Magenta Monster

We moved our invalid, who really was very ill by this point, I was slightly surprised that the medic had not euthanized him but then I thought about her standing there in the tunnel awaiting our return with only a corpse for company and could see why she had not. The fact that none of us had suggested it whilst we prepared an area to fit the inflatable air seal chamber that my father had given me worried me more. At least he would have the rite enacted for him. We were the model of efficiency – well none of us really wanted to linger there and now we would have either a sick person or a dead body to hoist back to base with us.

I sort of wanted him to stay alive long enough to say farewell to his family and friends, the Medic I suspected wanted to run a battery of tests on him to see why his condition was so acute. The illness never consumed an individual this quickly, it was transmogrifying him before our very eyes. I didn’t want to look but found I couldn’t help it. I was drawn time and again to his dissolving fur.

If it was some new virulent variety of the sickness then we could all be in a lot of trouble – not that we weren’t already, some how we had to survive – something of us as a people had to go beyond this crisis. No one knew who was going to catch it, it didn’t seem to have a contagion pattern, not even a genetic susceptibility which is what had originally be thought, it was a mystery. Over the last decade it had begun to appear that no one was immune exactly, it was just a matter of how much of your life you got to live before the mange came sneaking in to steel your vitality and looks.

Sometimes its progress was slow but often not, but it seemed impossible that any disease could move this fast through a system. I was turning out not to be such a great leader. The air lock was inflating, sealing of the cave tunnel, we had done some dye powder analysis to see if air was still going into the area that had had the cave in, this basically amounted to us throwing coloured dust into the air and watching where the swirls of it went – but all done scientifically of course.

There was a hiss and clunk and the until was sealed. Then it began to suck out of the sealed chamber into the corridor of stone we were standing in. It did this for twenty minutes, I could not see that it would help unless that branch of the cave was completely sealed which was unlikely – blocked to humans yes but not to air! But it would apparently slightly alter the relative air pressures so that when we flooded the chamber with the acidic gas it would be sucked through to were the remnants of the team were trapped. There it would administer a quicker death than starvation though no one had been able to assure me it would be less painful and that did not sit well with me. It would also dissolve flesh and bone and so would be almost the Rite delivered to those who’s bodies lay beyond the stone wall.

The chemicals to make the gas were in three separate canisters which would fit into the air lock, it’s inflatable rim allowing it to contour nicely with the irregular shape of the tunnel. It was a beautiful piece of engineering, I prayed it had been adapted rather than designed for this deadly purpose, it seemed sickeningly wrong.

The thing was blatantly a prototype as well, so part of me feared the deadly mix escaping and images of us attempting to flee down the stone tunnel being melted alive filled my mind, I could not swallow, the fear choked me. I had to pretend I was fine as I felt how brittle the others on the team were.

I unfolded a stretcher, light and portable and me and the medic man handled him onto it. I felt the tears stinging at my eyes, there was raw patches of skin showing through the fur now and they glistened strangely sticky and a smell like burning seemed to extrude off of him. I wondered if he would hold out for the journey back.

I felt whoozy with fatigue myself and the medic had to give me a shot of stim, neat stim is never good, at least for me – it made me feel like I was on fire and that my brain was running faster than I could understand my own internal dialogue – I was wired! Everything moved too slow and I jittered. But it was the only way I was going to get through this.

We dragged, pushed and man handled the gurney through the steeper and narrower bits of the tunnel until finally we made it back to base where the medic, sealed her specimen into a closed stretcher and disappeared into the out reaches of the base. I had not been to the area were the general population were since my arrival, I wondered what it looked like. One thought of those kids clutching at their parents and I decided I really didn’t want to know. I was a coward and I was going to remain hidden from it and let my parents deal with that side of things.

I sat to write the expedition down but the stim that had carried me through could only last so long and there was no way my system should have a second shot – as I crashed in an exhaustive pile I wondered if the medics had something different or if they just had special training to deal with it.

My father appeared and ushered me into bed – thickly I tried to protest, tried to explain I needed to make a report, but darkness swarmed up to claim me. I did not dream and I was more than grateful for that – I knew they would be vivid and brutal when they occurred.

Sunday’s Moon (first published on Turquoise Monster)

Sunday’s Moon bulldozes the weekend, violently dragging the week with it
Monday’s Moon sips coffee forlorn at the week ahead
Tuesday’s Moon serrinades Wednesday in a cheerful sort of way
Wednesday’s Moon consumes pizza whilst trying to share with the rest of the week
Thursday’s Moon sits in dispair at the waning week wondering when all the works going to get done
Friday’s Moon exhustively drags itself to the bar to drink malty piss in relief
Saturday’s Moon relaxes stretched out with a glass of wine sighing deeply
Until…
Sunday’s Moon bulldozes the weekend

I found another wonderful album for writers to have a look at – this one is called Places You Wont Believe Actually Exist.

She dances to twist the clouds of aether, to tie the ribbons of creation, looping and swerling. She paints the moon with silver thread, flaring from her head, her skirt a crimson undulation will birth planets and stars in it’s unraveling.

She is the dancer dashing this way and that, kinking the ribbons in mid flow to achieve the new angles of life. But her tempo is slowing and she feels the weight of billions of years on the balls of her stilettoed feet. When she stops for a drink or to wend her weary way home – the motion and energy of life will drift after her in a slowly dying echo of the dance.

Jasper was a mole, a small velvety mole, his fur was not as dark as the others, he was twilight to their midnights and they never let him forget it. Moles aren’t exactly sociable in the first place but when you grow up being called the velvetine ghost and having your worms nicked off of your plate you tend to seek out the solace of alone time.

So it was with Jasper, one day he left the burrow, mainly to find somewhere to cry as he’d been nipped by Ruskin who had been the biggest of the spring pups and then the git had eaten all the worms Jasper’s Mum had found for him. Jasper hated being small.

Of course he should have said goodbye to his mum or something and he felt sad that she would have worried and feared the worst but in the end he was happier away from the other moles. He found a nice whole in the base of a tree with a little set of rooms between the roots. It was very cosy in winter when he mostly slept curled up in a nest of leaves. A little family of mice lived just over the bank and they were very welcoming and brought him over nuts and the like, he didn’t really eat that sort of thing but it was the thought that counted.

He would take the little ones for explores along the river bank and that was when he saw it, a great silver mole, so pale and sleek. He trembled at the sight, it was the only mole he’d ever seen that was paler than him, if he was twilight then this was the dawn!

At first he was too timid to call to the strange mole but as the days past he got closer and closer, eventually he became aware that the other mole knew he was there. He dug up a bumper load of worms after a rain shower and waited, the large mole sauntered over to him, would it just take his worms?

‘They look good,’ he said and Jasper nodded.

‘Would you like some?’ he asked in awe and felt and a pleasure when the other creature began to eat.

When he had finished he squinted at Jasper and Jasper felt worried. ‘I have been looking for a young mole by the name of Jasper?’

‘Oh that’s me!’ Jasper cried.

‘I had to go away to help with the Lawn Provision, you know of the war with the humans?’ (Jasper didn’t but didn’t want to admit that so nodded) ‘Then when I come home I find your mother in a dreadful state thinking you are dead and stuff.’ Jasper snuffled his nose into the leaf litter suddenly he wanted to see his mum very much.

‘The other moles… they kept taking my worms and they are all so much bigger than me!’ he wailed.

The Mole tutted, ‘not anymore your not, you have inherited some of my build, though your colouring is more your mother’s, you were small as you were an autumn baby – the only pup your mum had and you ran away!’

Tears began to leak from Jasper’s eyes and he felt really bad.

‘Are you coming home?’

‘Yes… Dad?’

The older mole smiled and nodded and then turned away to head off.

‘Hang on I need to say goodbye to the mice and the frog and old Owl.’

‘I’ll be here waiting.’

Japser ran off excited for what seemed like the first time in his life he couldn’t wait to get home and see his Mum!

The Aztec Raspberries gathered around the pyramid alter of frozen victims minced and mixed with fermented cow lactate. They sung songs to invoke the death goddess and awaited the juice that would ensure the sun would rise on the morrow. The sacrificial raspberry sat at the very apex of the pyramid and awaited with fruity grace the horror that was it’s fate – having been soaked in berry wine had helped with it’s serene continence and it fancied itself somewhat of a vampire as it had bathed in the life juices – the very berry blood of others, such as it.

And soon the Fork from the Sky descended and skewered the raspberry and carried it dripping juice to a maw so hideous the other berries quivered in fear. Great tomb stones of yellowed ivory ripped the sacrifice in half before a large and flapping creature covered in slime pushed it over to wide rugged platforms to be grounded and pounded into nothing but a fleshy pulp. The remains were then plunged into a bottomless pit.

The berries breathed a sigh of relief and congratulated themselves on a job well done – but then alas for their fledgling civilisation the Sky Fork descended into their mists and scooped the majority of them to their doom. It came back for the survivors and then demolished the pyramid – which to be fair was already melting and looking a bit worse for wear.

It even got the raspberry who had jumped off of the plate rim in desperation – a swift death ensued for the berry as it was crushed under a huge descending platform with ridges upon its underside.

Thus ended the civilisation of the Aztec Raspberries.

Melony was a fisher woman, but before you start conjuring up images of old, pickled, rolly polly ladies that smell worse than a cat litter tray in high summer, let me explain that she was 15, lean and lithe and full of a dark and powerful grace. She would dive from the little platform at the end of her boat and plunge into the clear crisp waters, spear in hand and beads flashing.

On this particular day she was planning to feed the whole barge train, a series of wide shallow boats that worked their ways round the shallows between the islands and up some of the larger rivers of the main land. There was even a horse to help tug the boats across the marshes and the like. Melony was a very specific kind of person and having found that they had obtained broccoli from the mainland and tomatoes from the north she planned to make a supper involving steaming and stirring and smothering. The tomatoes were to be stirred to a sauce and the broccoli steamed and the fish smothered in the sauce. And so she was fishing.

Under the water she swam with elegance, she had been born in the water after all, she did not think about breathing or rhythm or stroke. A silver glint caught her attention and she spotted a nice big plump specimen, and darted towards it. To her surprise it evaded and she followed countering it’s move but it dodged again and again, but though it was evading her, it was not escaping as such and so she followed it. Within her head, she cursed it.

She resurfaced a couple of times to take quick sweet breaths and then she was off again on the hunt but the darn thing kept darting away almost as if it could read her mind. It was quite sometime before she realised what she had done, she stared around herself whilst treading water but there was no boat and she could see no islands and then the chill of realisation hit, she could not see the land beneath the waves.

The fish surfaced and seemed to nod cheekily at her and then dove down into the water, she did not follow. Checking the suns direction she set out at a sedate pace for where she thought home was. She kept the spear even though it slowed her, her reasoning being you never did know what could come up especially in the deeps.

When fatigue began to weight her limbs she rolled onto her back and lay back and dozed off and on in the last rays of the sun. The cool night air awoke her and she prayed that she had not drifted too far off course. Where as the water had been cool and the air and sun warm on her back now there was chill in the air and the water was a warm contrast. She set out again taking the stars as guides but knew that she was most definitely lost.

Her mouth was feeling dry and she knew that her danger now was dying of thirst whilst surrounded by water, she swam on in hope. A sliver dating like moonbeams on the waves caught her attention and to her horror the fish was there keeping pace by her side. Now Melony began to panic, this was strange and spoke of the old magics her grandmother was want to talk about. She tried to ignore it but it’s darting splashes seemed to be creating a tinkling sound, a lovely music of the sea and night sky. and still there was no deep darkness on the horizon that spoke of land, just a smattering of ice bright stars.

She stopped swimming and trod water, she was starting to feel very tired now but knew of at least one tribesman who had stayed alive like this for three days. ‘What do you want?’ she asked the fish.

‘You!’ it replied but before Melony could panic it began to change, it’s features morphing to those of a young man, he was silver and liquid quick and caught her before she could shoot away into the waves. ‘You are tired do not fight! As good a swimmer as you are, you can drown – I can not!’

She glared at him but he smiled, ‘I have never seen such swimming! You must have been born to the water!’ when she nodded he laughed and began to tow her in towards a dark smudge she hadn’t noticed on the horizon.

‘What are you?’ she said making sure she still had a firm grip on her spear.

‘I am a Fishman, a prince of the waves.’ He raised an eyebrow but she was not impressed.

‘I am Melony, Fisherwoman of the Barge Train,’ he nodded understanding her role.

‘You are a queen, the working queen of your people!’ he bubbled and kissed her on the check and then laughingly tugged her onwards. She was glad to feel her feet touch the sand and strode out onto the beach.

‘I do not recognise this island!’ she gasped, she had not thought that possible.

‘No! That is because I made it for you!’

‘Why?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Because I thought you might like it,’ he said sounding worried and sad.

He looked so upset and she recalled that earlier that day she had been trying to catch him to cook, ‘it seems very nice.’ She said slowly.

He beamed at her and stuck out his hand for an age old greeting, ‘friends?’ he asked.

She nodded back, ‘yes friends,’ she smiled and then grabbed his hand. ‘Lets explore!’ she cried and they raced off over the fine fine sand.

Freedom?

Sasha opened her eyes. The darkness greeted them. The fear clutched at her chest once again; the tight in draw of breath burnt her throat. The light snapped on. ‘Sasha, I’m sorry, I forgot,’ the voice was gently pained, as it always was. She attempted to smile bravely at him, her angel, her savour.

‘You ok?’ he whispered. She smiled bravely, to ease his pain.

‘I’m fine, sorry, its just… you know,’ she looked away, ashamed that yet again she had behaved like a small child. Yet again. But the fear snaked its way around her treacherously. She whimpered without meaning to. ‘Do you want the lavender water?’ he asked, concerned. She nodded, mutely allowing him yet again to rescue her. He got a small glass bottle and sprayed its golden green contents on the pillow whilst uttering a prayer she had taught him. On of her pretences, one of her defences, like the light. If she kept still, so still and quiet, like a frightened mouse, she would be safe. He returned to the bed and gently embraced her, whiping away the tears she hadn’t known she was crying. ‘I just want you to be happy, Sasha. What can we do to make you happy?’ His words were meant kindly, but they made the pain grow. She was causing him so many problems; that’s all she had ever caused. He must have seen the change in her demeanour. ‘It wasn’t your fault Sasha, you couldn’t help what happened.’ She stiffened in his arms and tried to make herself small, hating herself for the stupidity; he gently stroked her until she was calm again.

‘You really need to talk to a professional about this, Sash.’ Again she stiffened. Her breathing became a rapid sore rasp yet again. ‘They won’t say you’re mad, honest, not with what happened to you. She looked into his compassionate eyes, aware once again that tears were escaping down her cheeks, big fat tears.

‘Why do I always cry?’ She asked and laughed wetly, petrified.

‘Because you’re healing, do you remember when we first met? You hadn’t cried, not once since you were 13’ The sensation came again, that strange sting, the pressure behind it, the feeling that every rapid panicked breath would cause the blade to go deeper. The strong muscles holding her, hands so big, she could smell them, she knew all their names all their faces, and she knew a lot more that she wished she didn’t. The tea towel they had cruelly abraded her smile with. She had thought she would suffocate, especially when the filthy hessian sack, reeking of earth, had been shoved over her head. It was all there; the textures, the pain, as clear as if she was there again. But his voice was there, gentle, reassuring, bringing her back to reality, back to the here and now. ‘It’s just another flash back, Sasha, that’s all, just another flash back, I’m here, I love you, I’ll protect you.’ She focused on him with her wide scared eyes. He looked haggard. She had put this new stress on him. ‘I’m sorry’, she sobbed. He made calming noises at her.

‘Will you make the doctors appointment tomorrow?’ She shook her head.

‘I ..’ she was scared of phoning, scared of people, scared that if she went outside they would come and get her again, and this time she would be punished for her escape. ‘What’s happening to me?’ she whispered, mortally afraid. He smiled at her. He was tired, and she knew he had several important meetings in the morning. Guilt at her selfishness hit her harder than any of their punches ever had.

‘All that fear, all that hate, all those memories you had buried, convinced that you had to be the perfect human to make up for it all, but now you know it wasn’t your fault and you feel safe so they have to come out, and its painful but it will heal you hon honest. But I can’t cope, we need outside help, Sash. You’re not mad. That maddening confidence you had was a mask, you knew that. I almost missed asking you out because of it, but I saw the you the real brave struggling you within, that night you bit Andy.’ She giggled slightly at that memory; ‘I just panicked’ she blushed.

‘He was a fool, you told him that he was scaring you and that if he didn’t get up you’d bite him, he had a girl pinned to the floor underneath him and he didn’t realise it might scare her when you’d all only just started uni!’ She nodded; Andy was still one of her best friends, he too had realised something was up with her behaviour. That was the first night he had been her saviour, though she probably should have been thrown out of the halls of residence for it. She once again realised how lucky she was that he had decided to be a sub warden. She feel asleep in his arms, comfortable, but still the nightmares came, the darkness, the fear, not knowing were she was, those hands, she would strain her ears listening, listening so hard she could hear the doors squeak three rooms away. She had quickly learned the pattern of footsteps that belong to each of them. She had learned that anticipation of them being there was worse than when they were. She had learned that she couldn’t predict where they would touch her or how. She’d learned obedience, and had hated herself for it.

Why didn’t she scream every time they had come, why hadn’t she bitten them?

She flailed about in her sleep, reliving another moment and then another. She never slept properly. If she awoke in the dark she would be too scared to move. She knew this was all wrong. How could she ask for help? Everyone had thought she had coped, so brave, so brave they had whispered but she wasn’t, she was a frightened 13 year old every time the lights went out, and every time a large male walked near her on the streets.

She remembered that every time they had started trying to persuade her she had retreated, back behind her eyes, into her own head, away from them, a waking dream. She had to fight herself not to do the same now every time real problems arose. The landscapes of the waking dreams were brilliant; she could be anything there and she always killed the enemy, always was brave and strong. But in real life she had done what they told her to do; regardless of right and wrong, she had wanted to survive more.

She awoke late the next day. In a panic she rushed to the children’s room to sort out school, but they were all gone. A slight panic seized her, but the front door clicked and her champion appeared. Sasha rushed into his arms confused. He should be at work! He hugged her and kissed her. ‘Don’t be angry with me,’ he said; her heart dropped. He was going to leave her; she knew it, how could she blame him! But what about the children? She would never cope on her own but she needed to be near them. She began the hysterical crying that had marred her life for the last year or so.

‘Hey! Hey now come on I haven’t even told you what I’ve done yet!’ She backed away from him, ‘I’ve phoned the doctors and made you an appointment, we’re lucky it’s just after lunch.’ She was shaking her head, she couldn’t go to the doctor, how could she? It would be a waste of everybody’s time – “Excuse me Doc but I keep crying and having nightmares”… It was pathetic!

‘Sasha, please. I need you to do this for me? Please, I know you won’t do it for yourself, but I need you! And so do the children.’ It took him an hour of pleading, now she was sitting in the car, her hair a mess, she had tried to use it as an excuse by leaving the brushing till too late but he had snatched the brush from her and virtually in tears frog marched her to the car. She knew he wouldn’t forgive himself because she had forced him to act like the people who hurt her, forcing her into the car, but he was gentle and they were rough. He loved her and she loved him. He was the brave one. She was so scared, would the doctor make her say why she was kidnapped? Would they demand to know all that had happened? Well they could just read the police report! She couldn’t do this. He wanted her to go in by herself, too. How could she do that?

She was retreating into herself; the outside world was retreating from her. She studied her blunt bitten nails, picked at the scabs around the edge of the nail. They had been so long and pretty at her wedding. In a daze, he lead her to the reception. She couldn’t understand the words. She sat next to him; she heard his voice brimming with tears. She felt his pain keenly and snapped back to hug him, as he sobbed. Mo one else was in the waiting room, fortunately. It was her turn to hush him and comfort him. She was here, she realised; she had to do this. There was a calmness that overtook her. She had known for a long time know that she must be suffering from post traumatic stress but she just couldn’t believe it had all affected her in such a lasting way. She sat there very still, waiting, her saviour clutching her hand tightly like he was worried she would bolt. She smiled grimly; half an hour ago, she probably would have. Her name was called. He stood up with her, ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ She looked into his eyes, ‘No I’ll be ok.’ She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and taking a deep breath, did the hardest thing she had ever done and headed to the doctor’s room to ask for help.

It was austerity that had done it, it had finally broken Rosaline, the middle aged woman who had once been a teacher. She was hungry, she hadn’t had anything other than cups of weak tea for three days and before that it had been sandwiches morning and night – there wasn’t enough to do a noon meal with. The breaking point had come as she queued for the terminal in the library, you could no longer book it and so she would spend from 9 till 6 queuing, getting to the slow key worn machine, use it for 20 minutes until her time was up and then re-join the queue. She must have applied for thousands of jobs but she was 36 and past it for most career climbers, and over educated for pretty much everything that did come up and these days they checked you out – they didn’t want any more union coos caused by intelligent people getting mundane jobs.

It was drizzling and she was shaking from need of food, a gnawing in her belly made her feel bizarrely sick. And then the man with the shifty eyes and the bow tie shuffled up beside her, she had seen him around, even been approached by him before but now she was glad to see him. He had a long grubby beige mac.

‘Aai luv want some suasage?’

Back when her life was good she would have taken him for a flasher but now she knew he was the purveyor of stolen culinary delights. She was so hungry she couldn’t form the words to answer him, the thought of sausages was enough to make her go giddy. He took her non-response as a no sale and went to walk away but then paused.

‘I can see you is an upstanding member of society still so no knocked of stuff for you! How ’bout some bacon! It aint nicked!’ she stared wide eyed as he produced a bad of floppy bacon rashers with white vains of fat. She sighed and asked how much.

He grinned and wiped his nose on his coat sleeve. ‘Call it 30 quid and you can ‘ave the lot!’

Rosaline almost collapsed from the stress and disappointment.

‘But… I don’t have that sort of cash!’ she wailed alarming him, he stepped back from her shushing her as if she were a child and checked that everyone was studiously not paying them any attention.

‘I tells ya what, you can haves some very special bacon for a fiver,’ he produced another bag about the same size as the first but the bacon had less fat.

She narrowed her eyes at him, ‘what’s wrong with it?’

He stood awkward for a moment, ‘nuthing as such, it’s just sorta erm… fake, yeah it’s bootleg bacon that’s wha’ it is!’

She stared at him, ‘what does that even mean?’ snapped the inner teacher, she regretted it as his manner became cold.

‘It’s very special this bacon, I made it meself.’

‘Oh god you’ve got one of the nicked vats!’

‘Nah, too hot thems is, this is just good ol’ home splicing.’

‘You’ve not mucked around with the hormones or anything?’ she asked timidly. He shook his head and she found herself handing over half of the money she had left for the month. Of course they would stop her money all together if they found her doing anything illegal but she was now too hungry to care. She slipped the meat into her bag and tried not to think of cell sludges turning out synthetic meat as apposed to mr piggy in his field. To think she had once protested against GM crops now she didn’t care.

The afternoon seemed to stretch out with the thought of the bacon she carried, she couldn’t wait to get home to eat it and almost gobbled it raw. It was strange she thought as she chewed a piece, it tasted exactly the same to her, she just prayed it would not kill her.

Written from Neil Gaiman’s story starter for the Guardian.

Of Landladies and Cats

It wasn’t just the murder, he decided. Everything else seemed to have conspired to ruin his day as well. Even the cat. Of course it wasn’t really his fault you could say he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It all started with the kettle, the flex by the plug had been chewed long ago by some errant rodent a pet of an ex and he had bound it in electrical tape and forgotten about it. But that morning it sparked and fizzed and sent up an acrid smoke into the kitchen. He, Jonathon was of course having his normal 6:30 am shower in tepid water so did not notice until the shrill sound of the fire alarm cut through his morbid musings on dying alone in some dilapidated bedsit.

He skidded out of the shower and grabbed a beige and balding towel, goose bumps immediately arose on his skin. He could smell the fried electric cable and as he was trying to find his little fire extinguisher when the electrics flipped and he was plunged into darkness with nothing other than the wailing screech of the alarm for company. He stubbed his tow and began to blaspheme in a way his mother would have beat him for, the memory of her pulsed in his minds eye and his gritted his teeth and continued swearing more voraciously.

He groping fingers found the cold metal cylinder and he dosed the pathetically small fire, the fumes were acrid though and he stumbled out of his little set of rooms. His eyes were streaming and that was when the cat struck, she was a little calico moggy he had felt sorry for and been feeding, she was flea riddled and had one and a half ears, he loved her. She tried to snug up to his leg in the way she always did but he didn’t see her. He flipped over the cat jarring his coccyx and loosing his towel in the process.

And that was how his landlady found him, laying spread eagle and buff naked being licked by a pet he wasn’t supposed to have and the twang of burnt electrics coming from the flat he had managed to lock himself out off. He sat up red faced and scrabbled for the towel but she was already putting her hands on her hips and saying, ‘Well,’ in that way that made him fear she would be extracting a large cain from somewhere to thrash him. His toe throbbed and he noticed with sinking dispair that it was bleeding, the nail was a mess of shards that had pulped his toe. He could see the line of blood leading to his door and wondered if she would accuse him of doing that on purpose too.

One hand holding up the too merger towel, Jonathan started at the floor as the woman’s voice washed over him, he wasn’t really listening anymore, he wanted her gone, he was late for work now and women always made him tremble when they raised their voices like that.

She unlocked the flat and switched the light switch, huffing when he explained the fire had tripped the RCD. She ordered him to get a torch, stammering he explained he didn’t have one but would unplug the kettle and reset the electrics. She made a gargled noise and he’d known then she was really angry.

Sighing, he flipped the switch and lights popped on through out the flat, her eyes narrowed at the litter tray in the corner of the lounge. Gulping, he excused himself to go and get dressed. He heard her clunking about and tutting, he tried to look after the place but it was falling down! There was mould on the ceiling!

His phone bleeped, work were phoning, hand shaking he answered it, ‘Where are you?’ came the demand. He tried to explain but the caustic, ‘oh really’ killed his voice. He stood there unable to speak in his own defence as they sacked him. He held the phone not quiet believing he wasn’t still asleep and in the clutches of a nightmare.

Coldness burned his stomach, ‘you will be paying for a refit of the kitchen and the cat will have to go..’ the words punched him, he turned red rimmed eyes to the land lady he had momentarily forgotten was there.

‘Not the cat,’ he said quietly.

‘I’m afraid so, it says quiet clearly in your tenancy agreement that no pets are allowed.’ She said treating him to a too big and toothy smile, it was a gash across her pasty face.

‘No,’ he said shaking his head. The cat was all he had really, it wasn’t really his but it needed him!

‘You do not have a choice, I think I shall take it away with me now – the cat rescue people will deal with it… appropriately I am sure,’ she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the poor thing. She wanted his cat dead! That was the only thought that occupied Jonathan’s mind, she wanted to kill the poor little stray. He blocked her way.

She barged past him and scooped the cat up in her arms.

‘No!’ he called raggedly, she just smiled and walked out of the apartment, he followed her in desperation. He wasn’t quiet sure what had happened but he had his cat and the woman lay on the floor an ugly expression of surprise fixed on her dough like features.

Shaking he checked for a pulse and realised he’d killed her. In shock he held the cat too tight and it scratched to escape. Numbly he phoned for an ambulance and wondered if his day could get any worse. The controller on the phone wanted him to do mouth to mouth, he shuddered and stared at his dead land lady.

‘What happened?’ the ambulance crew asked him, he shook his head and told them he didn’t know.

‘There was a fire…’ he said trying to think how to say he’d killed her.

‘The cat! It was trying to get into the house..’ he whispered, ‘my landlady…’

They patted him and fixed his toe, everyone was being very nice to him this worried him it couldn’t last – something really bad was obviously waiting to happen, he was a murderer in hospital. He sighed, he was going to catch a super bug and be sent to prison with it wasn’t he?’

He closed his eyes and hoped that tomorrow would be a better day, his sister had said she would come and look after the cat.