time playing the show” Michael told Leon, “we’ve got a new song to play and all your old ones pretty much reinvented, so let’s just do it.” Disheartened as he was with the whole project, Leon couldn’t tell his fellow band members that the show was off, so he agreed and the group sat in contemplative silence for a while. Finally Leon spoke: “It has to be a reinvention... We need a name, we’re a full band now”. There was a general mutter of agreement and they decided that coming up with a new and original name out of an attempt at wit was a waste of time so after all four of them wrote down twenty random words each, put it in a hat and then picked out two, the name they were left with was “Straight Submarine”. They liked it.

After 7 solid days of practise and endeavour the day had arrived and Leon was wracked with nerves. His songs had been a great success in their stripped down ways but he was conscious of having his original point lost in the volume or muddy sound levels, the rehearsals sounded good to him but of course he was not the one who would be judging. The band arrived at the 02 academy in the city centre late in the afternoon and for the first time Leon felt like he was in the hands of competent venue staff, they were helpful throughout the soundcheck and generally seemed to have more of a clue than anybody he had ever worked with before. The first band were on at 6:30 and people began filtering slowly in at 6, as the members of Straight Submarine sat at a table by the bar and watched. Leon was sipping a drink when a casually dressed man sat down opposite him and greeted him warmly. He held out his hand and said “Christopher Hicken, Q magazine. Am I ok to do a quick interview with you here? I’ll post it on the website tomorrow with a little review of the gig, if that’s ok?” Leon was taken aback but Michael and the others did not seem particularly surprised at the appearance. Leon agreed and spent an interesting 15 minutes with Chris, telling his anecdote to explain where his record had disappeared to, how the band chose their name and on what was next if they were received well. “I suppose a lot hinges on your review really doesn’t it?” Leon asked him with a wry smile to which Chris cagily replied “We’ll have to see”. He wrapped up the interview, shook all of their hands and wished them good luck for their show. By the time the band before Straight Submarine had finished Leon recognised a lot of people in at the bar and standing near the barriers and had been approached by several of them over the night, all of whom registered their excitement at seeing him play with a full band and wishing him luck.

The band stood in the tiny dressing room behind the stage and nervously twiddled their thumbs. After several minutes the lights went down and the four trooped out onto the stage and finally got a look at exactly who had turned out to see them, Leon realised with shock that the number of people pushing to the front of the barrier was well over 100, he could barely see their individual faces. He also recognised Chris standing slightly back and watching intently as well as somebody from the NME he had been talking to earlier, he thanked everybody for coming out and his words were met with enthusiastic cheering, he turned to look at his other members, nodded at them and started the show.

Sweaty and gasping for a drink, Leon dismounted the stage after their encore to a rapturous reception and stayed in the venue for thirty minutes afterwards as people tried to buy him and the others drinks and asking them if they had any CDs to sell, he apologised for the lack of music and thanked everybody in sight. The band packed up and sat in Michael’s car outside the venue in silence while they all thought about what had happened. “That was good” Kane said, breaking the silence. They nodded and congratulated each other, at this point they remembered they had collected envelopes of money after the set and proceeded to count out how much they had made, the total being £80 each for such high attendance. Michael had driven them all them all to the venue and subsequently dropped them all off at their various flats and houses, Leon walked into his empty dark flat at half past midnight and sat down slowly on the sofa. He turned his mobile on and moments after it had booted he got a voicemail alert, which was always cause for interest to him as he rarely ever got voicemails at all. He curiously listened to his new message and his heart dropped as he heard his father’s voice, irate and short: “Leon. You have been nothing but a disappointment for nearly ten years now, we throw you a bone and you throw it away. Ring me the instant you get this message so we can discuss your immediate future.” He sat on his sofa feeling about 8 years old and felt his enthusiasm and pride drain away, he decided to ring his dad back despite the late hour to see if he could weather the storm a little, but his phone call was not met with any kind of eager relief, just more shouting about “the fucking time you useless twat”. The conversation was very one sided, his father told him several times he could never do anything right and occasionally he could hear his mother chip in and his father respond with “I’ll handle this, Linda”.  He finished his brief rant with “When you’ve decided to ditch your waste of time music obsession and rejoin us all in the real world then let us know ok? But until then neither of us want any contact with you at all, and stay away from your sister too, she doesn’t need to be dragged down by your childish behaviour. You’re never going to achieve anything like this, son. The sooner you realise that, the better off you’ll be.” And he hung up.

Leon stayed in bed until almost 3 the next afternoon wondering what to do, wondering if the road he had taken was ever going to pay off or if he should just ring round his friends now and tell them the band was over and go grovelling back to his parents to help him find a job. He sat up finally and made some toast, he sat down at his computer desk thinking he would see if he could be bothered to find the Q review that Chris had promised would be published by mid-day. He navigated to the website and his heart dropped out of his stomach when on the front page of the website, bang in the middle was a picture of him and the rest of the Straight Submarines. His mind jammed momentarily before he scrolled down to look at the review, which had awarded five stars and was topped with “Inner city rockers step it up a gear”. The article read:

“Early days to be heaping such lavish praise on a band perhaps, indeed this was their very first gig as a fully functioning unit, but their slick execution of a host of their own music and two perfectly adapted covers marks them as one to watch for the future. The venue was packed, the crowd were eager and Leon Adams easily took control of the situation, never losing confidence or looking like he was out of his depth. The other band members appeared to know exactly what they were doing and how to get the best out of their sound, their renditions of Arctic Monkey’s “The Bakery” and The Foo Fighter’s “Monkey Wrench” showing off their diversity and being perfectly placed. A thrilling show and it would be a safe bet to hedge that these boys are going to go far. My pre-show chat with the frank and friendly Mr. Adams can be read in full in this week’s Q magazine. To see a snippet from the performance last night, scroll to the bottom of the page."

Bewildered, Leon found the video and clicked it, taking him directly to the Youtube page for it, where it had received several thousand views and likes. The video itself had been filmed on a high quality camera from a little way behind the main thrust of audience but further forward than the bar. The quality was good and the song’s lyrics could be clearly made out. The top rated comment read: “Love this, does anybody know if they have any records to buy or download?” He sat there in dazed confusion and it was a few minutes before he decided to look to see who had uploaded the video and with a shock he read the name: 'L4lia2006'. He stood up slowly and decided to ring her immediately, he realised now how much he liked her and with that in mind he walked over to his sofa where his phone was still lying on silent and as he picked it up and pressed the green button to light his screen up he gasped out loud at the text on the screen which read: “You have 7 new voicemail messages”.

The End.

Live Indefinitely - Part Two

Well this ended up a much longer project than I originally intended, I just can't seem to stop extending it and adding in details. Part three to come soon, that part might be the end but if I keep going at the rate I am at the moment it might just spill out into a shortish part four. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Live Indefinitely (Part two)

The flat swam hazily into view and the first thing Leon registered was a dull ache in his abdomen and his nose. He hadn’t been hit too hard and he was sure nothing was broken but it had been enough to both wind and floor him. He lay on his bed for a long time thinking dejectedly about the show he was supposed to be playing that night and how badly he didn’t want to do it. It was at this point when he made a snap decision, “I’m 29 for God’s sake” he thought to himself, “I could be doing so much more than this”. He slid off his bed and picked his phone out of the jeans pocket on the floor, went through his contacts, found ‘Jimmy’ and clicked call. The phone rang 8 times before it went through to voicemail and Leon was forced to listen to “I know how to fuckin’ do it man you’ve gotta wait til the beep beeps you daft twat, what? No it fuckin’ didn’t or I woulda heard it, just shut up a minute... Oh wait I think it did yeah, well I need to rerecord it now don’t I? How do I..? What no I said I need to rerecord it cos the beep’s alread-“ and then a beep. He took a deep breath and spoke quickly into the phone “Jimmy, it’s Leon. Forget this gig man, and I don’t mean just the one I mean them all for me. I’m done here, we suck. It’s time we all moved on man, if you’ve got any common sense left you’ll ditch this Supernova bollocks and go find a real job. Good luck man.” And he hung up. The silence seemed especially deep at that moment and he moved stiffly over to the kitchen to make some breakfast. As he pottered slowly around putting together a bacon sandwich the enormity of what he had done started to sink in. Playing with the band was most definitely not a hobby for him, he had been doing it exclusively for the money and without a job he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. But he thought to himself rationally that it surely couldn’t be too hard to find a job these days, and he sat himself down at his computer with an inexplicable feeling of optimism despite his pounding head and bruised stomach. He rolled up a cigarette and the smoke curled slowly above his head as he began his search.

“We can do I suppose, yes, but we want you to give up smoking son. If we’re going to be helping you out to this degree we would appreciate knowing you’re doing something responsible with the money. And get yourself signing on for goodness sake, I and your mother are glad you’ve decided to grow up you know, we’ll send you any promising leads we find for work. We’re transferring the money now, make it last.” Leon hung his phone up and sat miserably on his bed. He had not left his flat for three days now and it reeked of stale tobacco and unwashed pots and pans. He was glad to have his parents back on his side to some degree though, they had not been that warm with him for years, but they were helping him now and that meant a lot. He picked up his guitar which was already lying by his pillows and strummed listlessly to himself, he realised after a few seconds that he was playing the chords to ‘Wonderwall’ and tutted in disgust at himself. He picked up his smoking materials from by his feet and decided morosely to give the whole giving up thing a good go; to this end he rolled up a cigarette, put it on his pillow and crushed his filters and skins in his fist, he strolled over to the bin and threw the entire lot in there along with his tobacco. He lit his final cigarette and stood there with his eyes closed savouring every drag he took, it seemed only seconds before the smoke was irritating his eyes and the tobacco was all smoked. He threw the end in the bin and sat down to watch some evening television. The next morning he got up feeling irritable and sweaty, he would usually leave it another 20 minutes before he smoked anyway but just knowing it wasn’t coming was enough to make him feel awful. He rummaged through his draws and put on some vaguely “smart” clothes and left the building at 8:45. His first appointment at the jobseekers office seemed a strange affair to him because it was the first time in nearly a week he had had any human contact apart from phone-calls. He waited his turn and once called sat down across the table from a sharply dressed young Asian man who smiled at him and said “So you’re Leon Adams, lovely. So we just need to ask you what you’ve been doing to find work this week, and we’ll go over that in all subsequent appointments, you’ll have to attend a seminar from time to time but in the meantime we should be able to provide you with living expenses.” Leon nodded and said “That’s fine... Well I think my dad is setting me up with some work at the office of a friend of his... And I’ve been looking on gumtree and through various listings on forums and the like, I’m thinking about upgrading my connection though because things seem pretty slow, although it might be my router... Or the fact I’m using Chrome at the moment instead of Firefox. I’m still not convinced of its superiority as a browser to be honest, although things have been slow for a while actually so I might just reformat my whole hard drive.” Leon realised he was wittering due to his nerves and decided to shut up. The young Asian man nodded at him slowly, smiled again and said “I see Mr Adams... Well did you know that these days you can look for jobs on the internet? If you have a computer you can search for jobs and job opportunities on web sites”. Leon sat there for a second, nonplussed. “Web sites?” he queried, wondering if the man across the table was joking. “Yes Mr Adams, web sites. You go on web sites and they show you how to do all sorts of things that you look for on the internet. Do you have a computer?”

Luckily for Leon his first trip to the dole office turned out to be his last, as his father had indeed come through on his offer and secured him a job working in his friend’s office. The office Leon would be working out of supplied biros they had bought at wholesale prices to businesses. He noted dully on the morning of his first shift that he was wearing a suit again and that he should probably go and purchase another one if this was his new calling. He drove his small car the short distance to his new office and once there entered the building and strolled towards the lift. The ground floor was anonymously bland with no defining features and Leon couldn’t help but thinking some of this blandness had rubbed off on the people walking around him, most of who looked like the male or female that the big man might have started with before creating variants and offshoots of to come up with a variety of people with which to populate the human race. Realising he had five minutes to spare he walked into the cafeteria and picked up a bowl of soup and a piece of bread from the hot food section and carried them carefully to the till. He looked at the man working on the till in surprise, “Dom!” he exclaimed, “Leon? How’re you?” his old friend asked. “Been better man but... but also I’ve been worse” he replied, he was feeling elated just seeing a friendly face although he hadn’t seen Dom for just over 10 years, since he’d left college. “Ok well that’s £1.79 then please”. Leon was slightly taken aback by Dom’s lack of interest in catching up in any way but he shrugged it off mentally and shoved his hands into his back pocket and pulled out some change. He counted the many coins out in a slightly apologetic tone for all the 1p, 2p and 5ps and reached £1.78. “Ah shit, sorry man I’ve not got the penny. I’ll give it to you at lunchtime yeah? You can stick it in the till then”. “Sorry Leon, you can’t not pay for it” he replied in a stony sort of way. There was an awkward silence “C’mon man I’ve got a bit more in my glove compartment... D’you want me to get it now?” Dom shook his head and said “No sorry because then where would you leave your food? You can’t just leave it on the table here with the till, that’s not policy. And also there’s a queue. You’ll have to put something back”. Leon stood there for a moment in disbelief at his old friend acting like such a jobsworth. “Fine” he said slowly and picked the piece of bread up. “No not that, that’s unhygienic now it’ll have to be thrown away if you don’t eat it, but the soup’s in a bowl. Why don’t you put that back?” Leon was fuming as he walked out the cafeteria eating his dry piece of bread, he walked into the lift in a defeated sort of anger and took it to his floor.

It did not take him long to discover than nearly all the employees of “Biro supply-o” acted in similarly pedantic ways when it came to rules, flinching at the idea of using integrity or common sense to bypass never enforced regulations and it was only days before Leon felt thoroughly miserable again, despite the fact that he knew was lucky to have landed a job at all. He had never before in his lifetime experienced anything that was consistently both stressful and boring. His time in the Champagne Supernovas was usually boring during their actual sets and stressful later on while having to deal with the fallout of a bad review (especially earlier before they were all used to it) or an unruly and unsatisfied crowd after they had come off stage. However working in the office was a hellish combination of both at the same time and it was this that caused him to buy the necessary materials and after just over a week of frustration he was sitting at his computer desk with a lit rollup. He figured if he could go for 10 days without smoking at all he could wean himself off them in a month or two. He sat at his desk for a few minutes before deciding to pick up his guitar and have an idle fiddle with it, it wasn’t long before he found himself playing a riff he had written himself several months ago, he stood up and rummaged under his bed before pulling out a notebook. He took the notebook and the guitar back to the desk and flipped through until he found a page covered with lyrics and various ideas he used to scrawl down whenever he felt inspired. Looking through all the lyrics he had (the complexity of which pleasantly surprised him) and remembering a few riffs he had imagined he realised he had at least two complete songs. He sat there for a few seconds before playing them starting to feel excited, he didn’t have a band and for the moment he didn’t want one but if he could perfect these two songs he had written in pieces last year it meant he could do it again. He typed them up and used a piece of software to record his vocals and then again to record the guitar section and after only 15 minutes he was left with what he considered to be a couple of demo takes, he then took one of the songs and played it live in his chair into his microphone and although the sound quality was fairly poor he delighted in how comprehensive it sounded as a song. He had never done this before, he had only entertained the idea of stepping from behind his drum-kit to sing and play lead guitar in vague daydreams. He did not sleep for several hours, he sat there thinking about work and everything he associated it with and as he did so words began flowing from first his pen until eventually he felt confident enough to type them up and after fiddling around with different sounds he found a riff he was happy with. He entitled his song ‘Pens’ and quickly set up a Myspace page for his recordings, despite the website being dead for social networking it was still a great place to discover and be discovered music-wise. After his songs had all been posted Leon realised the time was just after four in the morning and he only had a few hours of sleep left, nevertheless he went to bed in a state of feverish enthusiasm.

Another Ruth Kitchen original.
Much thanks and love!

The next 3 weeks or so were not the explosion of productivity and creativity that Leon had hoped for, he still went to work every day to work for a guy who made him wish he were working for David Brent, he was still struggling to smoke less than five cigarettes a day and he was still aware of the fact that he had not gotten laid for over a year now, but putting these things aside he started to almost enjoy himself. He would sit at his cubicle by day phoning people about missing orders or writing up long tedious emails and think about his plans to restart his music career in a completely different direction, exactly 22 days after the night he had rewritten his first two songs and written a third he had six in total. He was happy with the songs themselves and through posting on a few blogs he had already attracted over 200 views on his Myspace page which now featured all six of his rough songs. He had decided that no good showman who had never been on stage before with his own material and would be playing to mostly oblivious people should go in without a cover and to that end he had fashioned what he believed was a decent take on The Arctic Monkeys’ ‘The Bakery’ in the hopes somebody might recognise and enjoy that even if they disliked what he had written himself. He had his first gig coming up at one of the local pubs and a few of his friends he had met through playing the circuits previously had told him they would turn up, as well as a couple of strangers who didn’t live too far away and had enjoyed the songs online. He felt privileged to have an audience already; even if they were likely to be less than ten in total number and he was also grateful to the pub for having him back as it happened to be one that had banned the tribute band from the premises. After his shift was over he walked quicker than he had ever walked in front of any of his colleagues into the lift and into the car-park at which point he sped home. He picked up his guitar, stood in front of the mirror nervously still in his suit and over 30 minutes played what he considered to be flawless renditions of all six of his songs and the cover. He arrived at the pub for 8 o’clock and before he knew what was going on there was a small crowd of people making their way towards him and shaking his hand, most of them he recognised but a group of two guys and a girl told him they had just discovered him online and had come to hear his music, the girl looked like she was in her mid twenties and something in the way she looked at Leon made his stomach lurch. The group found a large table and Leon took his guitar through to the back and found the event manager, Barry. Barry was a round, fat man who Leon tried very hard to like but found difficult due to his constant usage of misogynistic and racist comments about everything around him, Leon suspected he was slightly senile, despite not even being 50. “I bet the Jews did this” he fumed at a technician who was telling him about a faulty light, “Ah Leon” he boomed warmly and put his arm around him “Glad to have you back now you’ve ditched that Jimmy prick, I see you sitting over there with that tidy bit of fanny. I tell you what son, I would smash her back doors in without a second thought, and have her make me breakfast too”. He smiled at Leon in a way which said “I have made a funny joke, please share in it”. At which Leon grimaced reluctantly “I’m sure she’d be honoured to let you, Barry... Now when am I on and where do you want me to put my guitar?” Barry outlined to him that he would be on at 10 and he would have to sound-check on the fly as he was setting up. Leon was starting to remember why he had never been bothered that the band had been barred from coming there. He put his electric acoustic guitar down in a corner as he had been instructed and sat back with his friends – new and old. He sipped a pint slowly all the way through the other musicians and spent some time talking to everybody at his table, explaining at large what was wrong with his job and relishing that every time he made a joke the pretty girl who had come purely on the merit of his music (whose name turned out to be Laila) giggled and smiled at him.

At half past nine the band on stage took a bow and exited, at which point Leon stood up, and everybody at his table clapped him on the arm if they could reach or wished him good luck. He made his way back stage and a few minutes later found himself standing awkwardly on stage checking the sound levels in front of the entire audience. He struggled with his feelings of feeling slightly foolish and got the levels to a point that suited him, sat backstage for a few minutes rushing through it all in his head. Barry walked past him at 3 minutes to ten, told him to get ready and went on stage and introduced him as “A good friend of mine (Leon cringed) who’s not played here since he was bottled off three years ago in that dreadful Blur band”. Leon heard a spattering of vague and unsure applause and walked back through the sheet of curtain onto the small stage, passing Barry and standing in front of the entire pub. He quickly scanned the room and estimated the total audience to be around 60, he thanked people for watching, took a deep breath and began. The show went better than he could ever have predicted and he noticed that some of the younger crowd sang happily along to his cover. By the time he had finished his last song a good portion of the pub were standing up in interest, he walked back into the curtain and thanked everybody and to his surprise he heard chants of “one more tune, one more tune”. He dithered just behind the curtain wondering what exactly he should do before Barry gave him an encouraging nod and told him “You’re the last act on, it’s only 10:45, you’ve got time for one more”. Leon nervously walked back on to more applause than he had ever experienced in his life, not that that was saying much really but it was still an achievement he felt. “Well.... this is unrehearsed so don’t expect it to be perfect, but as you asked so nicely” and for the first time in his life he found himself enjoying playing an Oasis cover. He sang the opening line of Wonderwall but quickly realised it wasn’t necessary at all as the pub at large took over for him. By the time the song was over almost everybody in the venue was clapping and whistling him; he walked backstage and then immediately reappeared on the main part of the pub and sat back down. The reception appeared to be unanimously good and suddenly strangers were buying him pints, it also transpired that  one of the lads who had come to see him perform but didn’t actually know him had filmed the entire thing and assured him “I’ll make sure people see this soon man”. People shook his hand for the next half an hour or so until the pub closed, he found himself once again stood outside a pub thinking about getting himself home although he found this time there was no vicious mob. He felt a touch on his arm and turned round to see Laila standing there “Are you getting a taxi?” She asked “Yeah” he said uncertainly... “Aren’t you going home with the others?” “Nah” she grinned, "I already told them I’ll see them later. They don’t own me y’know, they’re just a couple of friends.” Leon smiled vaguely at her through his beer induced haze, leaned in and the pair kissed on the pavement. Feeling excitedly like things might be slowly turning around for him; he hailed a taxi which was driving slowly past the pub, opened the door for Laila and got in himself. 

Off He Goes

Off He Goes

Off he goes to better days,

The twilight of her youth,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

Adventure and wisdom through the haze,

Can these days be eclipsed?

Off he goes to better days.

To work that greater money pays,

But now let’s get lashed up,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

I fall into his weathered gaze,

“I miss my quaint hometown”

Off he goes to better days.

His manner’s different as are his ways,

A new man stands before me,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

Now I regret my choices made,

At least I do right now,

Off he goes to better days,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

- Nothing's changed but the surrounding bullshit.

Live Indefinitely - Part One

And now it’s time for our next story. This one I’m going to split into a few parts because it’s rather long and I don’t wanna put off any potential readers with a massive wall of text... And also doing it in a few bits lets me have a bit of a guilt free break from actually writing while I just sorta storyboard it and make sure it all makes sense. Obviously that part takes longer if the story itself is longer. I’m not sure yet exactly how many parts it will consist of, I originally only meant to split it in half but I ended up writing far more than I originally anticipated and I do generally feel like around 3000 words is your limit to expect people to read on a blog in one sitting. Finally the only people who proof read this in any way is myself and you people so if you see any obvious errors please let me know. I do my best to clean this stuff up before I put it here but inevitably a few mistakes always get through. Anyways, the introduction is out the way now I hope you enjoy reading. Thanks for continued support.

Live Indefinitely (Part one)

The lights in the dingy pub went down, that was the assumption of most people there in any case. Perhaps they had all simply broken at exactly the same time coincidentally just as the band came on stage; that was a strong possibility. The lead singer of the band looked round at his audience with a sneer and the drummer tapped his symbols four times before the lead guitarist started the riff and the small crowd of people standing in the pub started moving to ‘Cigarettes and Alcohol’. The band on stage however was not called Oasis and the year was not 1994. The band on stage was called ‘The Champagne Supernovas’ and the year was 2011. Leon Adams sat behind the other three at his drum-kit bashing out the same old rhythm he bashed out every night with considerable distaste. He was now 29 years old and had been playing in the band for five years now, it was probably the longest assignment he had ever committed to and his dislike for Oasis coupled with the fact that his “just passing through” job had become his full time occupation had led to a jaded and unhappy period of his life emerging. He often thought that playing in an Oasis tribute band was the worst job that anybody could have ever because although he didn’t mind the later material, nobody else ever seemed to want to hear it. So night after night they would bash out the obvious songs, the greatest hits and the chart busters. Back when he first joined he could occasionally persuade the others to knock out a rendition of ‘Sunday Morning Call’, ‘My Big Mouth’ or ‘The Meaning Of Soul’ but this experimental edge was dropped once audiences everywhere frowned and muttered things like “I didn’t know they played their own stuff too”. So night after night it was back to ‘Wonderwall’, ‘Rock & Roll Star’, and ‘Champagne Supernova’. What started out monotonous was quickly becoming a living nightmare. On top of Leon’s personal boredom of the same old setlists every night he also disliked the fans, the young lads who knocked back 4 pints of Carling in 20 minutes before raucously singing along and calling everybody within sight a cunt, staggering out at the end of the night and invariably starting fights. He also disliked the venues they played, shitty little bars and pubs without any proper technical support and if the people there weren’t drinking lots and getting involved in inappropriate ways they would be ignoring the band completely, he hated the band name as well.
He often thought that Jimmy Paulson (their lead singer for almost every song) could not have come up with a less imaginative name for an Oasis tribute band. However the thing that bugged Leon the most was the reviews the band received. Every time they played a show that was under review the feedback would come back to them with 3 stars maximum, if it happened to be a 1 or a 2 star review well then they were used to it. The criticism would mention the band’s lack of diversity in their setlist which was annoying enough but the fact of the matter was that the band were appalling. The renditions were just drab because Jimmy was the only one there who really cared and he couldn’t sing. Jimmy was 32 with no qualifications, he could not carry a tune and knew just about the bare minimum guitar to stumble through the rhythm section of well rehearsed songs. He lived with his parents and when he wasn’t whining the lyrics to ‘Roll With It’ to 40 uninterested over 60s he sold dope out of their house while they were at work. Michael was a new lead guitarist and had been there for less than a year, he had already confided in Leon that he was leaving the band soon so he was already mentally written off and Dan was the bassist. Dan was what Leon considered a ‘sad case’. He had been in the band since its inception with Jimmy and his promising bass guitar skills were being wasted through apathy and being drowned out by Jimmy’s horrible vocals. All in all, The Champagne Supernovas were a pathetic bunch, and Leon wanted out. The band finished their uninspired set with ‘Live Forever’, and walked off the stage and straight back into the main floor of the pub. None of the punters gave them a second look nor said anything to them. Jimmy did not 
notice this; he had been plastered since before the sound-check.

Leon awoke in his small flat the next morning with a considerable hangover. He prised his sticky eyes open and swallowed a few times wondering if the taste in his mouth was that very specific taste before one throws up, or if it was just cider. He sat up on his double bed and licked his dry, cracked lips for a few seconds and took a few deep breaths. He picked his phone up from the side of the bed to look at the time and he was greeted with “1 new message” which he proceeded to open and read “Will pick you up at 9:15. Be ready. Mum. Xx”. The first thing he noted about the text was that his mother had signed it, he had told her time and again “It tells me who’s sent it mum, you don’t need to write who it’s from”. The second thing he noticed was that she had said she would be picking him up at 9:15, and the time was 9:01 now. He would have jumped straight out of bed if he had possessed the resolve but he knew in his state he would just fall straight over so he compromised by shuffling faster than he usually would along the corridor and into the bathroom. He had completely forgotten that today was the day his sister, Laura was getting married. Married to some bell-end that Leon didn’t think much of, but then again it was probably just that this fella was a cop. Leon didn’t trust policemen despite the fact that he was now a completely law abiding citizen, he still harboured a distinct resentment for officers of the law from his youth where he’d spent a night locked in a jail cell for one small joint, been patronised, pushed around and generally treated like shit by the boys in blue. But he knew his sister loved Ken (there’s another reason he disliked him, who’s called Ken anymore? Especially a 35 year old man) and despite the age gap of ten years, that meant a lot to him. Even if his skin did crawl every time he heard Ken call her his “songbird”. He still felt genuine compassion for Laura. In his experience a lot of older brothers who were slightly more rebellious had a strong dislike in their childhood for any younger sibling; especially if that younger sibling happened to be more of an academic or a generally less naughty or manageable child... But Leon had never really felt these jealous feelings, not for very long at a time anyway. He knew that he was not an academic; he knew he was always the one who was first being kept in at playtimes, then being given detentions and then spending nights in prison cells for actual reasons. Laura did not behave like him and he could not begrudge her that, he admired her dignity and her intellect and only through strong love of her could he admire her so very much without feeling jealousy. He was also of course, fiercely protective over her. It was for all of these reasons that Leon tried to get along with Ken and had consented to put on a suit and come to their wedding, smile throughout it and congratulate his sister, meet Ken’s friends and family and listen to their bad jokes and phrases which were almost as terrible as his own family's. “I’m not losing a daughter but gaining a son” they would probably say while he made himself smile and chuckle along.

For a sluggish pace he was going at light-speed, his mother was an entire 90 seconds late which would have been a serious cause for worry and alarm if he had not been so grateful for the overtime, by the time she was beeping her car outside his flat he had just managed to be showered, get dressed, force down a piece of toast and clean his teeth. He thought this show of dedication would be enough to appease his mother but her disapproving eye roamed him up and down as he sat in the back seat and she peered at him from the front seat. “For goodness sake don’t smoke that cigarette in here” she barked as he began to roll one on his lap “and comb your hair” she snapped as she passed him a hairbrush. “Hello mum... ‘Lo dad” he muttered to his father in the driver’s seat. His dad gave him a sort of backwards nod without turning around to look at him and the car started up down the road. Leon made a few swipes at his hair and then resumed his cigarette rolling. The journey was uncomfortable but mercifully not too long, Leon got out of the car in the church yard and lit his roll-up and stood morosely smoking it. His father gave him an appraising look as he stepped out the car after him, shook his head and said “For god’s sake Leon, you look like Pete fucking Doherty” and walked away muttering. As everybody sat down in the church pews Leon looked over at the groom’s side and noted that the majority of the congregation were beefy looking blokes, all clearly coppers off duty. “It’s a good thing I’m not Pete Doherty really” he thought to himself as he fidgeted. Ken stepped forward and then the guy in the robes said some things and eventually Laura appeared and walked down while everybody made a massive amount of fuss over how beautiful she looked. Although he was happy for her, he still found it difficult to make a particularly big deal out of a wedding, he had never liked them although he was not sure why, possibly just too much family together in one place. The speeches and the vows were brief and before Leon had really registered what was going on they were walking back out and everybody was standing up, the bit that came next he had more mixed feelings on. Of course a reception is a reception and nobody can be too miserable with a bar and a big lunch to enjoy but at the same time this was when people would be talking to him. He didn’t mind too much chatting to old relatives, aunts, uncles and grandparents were boring enough he supposed but they were easy, manageable. It was having the hefty ex rugby playing policemen that he was keen to avoid and with that in mind he got back into his mother’s car and sat back, nervously rolling another cigarette. Leon’s parents talked spiritedly about how proud they were of their beautiful daughter and how lovely the service was, while Leon himself was ignored for the duration of the drive.

At the hotel Leon glowed with happiness for the first time all day when he discovered his small card had been placed on the main table and made a mental note to thank Laura for this inclusion. A waiter came around and everybody within site took a glass of buck’s fizz and almost everybody there seemed to take it completely in their stride. Nobody was yet sitting down and everybody was just generally loitering around talking to each other and Leon’s pride bubble was already diminishing with mild anxiousness that he looked silly; standing there talking to nobody. He had only just decided to make a conscious effort to try and relax and that things could definitely get worse, when things suddenly did. A large muscular man who was that strange mix of trollishly ugly but yet probably attractive due to his seeming oafishness strolled over to him and did not so much offer his large hand to Leon as push it straight into his. “Leon yeah? My name’s Dennis. Ken’s mentioned you to me” he stated at Leon. There was an uncomfortable silence that was filled by an awkward chuckle, and “You play in an Oasis tribute act right?  Good band, good band.” He boomed in an approving way but which somehow carried a note of snideness. “Yeah, good band.... Wonderwall, that’s a good one. That er, Supernova one, yeah I like that. Oh and that ‘anger’ one too. Yeah, good songs.” Leon didn’t really know what to say but forced out “So you’re a policeman?” “Yes.” Leon sipped his drink and nodded his head trying to look interested and think of something to say. “Catch many bad guys?” he asked in a voice he tried to make sound casually interested “A few” “I got arrested once” he piped up without thinking. He wasn’t sure why he had said it but it just seemed to have popped into his head at which point his brain had recognised it was vaguely related and decided to throw it out there. The silence hung thickly between them as Leon tried to stop himself going red and say something clever “I didn’t really do much wrong, well I mean I did ‘cos I was smoking drugs so they were right to arrest me, they were a bit heavy-handed though, but I spose they’ve got to be, you’ve got to be I mean, not that you arrested me I mean, this was a long time ago and you’re not that old...” Dennis watched him with a frown “So... do you have any qualifications or anything son?” Glad of the subject change, Leon replied rather quickly “Not really just a few A-levels, all low grades though. Probably due to the drugs eh?” he laughed confidently but when Dennis’s face remained stony he stopped laughing and his fist which had been halfway on the way to giving Dennis an awkward punch on the shoulder lingered in the air in a terrible no-man’s land of social awkwardness. “I was just joking... About the drugs... Not about being arrested, that did happen... about them ruining my exams. I never used to smoke that much, I mean I still don’t”... The silence that followed was the loudest yet and after a few seconds Dennis just frowned even deeper and muttered “maybe it’s time you grew up son.” Clapped him half-heartedly on the shoulder and walked off.

Several nights later Leon was sat again behind a drum-kit, tapping his symbols and listlessly drumming the beat to ‘Cigarettes and Alcohol’ As the song came to an end there was a definite sound of booing coming from the audience, which surprised him because he was not used to hearing anything near what might be construed as “passion” from the people they played for. As they began their second song he heard Jimmy burble “fuck off lad” into the microphone and once the song had ended, there it was again, but louder. In the end the band were cut short after only 5 songs, something that had never happened to them before. Michael and Dan sighed dispiritedly and Dan asked morosely “Where did it all go wrong?” The pair of them shouldered their guitars and walked out the door, only minutes later Jimmy was thrown out for conducting pushing matches with some of the hecklers. Leon didn’t feel like leaving however, he was fairly sure that the drunk punters hadn’t clocked him as the drummer from the band and he was safe to stay there for a little longer with a beer. He took a chair near the back of the room and watched as the final act of the night came on, it was a singer songwriter with nothing more than an acoustic guitar. He sat down on the seat to some fairly muted applause and smiling impishly he quipped into the now quiet pub “Rock ‘n Roll stars my arse, why is Oasis soup so popular?” he shouted in an encouraging way and predictably several people shouted back “Because you getta roll with it!!” and the entire body of people inside the building seemed to be shaking with laughter. Leon just sat there sipping his pint of Timothy Taylor and wondering if he should join in with the laughter. Much to his annoyance the guitarist was actually pretty good and went down very well, his set only lasted 30 minutes however and by the time it was over the last orders bell had gone and people were filing out the pub. By the end of the show there was only a few people left so when Leon stepped out into the cold night air thinking about flagging down a taxi there was only him and a few others there. “Were you with those bellends butchering classic brit-pop?” the ugliest of the small group asked Leon aggressively. He was short but stocky, bald and was wearing a tight leather coat. The two had quickly become nose to nose and he didn’t really know how to answer. “No, no I wasn’t”. He lied, but from behind the thug in his face came a woman’s voice of “fucking liar yes you was you was hitting the drums” his stomach dropped. “Well” asked the thuggish man, “was you hitting the drums?” Leon shrugged “We call it ‘playing’. Not hitting”. The group all made a loud “oo”ing noise which he might have found funny if the situation hadn’t been quite so serious “Think you’re funny dickhead? How’s this for hitting? D’you Know What I Mean?” and the small fellow smashed Leon hard in the ribs, pulled back his fist and struck him twice in the face. “Roll with that” he spat. “Prick”. And the group walked away laughing.

End of Part One.