Fifty-three years I held them. Fifty-three years of arses, and this is how it ends, fly-tipped on a scrap of wasteland behind a Tesco, watching carrier bags cartwheel past like tumbleweeds in some apocalyptic western. Dignity, they call it. This is what dignity looks like when the stuffing’s coming out.
Continue reading “What If My Favourite Armchair Could Talk”
SURVEILLANCE REPORT #847-B TO: Commander Zyloth, Primary Invasion Fleet FROM: Observer Unit Krell-9 LOCATION: Urban Center Grid Reference 51.4°N, 0.1°W SUBJECT: Behavioral Anomaly Requiring Strategic Assessment
Commander, I must report a puzzling phenomenon that may impact invasion protocols.
Continue reading “Surveillance Report #847-B”
The rain’s got that trick where it finds every gap, you know? Collar, cuffs, that worn bit at the knee. Been sat here since morning and I’m soaked right through to my socks. Not that anyone’s looking. They’re all doing that thing, eyes straight ahead, like if they don’t look at me I’ll just dissolve into the pavement. Maybe I will. Feel like I’m halfway there already.
Continue reading “The Puddle I’m Sitting In”
The chair had become familiar in a way Sarah never wanted. Green vinyl, cracked at the seams, with a spring that pressed against her left thigh if she sat too far back. She’d learned to perch forward, elbows on knees, watching the second hand crawl around the institutional clock on the opposite wall.
Continue reading “The Waiting Room”
The first Blorptickle arrived in my sink on a Tuesday, small, glowing, and humming the EastEnders theme through its pores. I assumed it was a hallucination. But by Wednesday, three more appeared, arguing about whose turn it was to exfoliate the Snindlewump.
Continue reading “The Grathoon Accord”
The AI Grandad 