Creationism

This is what I imagine to be the one true creationist story. Please do not be alarmed by historical inaccuracies. Enjoy!

The old bearded man sat in a leather office chair, you know, the spinny ones on wheels, at an oak desk, with a white laptop open and whirring gently upon it. Across from him sat his three oldest acquaintances; Time, Nature and Death. The old man looked at them over his glasses, and smiled with amusement as they whispered with each other.

“It’s not needed, it never has been before, and never will be.”

“It is, you fool, can’t you see he’s bored? We’re all bored!”

“I don’t know, there could be other ways of entertaining people, couldn’t there?”

The man cleared his throat for their attention, before eyeing the gold plaque on his desk. There was a small smudge on it. He frowned, reached for it and rubbed it with his sleeve until the word ‘God’ gleamed as bright as it had on its first day in existence.

“So, gentlelords, I see you all know why I’ve called you here today?” He raised his white eyebrows, his aged forehead creasing as he observed them. Time’s equally aged face reflected his concern at his creator’s idea. Nature’s youthful, chiselled face was enthusiastic, clearly excited with the Plan. Death’s face was sour, as usual, and he shook his head under his black hood, not happy in the slightest.

He smiled again at their divided opinions, before turning attention back to his laptop. He clicked his mouse a few times, and typed with lightning speed on his keyboard. When he was done, he turned the machine around to face the three Lords, and said; “It’s finally installed! Sim Life 1.1! A tech guy at Heavenly Games and Entertainment gave me the first copy. The angels don’t see this for a good few decades!” He grinned with such joy that even Time and Death could not help but become slightly intrigued.

Nature stood from his chair to get a closer look at the laptop, almost bouncing from delight. He took the mouse and started scrolling, his grin becoming wider and wider as he inspected the various features HGE had weaved into the software. God let him indulge himself, but warned Nature that only he was allowed to start the real game. He then turned to Time and Death, and asked them; “Do you really not have faith in my idea?”

Death became stony again, but Time voiced his concern; “I just think, what about imperfections? This is the first edition, there are bound to be flaws, right?”

God nodded; “Yes, this is not based on heaven, however I’m sure that nothing too drastic will happen.”

Time was not entirely convinced, but bowed to God’s will and kept his doubts to himself. Death, however, was not so ready to back down; “This is destined for disaster, God. I have never trusted those meddling fools at HGE, and I do not need more souls to harvest.”

“I have indeed catered for this too, Death. You shall have your ranks increased to deal with the added workload.”

Death had no reply to this, as he knew God would not hear it, so he grumbled to himself, still dissatisfied.

“Nature, are you quite done? I want to play now.” There was a slight impatience in God’s voice, and Nature jumped from the laptop into his seat; “Sorry, God. It looks brilliant, by the way!”

God smiled, and nodded; “Yes, I knew HGE would not let me down. Now, all of you back to your duties.” They all rose and departed through the door of God’s large office, leaving him to Sim Life 1.1. However, the topic of this discussion was not entirely as private as God would have wished.

…

Hours later, God had created the perfect world; beautiful creatures, stunning landscapes, magnificent elements of all life imaginable. The software was quick, no glitches, and he had taken careful time to iron out any flaws that could possibly arise. He stood from his chair and stretched, grinning with pleasure at his work. Then his stomach rumbled.

I think I deserve a nice snack now, he thought to himself, and made his way to the Heaven Mall.

…

Lucifer was a mischievous angel, and once he learned of God’s new game, he became jealous. Why should he get Sim Life 1.1 when we have to wait for ages? The jealousy turned to anger, the anger then turned to malice; I know just what to do!

Lucifer waited for God to leave for Shooting Starbucks, and crept into God’s office. It wasn’t even locked! Ha, the dangers of staring at a computer for too long.

Sim Life 1.1 was still on the screen, and he observed God’s creation. This looks beautiful, he thought. Then he grinned nastily; it would be a shame if something were to happen to it! He thought for a second, then, without saving the game, he closed the window.

Then he heard footsteps, and joyful humming. He froze, and waited.

As soon as God entered his office and saw Lucifer, he feared the worse, and as he shoved him away from the laptop, he saw what Lucifer had done. He roared in fury.

“LUCIFER YOU ARSE! YOU STUPID LITTLE ARSE! THIS IS YOUR END, YOU FOUL SWINE. TODAY, YOU SHALL RELINQUISH YOUR GRACE. NO MORE WILL YOU ENJOY THE BENEFITS OF HEAVEN. DOWN TO HELL YOU GO, BOY!”

Lucifer bowed his head, but as he was banished from Heaven his face was a picture of rage and jealousy. God looked back at his laptop and realized; he would have to start again. Banishing Lucifer did not quell his rage, and he again began to create a world, this time with many flaws and imperfections, taking out his fury on Sim Life 1.1. His mightiest creation, humans, were amongst the most flawed, and as he finished, he saved the file and clicked ‘UPLOAD’.

“So be it, I shall name you Earth, and those who act as Lucifer has acted shall be sent to dwell with Lucifer.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the real story.

Rock the Boat

I'll leave this for you to read. Enjoy!

James and Lucille finished packing their suitcases the night before their wedding. It was to be a small affair; family and close friends containing their joy within a small church, quiet and happy from lavish start to glorious finish. James had the honeymoon planned to perfection, where nothing could conceivably go wrong. No, there was no chance, whether fortuitous or otherwise, that events could deviate from the plan James had formulated in his romanticized-to-the-point-of-dizziness head.

On the day of the celebratory ceremony, James’ bride-to-be, Lucille, displayed flawlessness from head to toe. Dressed in virgin white, her radiant beauty illuminated the church’s deepest cracks and tallest crevasses. James himself was as handsome as he could have hoped, yet even he paled in comparison to his love.

With no time to change from their wedding attire, they made no effort to hesitate in departing for their so perfectly planned honeymoon. Later that evening, the newlyweds were consummating their marriage on a luxury vessel, off the coast of Calais.

That night, events took a turn most sour.

Lucille wrapped a silky warm robe around her modesty, and headed out of their cabin for a mug of warm milk. As she made her way to the thankfully-open restaurant, a shadow of foreboding menace began to engulf her, mixing fear with fantasy, jealousy with joy, anger with admiration of her dear James. Murderous thoughts consumed her soul, colouring it dark with wrathful wonderings.

Then, the thoughts vanished into the starry night sky, and Lucille was taken aback by such surely fictional thoughts. But the dredges of doubt remained deep in the back of her mind. She shook her head and continued on her path to the restaurant.

In the cabin, James took notice of the absence of the beautiful figure he fell in love with. I wonder where Lucille has gone, he mused, before deciding that he too desired a beverage before entering his first night of matrimonial slumber.

As James treaded the same path as his beloved, he too began to experience the invasion of foreign thought. Just why had Lucille taken leave from their cabin, without so much as a reassurance of her faithfulness? The same shadow that had taken his spouse as temporary prey began to seep into his own mind. His face contorted into rage until, yet again, the thoughts disappeared, leaving behind a very perplexed man.

James spotted Lucille idly chatting to a woman by the bar, and smiled; his suspicions were indeed, as he suspected, unfounded. He walked with a saunter rejuvenated by the confirmation of his wife’s fidelity, and embraced Lucille from behind, meeting her lips with a passionate kiss. She returned it with equal longing, and, forgetting their desired drinks, hastened back to their cabin.

As they slept in each other’s arms that night, their dreams were plagued by dark desires, murderous missions involving one another. They woke the next morning with not just space between them, but thoughts of betrayal and duplicity. They dressed in a stony silence, and headed for breakfast down the same route they had taken the night before. As they walked, the sinister shadow struck, and the dearly beloveds turned to face each other, mutinous rage painted on their faces. Lucille shrieked and screamed accusations of disloyalty, James returned with roars and bellows of treachery, and neither relented until they both simultaneously, out of pure chance, chose to take a step towards the restaurant. The rage vanished, replaced by a curious quietness.

James looked at Lucille. Lucille looked at James. Lust clouded their eyes, and again they headed back to the cabin.

Again they dressed in a cold hush, but opted for a different route to the restaurant. The coldness vanished, and they said not a word about the row, until they heard cries of a similar nature to theirs coming from the hallway. Then, a woman stalked into the restaurant, seething with anger, followed by a man, presumably her spouse, also inflicted with the rage he had been a victim to, not thirty minutes ago.

This happened twice more, and each couple affected by the mysterious occurrence would be overcome with passion upon entering the kitchen, and depart immediately. James and Lucille made note of this, and decided henceforth to never take this seemingly bewitched path again, despite the rewards they seemed to have reaped; it was simply not worth the cost.

The events had not escaped the attention, however, of the Captain, who immediately saw fit to investigate the corridor. He was not to be heard from for many hours.

That evening there was a ball, for honeymooners and experienced couples alike. James had made sure to tell Lucille that, amongst the surprises in store for her, there was to be an event of magnificent proportions, thusly she had packed a beautiful, emerald green ball gown. James himself sported a dashing tuxedo with a matching green bowtie; together they looked resplendent.

They, and all the other couples, dined on a delicious banquet, sampled glasses of splendid wine and champagne, and danced in the light of the full moon until the late hours of the night. The stage was taken by the most accomplished of musicians until the Captain made his final appearance of the voyage. He walked onto the stage to ravenous applause from the ballroom, but something was wrong.

The Captain’s eyes were dark and emotionless, and he stood centre stage with the disposition of a man void of all life. As this was sensed by the men and women in the ballroom, a hush fell upon them all. The vessel suddenly rocked, and people were sent stumbling; except for those who had fallen victim to the mysterious shadow. James, Lucille, and the three other duos all bore resemblance to the Captain, standing up straight and gaunt, whilst others were shaken to death by the ship. After ten long minutes, the nine of them stood amongst corpses, and nine nooses descended from the ceiling and wrapped around the necks of each individual.

Then, something clicked in James’ head, and he clawed out of the noose before it tightened. He turned to face Lucille, who had also awakened. The seven others had regained sense, but their faces, like Lucille’s, were twisted with fear.

James leapt to Lucille, and began to claw at her own noose, but it tightened persistently.

He tried to scratch through the knot.

He tore at it.

He chewed it.

It would not yield.

On the brink of hopelessness, James bit down hard onto the knot, and it loosened! He gasped, and ripped it loose from his beloved’s throat. Lucille threw herself at her saviour, her hero, her love. But they were helpless in rescuing the others, who rose towards the ceiling, hanged. The pure horror stopped both of their hearts, and they finally joined the mass of victims of the shadow.

The Interview

Something lighthearted and whimsical.

Today, I had to interview 3 people for a job that would make the lucky winner my supervisor. How it came to this, I’m not quite sure, but the task was pawned off to me after going through a long chain of lazy, self-righteous, stuck up superiors of mine. So now I had to do up the top button of my wrinkled shirt, tighten my tie and button my jacket. And, according to the girl in the cubicle next to me, zip up my fly. Terrific.

I’d be given a small office to do the interviews in, containing a desk and two chairs on either side. At least whoever had finally assigned me the task had the decency to make my chair slightly more comfortable than my opposing number. I sat, opened my briefcase and took three thin manila files out.

I opened the first file, and groaned. The first page read:

Sarah Greenfield (My ex-girlfriend, bloody hell…)

Unemployed (Ha!)

43 Brent Lane, London, E17 (Back with the parents, I see. Mooching bitch.)

07989 483 656 (Oh, so you’ve changed your number.)

DOB: 12/5/89 (This somehow makes you evil now.)

I thought wisely to get this out of the way first, so I stood up, walked to the door, poked my head out and called; “Ms Greenfield.” Her head rose sharply at the sound of my voice, and her face turned sour when she saw me. I smiled innocently, and motioned her into the office. Enter the dragon.

I sat back down on my chair and waited for her to walk in, and when she sat down, she stared at me for a good few seconds. I continued to smile broadly; I think I’ll enjoy myself now. I slowly flicked through the pages of her CV, leaving her to sit in what I imagined to be a painful silence. Occasionally I would tut at something I would barely even read, and glance up at her reddening face. Finally, as she cleared her throat, I closed her file and looked up at her, attempting and probably failing to look professional.

“So, it says here you’re unemployed. I do wonder, how did you come to find yourself in such a position?” I asked her sweetly. If looks could kill.

She muttered something under her breath.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”

She cleared her throat, turning even redder, and spoke quietly; “Um, personal problems.”

“Could you share with me the details of these ‘personal problems’?”

She stared at me again, and I raised my eyebrows. “Ms Greenfield, please, if you expect us to hire you without assurance of complete honestly, I’m afraid to say you are severely mistaken.” I was enjoying myself now, and this must’ve been quite evident, as her face was now an unpleasant shade of scarlet. I moved on, not wanting to risk her reporting me.

“Now, what can you tell me about the position you are applying for? I trust you’ve done your research?” In truth, I had no idea what the position entailed, but she didn’t know that. She stayed silent, so I raised my eyebrows again, coaxing her into an answer.

“Erm, well, I know I’ll, erm, be supervising the, uh, the people, and er, checking their, um, their work and-“

“Yes, you clearly have an excellent understanding, don’t you?” I chuckled to myself, tutting and shaking my head in disappointment. I would’ve continued, but I didn’t want to push it. “Well, that should be all for now, I’ll let you know via telephone if you have the job or not. Thank you for your time,” I smiled at her pleasantly, and dismissed her. She got up, furious, and stalked out of the room.

Putting it out of my mind, I looked at the next two files. There was John Samuelson, a 43 year old man with plenty of experience in supervising doormats like myself, and Adam Marquez, a 25 year old Spaniard with a first rate education and a history of sucking up to his superiors, probably how he got to this interview. I called them both in, wanting to speed things along, and watched to see who would take the seat and who would stand.

Samuelson walked with a cane, but this apparently didn’t warrant the need for a seat, as Marquez sat down, oblivious to the now venomous stare he was receiving from Samuelson. I made a mental note to mark him down for this, then an idea came to me; both were suitable for the job, so I’d use the interview to decide which one I liked less. So far, Marquez was heading down hill.

I took out a small pack of sweets from my briefcase, and offered them one each. Samuelson declined, smiling in thanks as he did so, but Marquez grabbed both from my hand and threw the wrappers on the floor as he ate them. The outcome was becoming quite clear; this arrogant little swine was not getting this job.

I continued the interview, asking both of them different questions, and while Samuelson passed smoothly, his experience telling, Marquez was sweating within minutes, stuttering like Greenfield had been but under considerably less pressure. I concluded by offering them both a sweet again, and this time, they both declined. Samuelson had enough savvy to realize he has the job, but Marquez not so much; “Maybe when you hire me I’ll have one, eh?” He winked at me, and they both left. I sat for a few minutes, before writing the verdict on a small notepad and sticking it on the top of the pile of files. I dropped it off at my boss’s secretary’s desk, and walked back to my own cubicle.

The next day I was called into my boss’s office. I sighed; I guess Greenfield must’ve opened her mouth. I walked over and his secretary told me to go in. Dreading the next few minutes, I opened the door and entered.

My boss, Mr Robertson, welcomed me in with an unreadable face. He motioned for me to sit down, and as I sat, he started talking; “I didn’t know Sarah Greenfield was applying for the job.” He paused, observing me. “Had your current supervisor told me, then things may’ve gone quite differently.”

I’d stepped over the mark. What was I thinking, abusing power I didn’t even have? An incredibly stupid thing to do. But why did Robertson care?

He remained silent, studying the visible regret on my face with a stern look on his own. Then, slowly, he started grinning. “Ha! She told me how you conducted the interview, and I must say, my boy, good show!”

It turned out that she had once been involved with Robertson’s son, a while back, and that hadn’t ended too well either! I didn’t relax, unsure of what was coming next, but he then scanned over the files and nodded his head while doing do. “Yes, Samuelson does seem to be better suited, I think I agree. Well done, my boy!”

And that was that, I’d gotten away with it, out of sheer luck.

My first short story this year, not amazing but was fun to write. 

Dehumanized

Bit darker for you, and I'm sure there's a moral message in here somewhere. If you look hard.

Dehumanized

As I took in my surroundings, I couldn’t help but regret how it came to this. The squeaky, soft, brand new leather sofa; the hardwood floorboards, still shiny from polish; the cream coloured, spotless walls; the bright white ceiling; the luxurious, expensive rug, it all screamed at me with accusing fury.

The masterpiece of the room, a rather large flat screen television, completed with a surround sound stereo system, reflected back at me a guilty face with which my secret joy struggled. Did I deserve my fortune? No. Was this a concerning matter? Perhaps.

I thought back to last year…

“Sometimes, you have to be selfish. It’s your decision to make, but if you don’t decide today, I will walk away.” He gives me a hard look, brows furrowed and eyes deadly serious. This man could be heaven or hell.

In a moment of weakness, I sigh, and click my pen; “I’ll sign.”

His face barely changes, but he slides a folder across the desk. I take it, and extract a single sheet of paper, dated at the top; ‘5/4/09’. Reading it, it looks reasonable; I certainly have a good deal here.

I leave my mark, and instantly the weight of my decision sets up camp on my shoulders. I can’t go back now.

He speaks the last words of the meeting; “You’ll hear from me in a year. Until then, tell no-one.”

Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man. Through the glass screen door to my left, a man in a sharp suit stood, for a split second, before vanishing. Almost as if he dived into the ground.

Fear suddenly strangled me; was this time? Did I have to pay for my sins? I saw the man again. Fleetingly he appeared, until, like before, he was gone. But as common sense filtered back into my thoughts, I noticed something. Well, more so the absence of something; the snow outside was thick and heavy, and there were no visible footprints where the man had seemingly stood.

But once again, the man showed himself, as I glanced at the glass door. Then I heard footsteps, and my heart stopped. I froze in unadulterated terror. The room became hot, as if ruthless hellfire was enveloping me. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and instantly, I knew; the man I saw outside was a reflection, and the true horror was within my guilt-ridden haven. I slowly turned to face him, and his eyes bore into me with such intensity that no amount of material wealth could vanquish. I had made a mistake, and it was time to pay. His lips formed a sentence:

“We dine in Hell tonight.”

Then the floor engulfed me, and I stopped breathing.

…

I woke up on a cold cement floor, the chills from the hard stone absorbing into me with ravaging earnest. I felt stiff and pained, and my right arm itched. I felt my flesh; my arm was covered in green pustules. The arm I signed the contract with, that godforsaken agreement that sealed my fate. I blacked out again.

…

“This man has shown remorse for his actions; however, that does not provide an excuse. I move that he provide service for the remainder of the century.” The next time I awoke from my comatose-like state, I heard a cool, confident voice spell out my future. Slowly, memories trickled back to me, and I thought instantly of my family, how they had no idea where I was; how they must be fearfully struggling with visions of my demise. I stared at the desk I was sitting at, as the cool voice continued, unbeknownst to me that I was now the focus of his speech. Then, everything became blurred, and I lost consciousness.

…

I woke up, drenched in cold sweat, shaking. My mind was clear now, and I regained full control of my body. The room I was in contained but one bed and a mirror. The mirror was cracked and scratched, and as I walked over to it, I could barely make out a reflection. I stood in front of it, squinting at a shadowy figure behind me. The image became clearer as the figure drew closer, until it was directly behind me, and I could observe the petrifying entity that would ruin me.

Whatever it was, it placed a cold, bony hand on my shoulder, and I found myself paralyzed in fear. I could not move, and this creature, this demon, was free to take his toll on me. Then, I felt a great weight lifted from my chest, up my throat, and out of my mouth.

A glowing, silver orb.

I watched it go, trying but failing to reach out for it. It floated over me, and into the hand of this thing. The figure enclosed the orb in its hand, and it disappeared. I collapsed, free from its control, but empty inside. In the short space of time, I understood; I would pay for my sins with myself. I had been dehumanized.

…

Again, I woke up, but this time, in my own bed, soaked in the same icy sweat, shaking and shivering. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table: ‘4:30am, 4/4/09’. I couldn’t believe it. The shock knocks me out.

…

“Sometimes, you have to be selfish. It’s your decision to make, but if you don’t decide today, I will walk away.” He gives me a hard look, brows furrowed and eyes deadly serious. This man could be heaven or hell.

I sigh, and remember the shadowed figure, my family, my soul. Second chances don’t often come along, but today it had. Was I ready to be dehumanized, for a year of wealth and happiness for my family? No, I could not take that chance. Then, I thought to what he just said; “You have to be selfish.” He was right; it would be selfish to deny my family the fortune they crave, to save my own humanity, but it had to be done. I shook my head, and walked off. In the corner of my eye, I saw him smile.

Cheers for reading!

Crosshairs

I'll start off with something a tad fast paced, maybe befitting a movie. Enjoy!

Crosshairs

I lie, prone, front down, and breathe calmly and deeply. It’s cold, so body stiffness could be a potential problem if I’m waiting for too long. I’ve taken precautions; balaclava, several layers, extra socks. My footwear has to be light, just in case I’m seen. Then again, it’s dark, and I’m wearing all black. Precautions.

“Any movement?” Eliza Stone’s voice in my earpiece asks.

“Negative.”

A pause. Do we continue the conversation, risking loss of concentration, or am I left to my own thoughts again. I wouldn’t mind a conversation with Eliza, even if it was a brief one. Better than ‘talking’ with James Payne, in any respect.

The pause continues, and I’m tempted to check my earpiece.

“How you holding up?”

I smile. “Just toasty, yourself?”

She chuckles; “It’s bloody freezing in this heated apartment. Sit tight, won’t be long now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Silence. Back to my thoughts. I look again through my scope, straight at the main entrance of the Domus Solis Hotel across the road. No movement.

I sigh, and think ruefully of the warm room Eliza and Payne were sat in, two floors beneath me, the gallons of coffee they were probably necking, the burger wrappers that probably littered the floor. I shiver, and my stomach grumbles. If only I’d won the damn coin toss.

I lie there for roughly another hour, with regular check-ups from Eliza every ten minutes or so. Still nothing happens in front of the hotel. Keeping my patience, I entertain myself by picturing the perfect shot. And the pay out that comes with it.

Then, I see someone walk out of the Domus Solis. He’s tall, wearing a black trench coat over a tailored suit. His hair is jet black. He isn’t our man.

He’s our man’s man.

He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his coat. I can tell he’s nervous; it takes him a few attempts to light the cig; his hands are very shaky. It might’ve been from the cold, except his face was a picture of panic.

“Eliza, look out the window.”

I hear a shuffling, through the earpiece.

“He doesn’t look too happy, does he?”

“Tell Payne to keep an eye on him, you come up here.”

“Alright, give me a second. James, take these.”

I wait for her, and in the mean time I keep a close eye on the tall man with the cigarette. He gets through it quickly, and pulls another one out. I hear footsteps, and turn sharply onto my feet, pulling a blade from my thigh. Precautions.

It’s Eliza. Her long brown hair is tied in a ponytail, and her bright green eyes are sharp and alert. She raises an eyebrow. Then I notice she has a knife in her own right hand. She follows my eyes, shrugs and says; “Precautions, right?”

I nod towards the hotel. The man is still there, on what I presume is his third cigarette.

“If I shot him, I’d probably prevent a whole load of lung cancer, y’know.”

“And scare away the money shot? I doubt his well-being is worth missing our payday.”

“We could try for both?”

“Let’s get the target first, okay? Then you can be a good Samaritan. Look, he’s going back in.”

I get back on my belly and position the scope. Eliza pulls a pair of binoculars out and lies down beside me.

The man’s gone from sight, but I wait with baited breath. I can sense something coming.

I try to gain a better angle, but nothing going. Payne probably has a decent view, being lower down, so I get his attention through the earpiece.

“Payne, try get a view through the hotel door. See anything?”

“I see Cigarette Man’s legs, just about. He’s waiting at the front desk, I think.”

“Tell me if he moves.”

But I don’t need him to say anything; Cigarette Man walks straight back out, followed by a man in a grey blazer and dark blue trousers.

 I smile. Our man. Al Dorston.

I grip my rifle, and wait for the two men to stop moving enough to get a decent shot. I get a good view on Al’s forehead, and I know it won’t last for long. I take a deep breath, and let my heart rate slow down. No point in wasting a perfect opportunity out of basic clumsiness.

My finger is on the trigger, and I empty my mind of everything but Al’s face.

His face, which was now looking straight at me.

I collapse flat on the cold cement of the roof, pulling a swearing Eliza down with me. We both lie perfectly still for minutes, not daring to see the damage. My heart is racing again.

Eventually I poke my head up, and sigh with relief. He’s still talking to Cigarette Man, apparently taking no real notice of Eliza or me. I re-aim the rifle, and speed through the preparation process. Deep breath.

Relax the heart rate.

Focus the cross hairs.

I squeeze the trigger.

He’s dead before he hits the floor.

The misty cloud of blood surrounds Cigarette Man, who is stationary with shock. Everyone else in the vicinity screams and runs, but he just stands there.

Then I have an idea. “Payne, you there? Your turn buddy, you can chase the sonofabitch.”

Eliza turns to me, incredulous. I wink, and she shakes her head. I hear Payne grumbling, but a few seconds later he’s out of the apartment block and sprinting straight to Cigarette Man.

But Cigarette Man regains his senses, sees Payne and runs. I smile; love a good chase.

He’s surprisingly quick for a heavy smoker, but the tobacco catches up with him, and within seconds he’s panting for breath. Payne catches up with ease, tackles him and wrestles him into a nearby alley. A minute later, Payne walks out. Alone.

He sees us on the roof and gives us the finger. I laugh, and Eliza joins in. Everything’s a lot funnier once we’ve won.

Thank you for reading.