THE NEW PEPSI

It's cold.
I'm halfway down the line.
It's raining.
I knew i should've brought a jacket with me.
There's music coming from inside.
It's too muffled for me to make out what it is.
A girl passes.
She smells like vanilla.
My eyes follows her for a few seconds.
My nose even longer.
The guy in front of me reeks of beer.
It's only 9 o'clock.
IT'S ONLY 9 O'CLOCK!
The guy in front of me has a tattoo of a unicorn on his left bicep?
The guy in front of me is not a guy.
And neither is her boyfriend.
A cop car passes, sirens on.
It was a red light.
The doors won't open for another 15 minutes.
It's cold.
I'm one third down the line...

HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER.


"I caught a fish the other day. It was this big.” I put my arms out to the side. “Wait. You can't see that can you?"
"Good point." I had just said goodbye to a collegue who had come over to discuss some business. He had left without saying goodbye to Frank which I thought was pretty rude but because I’m a nice guy, I let it slide.
"Anyway, it was pretty big. Well, biggest one I've caught so far which really doesn't say that much."
"No, it doesn't." Frank had been fishing with me on several occasions in the past and knew about my fish catching abilities, or lack there of.
I walk over to the fridge and turn back to Frank, "You want a beer or something?"
"Yeah, thanks."I open the fridge and realise there's only one beer left. I walk over to the kitchen cupboard where I keep the glasses and remove two, fill them up.
"Anyway, this fish, I was told it was a Perch, was all shiney and silver and well, you know, it looked kinda cool for a fish," Frank moves in his chair as I take a straw from a drawer and place it in his beer contemplating the addition of a bright pink cocktail umbrella. I quietly tell myself ‘no’. Justifying that it’s taking the joke too far.
"Sounds like a fish to me." says Frank as I stand over him about to hand him the glass but then think better of it. I fumble the straw into his mouth as he takes a few sips. Frank had only recently lost his sight and was still coming to terms with it. Me, it was no big deal.
"I just couldn't help but think just how stupid this fish really is. I mean, here he, or maybe it was a she, is, swimming around or doing whatever it is that fish do, when all of a sudden it sees a worm and it can't believe it's luck. just imagine, a meal right in front of your eyes." I take the glass away from Frank leaving the straw hanging from his mouth.
"Thing is," I say, "Since when do worms live in water. Call me naive if you will but if you saw a hamburger lying on the street you wouldn't think 'Wow. I can't believe my luck. Dinner just sitting there all for me.' would you?"
Frank spits out the straw, "No, you wouldn't."
Distracted, I look down at the straw in disgust then look back at Frank.Clearing my head, "So I'm thinking this fish ain't as smart as I think it is. It takes a bite from the worm and then thinks 'Oh fuck what have I done?' as it feels the hook rip right through it's mouth as it tries it’s darndest not to get pulled to the surface. All the flipping and flapping, it’s heart beating many, many times a minute. Probably the frightning experience in this fishes life."
Frank makes a murmering sound as he shifts again in his seat, “Darndest?” Frank questions my choice of words but you know, with the whole nice guy thing I’ve got going on, I let it slide. I walk back to the kitchen and put the glasses next to sink. Mine still full. I think ‘that was a wasted beer.’ On the way back to Frank I notice a drop of sweat soak into his blindfold as he hears me pick up my gun. I can’t see his hands but I can almost be certain that the rope binding them has caused enough friction from his struggling that it has caused his wrists to bleed. As I place the barrel to his forehead i tell him that he, like the fish, needed to think things through and calculate his actions just that bit more thoroughly to avoid all this ‘flipping and flapping’ I half smile as I say this. He had been caught even though he was ‘kinda cool for a fish’. Frank didn’t notice the compliment or think it was a particulaly funny joke. Nice guy. Slide. He becomes more animated in his struggle in his seat and tries to scream as i ease my finger back on the trigger...

the daises that grow in my garden are nice

they smell like a flower should but attract so many mice

i've tried to dig them up and make the mice go away

but they follow me in hot pants (i think they are gay)

i see all these mice at a nightclub for men

it's run by a guy who kinda looks like ben

with a lisp and a mustache he gives me the eye

and pats me on the bum when i walk by

i don't mind so much coz it gives me a laugh

to see all of these mice try to cop it in the arse

they sit at the bar and they sip their champagne

with their tight mesh tops on their rippling frame

when they don't score they come home to me

and all my daises and then i will see

how they start to redecorate their little homes

and try to get it on with all the garden gnomes

i know i shouldn't laugh but it's just so funny

to see little mice all covered in honey

and one with a whip that licks it off with his tongue

and sticks just one daisy up each of their bums

CHAPTER ONE: THE CHILD AND THE CAR

I’m not even sure that I’m awake.
I don’t even see the boy as he steps out. This fair haired, pre pubescent lump of bones and flesh. All I know is the screeching of tyres. A thud on the bonnet. A head, leg, backside, whatever, hitting the windscreen, leaving a red spider web where it hit and broke.
All I know is the screeching of tyres. A thud on the bonnet. A head, leg, backside, whatever, hitting the windscreen leaving a red spider web where it hit and broke. From what I can make out through the shattered glass, the kid hits the road pretty hard but I already knew that it wasn’t the landing that did it. I reach up to my forehead to wipe sweat away, realizing as my hand comes back into view that I must have hit my head on the steering wheel, the blood covering my three middle fingers.
By the time the police and paramedics arrive, I am yet to move from the car, my seatbelt still on, the motor running, and me staring at my fingers. I momentarily shift my gaze to the broken windscreen then to the side window as a police officer taps on the glass pulling me from my trance.
Awkwardly I turn the car’s engine off and fumble to release the seatbelt. I open the door as the officer steps back. I step out.
“Ahh?” I can move –barely- but still struggle to form words. A paramedic walks briskly up from behind the police officer carrying a green blanket. She says something to the officer, something I can’t hear, and he replies nodding his head.
I feel the blanket around me and a Styrofoam cup being thrust into my hand.
“I…I…I…I’m so sorry. It was an accident. He just…is he okay?” Police are trying to scatter a gathered crowd holding their arms out to the sides making a shooing motion. As I’m being escorted to the back of an open ambulance I glance over my right shoulder and glimpse a lifeless body on the road a middle aged woman crying like a wounded animal onto her son as paramedics place a blanket over him and carefully transfer him to a stretcher.





















CHAPTER ????: THE CASINO

It’s not like being asleep, yet I can’t say that I’m even awake for sure. All I know is that I’m the only known documented case in this… situation seems to be the right word. I don’t want to call it a disease. Disease sounds dirty, unhealthy. People die from disease I won’t die from this. Not if I can prevent my own death. Life has lost all meaning for me now. There isn’t anything to look forward to anymore. When I was younger there was no better feeling than that to be scared to make you feel alive, to send a rush of excitement through your veins. But now…
There is about $265,000 in chips sitting in front of me on the baccarat table. I’ve known so far what to do, where to place my bet. I’ve been told what to do. Over the last half hour a crowd had formed behind me. People all wanted to get close to money, waitresses all wanting a bigger tip, the broke and addicted begging for a slice of my winnings, perhaps hoping I’ll accidentally drop a few chips and not notice, on the ready to scoop them up.



































CHAPTER ????: THE HOSTILE TAKE-OVER

These things these images that run through me giving me pain and sadness and little else. Why won’t they stop? Why. Won’t. They. Stop! No matter how hard I try I still sense all these bad, terrible things happening to others. Happening to me. I thought that if I tried hard enough to control them I’d be able to see and feel happiness. The birth of my first child, a complete stranger, a street kid, given another chance in life and making something of it. But nothing…
A spurt of blood sprays the seat and two windows given them the appearance of stained glass, although it is now. As the knife is plunged and withdrawn from the abdomen of the man in a business suit, the attacker’s accomplice scrambles to gather the syringe and bottle of water, the train braking violently, both items being hurled down the aisle. People bracing themselves, steadying themselves. Someone had pulled the emergency brake but it wasn’t clear whom.
The attacker, after nicking his left hand with the knife, lets out a “Fuck!” and watches as his mate kicks the businessman in the head. Twice. The suit now lying, bleeding and in pain on the floor of the carriage, commuters looking on in disbelief. A mother cradling her young daughter, five or six, into her breast stroking her hair and making soothing shushes. Half a dozen people frantically calling 000 on their mobile phones some crying hysterically, others acting cool and in control, all wanting to be a hero after the fact. Nobody attempting to restrain the two attackers as they force open the train doors and make their exit









CHAPTER ???: THE BEAUTY

“Don’t go home.” I say.
“Excuse me?” she says looking at me half confused, half scared.
“Don’t. Go. Home.” I say slowly, spacing out the three words that will most likely form the most important single piece of advice she might ever hear. “If you want to live don’t go home tonight.”
The fear in her eyes grows as she slowly backs away from me, bumping into a passerby, dropping her phone. As we both reach down to pick up her phone, my hand reaching it first, I say, “Sarah. Please.” And pass the phone to her, us both still crouching in the street, people passing, neither knowing nor caring of the words we exchange.