You wake up and see that you’re tied to a reinforced substance that binds you in all kinds of trouble.
You try to move your arms and legs and they just won’t budge. You try to flee and fly away from whatever is holding you down. You scream and nobody hears the scream because your scream is too muted to normal ears.
Is this a dream? Are you having a nightmare where you can’t move anything in your body? Do you even dream? You’ve never dreamt before?
You’re stuck. The substance is hard and sticky and it’s slowly engulfing your entire body. Rising up higher and higher to just above your head. You can barely breathe but you’re making buzzing noises to try to do something. ANYTHING.
This is horrific. The worst kind of fate.
And then you realize that struggling only makes it worse. The more you move the harder you’re stuck to this murderous blanket.
You need to stay still. The more you struggle the more you’re trapped. It’s that simple.
You try to recount what exactly happened to make you stuck here. Because you damned well can’t remember.
Yesterday you went all over the city. You had a lovely meal. You sat on the window for hours and just watched the sunrise and the birds fly and the people move about in their static and rigid ways. It was a lovely day for you.
The last thing that you can remember was the electric waves that radiated around your head and called you to come closer and closer and closer and you knew that even then the siren was too good to be true. And now you’re here.
Something got into your head and drew you to where you are now. And after that everything went blank and you woke up covered in some white goo and unable to move. What was this?
You lay still. You try to think of ways to escape. If you could free your arms and your legs then maybe you could make a jump for it. You look down and realize that you’re quite high up. Not that this has ever been a problem for you. High up is where you belong. But God knows what you could lose breaking free from this thing.
You turn your head one final time and there it is and immediately your fate makes sense. You had heard the stories and the myths and the legends and here you were facing something that you never believed to be true.
Eight legs, fangs and a large black torso heading towards you in a rampant burst of hunger. And that’s it - the end for you. It starts with your legs and your arms and it sucks them in, then your own body is being eaten and you’re still alive to see it.
The last thing you remember is your head splitting in two and your last thoughts are this:
DINNER FOR TWO It was a pleasing ritual for Vivienne to cook a meal for her love Marco; especially during one of their most romantic nights of the year. Another monthly anniversary. Vivienne would light a candle, put the player on and play some soft Sade. She would stare into each of Marco’s beautiful eyes. Remind herself of how she fell so completely in love with this man. The love of her life. She loved him with every inch of her breath, but maybe… she loved him just a little bit too much. Tonight was steak night. With a side of home cut chips and a homemade garlic sauce that was ground and creamed all from scratch. A meal fit for a king, a meal perfect for a devoted-husband. Marco was her king. Marco was a solitary figure. Sure; when he was younger he was like any other young man. Marco was once impulsive. He was once ambitious. He was once rambunctious, fast living, with a devil may give a shit kind of attitude. But now – he was a quiet, gentle and wise man of solitary
CLINICAL After lunch I went back to my living quarters and drew a triangle. Between each corner of the triangle I wrote our names out. I was at the top of the triangle. On the bottom two corners I wrote Rosie and Kenneth. Rosie and Kenneth hated each other. I liked Rosie but I didn’t like Kenneth. Kenneth liked me but hated Rosie. The words hate were written at the bottom of the triangle. The words hate rang out in my mind. Hate being such a stronger word than like. Like, at the same time, being so timid in comparison to hate. Love was too extreme for two people I had known for two weeks. But like was so tame next to hate that it almost didn’t belong. Lunch was preceded by a jab in the arm. A new trial vaccination. We don’t even know what the vaccination is for. And any time we ask the question the answers are so dense and conflated that we wish we’d never asked. I share my living quarters with Rosie and Kenneth. Now that a triangle of like and hate has formed there’s a bipo
I was in a “DINER” – it was like an Ed Hopper painting. I’m English and we call them a cafeteria. But this has one of those truck-stop American vibes that you see in the movies (hell, I’d never even been to America) and everybody has trans-Atlantic accents. I hear the mumbled chat. The bikers were piling in, the waitresses chewed gum, the truckers wore those targeted T-Shirts that said how badass they are. I thought I was just turning off an A-Road from London and here I am in a diner in what felt like the middle of nowhere. The interior was lit with blinding artificial light and the outside was wrapped up in a fierce darkness. ‘What can I get you ‘hun?’ The waitress said. There I was pulling into a local eatery in my BMW and now I’m in one of those Twin Peak diners. There’s something amiss about this place. ‘Do you have a menu?’ I ask. She slaps one down on the table. She leans close into me. I feel the heat from her breath warm my entire body. Why am I so cold? ‘Where am I?” I ask. ‘