The colour red

Flash 21
Prompt: A combination of our newly decorated kitchen, watching too much Doctor Who and strange convos with Jen.
Characters: Unnamed protagonist, his desk-mate Lola and an aircon repairman
Timeline: Present day
Author’s comments: I do genuinely believe the building I work in is possessed… seriously!

I think it was the colour red that started all of it. I suppose they picked it because it was a brand colour and they figured that it would make the new kitchen look warm and inviting. The same way they pick red to decorate fast food restaurants and in so doing lure you into eating reconstituted beef and deep-fried chicken substitute devoid of any nutritional value. Consider the logos of the junk food giants… red always comes up.

While the sentiment in painting it red was probably a good one, it instantly made the kitchen seem somehow sinister. Possibly it was the way the red paint seemed to glow through the doorway into the office space next to it. People used the kitchen. I mean compared to the tiny counter and sink we had before, it was positively luxurious. Strange things happened though. Food vanished out of the shiny new fridge. The microwaves shot out sparks and burned ready meals and mugs of soup. The tea stirrers vanished out of the drawers overnight.

Not long after that the noises started. They came up through the vents. Long low moans and grumbles accompanied by rattles and shudders. I imagined that it sounded like a dragon snoring somewhere in a cave beneath the city. Some kind of forgotten relic of a different time. London is a city built on a city built on top of another city. Why shouldn’t there be something ancient left behind?

We all assumed it was the air-conditioning. It’s an old building and old buildings are always making noises. But it didn’t stop and the noises got louder and louder and more animal in sound as if the building was angry and howling in protest at the changes or possibly that something had woke it up and it was reminding us that it was there.

After a week, they called in an air-conditioning repairman. I watched from my desk as he took his tools into the basement and then I forgot him. I suppose it never registered that he didn’t come back up. It was only when the building manager came looking for him a couple of days later that it dawned on me that he I had not seen him leave the way he had entered. Apparently he never reported back to work.

This morning as I walked past the shiny new fridge I was convinced I heard it groan “hungry” at me. I put it down to a week’s worth of late nights and a too much time in front of the sci-fi channel. But I really am starting to wonder where my desk-mate, Lola, is. She went to get some fruit out of the fridge an hour ago and all I can see from here is one of her red shoes lying in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Spring Soho sunday…

I think I have found the perfect way to spend Sunday afternoons when the weather is nice. It wasn’t particularly warm yesterday but it was sunny so Sanna and found a café to sit outside in the middle of Soho just off Dean Street and watched the passing traffic and talked about things like the inexplicable sexiness of David Tennant, nudity in different cultures and why anyone would still own a fur coat. The café was clearly set up for exactly this purpose since the chairs were facing out to the street rather than facing each other with the table between them.

I love the atmosphere in that part of the West End. Directly over the road from us were two sex shops and the street was populated with queens of every age gushing over each other and prancing around in outfits that included things like bowties and shiny blue winkle-pickers. It was an absolute visual feast. The tourists weaving through the chaos seemed slightly puzzled though. Ah, Londres… you will forever own my heart.

We ended the afternoon by heading back up to Oxford Street and popping into Topshop to try on shoes. All of my summer shoes are in pieces and I have nothing to wear in Australia. I wanted something practical that would go with lots of things. Only in my world would that equal a pair of sky blue plastic gladiator sandals.

In other news, RLHB is coming around for dinner again tomorrow night. Now I have to find something else to not poison him with…

Cirque de Soleil on the tube

I should be really, really hungover today but I feel impressively well, which is always a welcome surprise… especially since we partied with the Jagermonster last night.

Our day started on the sidelines of a rugby field watching Hilton show off his athletic skills. Well for four minutes before he got sent off for a variety of infractions that culminated with chirping the ref. What can I say, the man has fire! Fortunately he was back on after 10 minutes adding power to the scrum and his team, Old Paulines, sailed to a comfortable victory. Life was not as easy for the spectators though. The weather went from sunshine to rain to sunshine to sleet to sunshine to hail. We were in and out of the clubhouse about 12 times.

We followed that up by heading to Waxy O’Connors in Piccadilly Circus for Graham’s farewell. The poor boy was plied with so many beers, I’m not sure if he knew if he was coming or going. We ended up deciding that we should all go to The Grand. That place is like the Hotel California. Of course it’s a long trip from Piccadilly Circus to Clapham and so we had to find a way to entertain ourselves. After Ant and Tino had exhausted their gym jokes (Tino: I did abs last night. Ant: No way, I did abs last night too. Tino: We should do abs together. Abs: *Rolls eyes*) Ant shut everyone up by wrapping his arms around a pole on the train and then supporting himself horizontally by his arms. I’ve been trying to find a picture of someone doing something similar so I can show you but it’s not the easiest term to google. The whole train was in awe. Nice work Ant!

The Grand is a bit of a blur for me… way too many Jager Bombs… I think the highlight of my night was singing to Gold by Spandau Ballet at full volume while dancing with my arms over my head. I am a classy chick…

Now off to Soho to meet Sanna for coffee…

My OCD is colour-coded

You guys know I’m woefully untidy right and order freaks me out? Well it turns out there are exceptions to the rule. I was at a training course yesterday where I was designated to be the “reporter” for my group and had to put together the visual representations of our tasks using post it notes. It turns out if you give me post its I develop OCD and Nazi tendencies. I colour coded everything, refused 2 let anyone touch my post its and stuck everything very carefully in straight lines and the minute anyone moved my post its, I could feel panic overtaking me. Where did this come from? Who is the crazy post it lady? Can someone buy me some post its for my birthday? I have an idea for a sculpture.

I met up with RLHB again last night. We went to Covent Garden for a couple of drinks and then dinner at this gorgeous little brasserie called Palm Court. It was a random pick but a good one. The atmosphere was awesome, the food was delicious and the service was great, especially by London standards. I suppose it was kinda romantic without being cheesy and somehow we ended up standing in the street listening to this amazing poet that RLHB loves on his ipod… and again… snogging. Must have been a puzzling sight for the passing traffic. Can’t say I was particularly bothered. We’re going to catch up again during the week. There are plans to watch Spinal Tap and for me to figure out some other dish to try not to poison him with!

Notorious T.A.T.

I popped into Self Sacrifice yesterday to let Cèsar get a look at his handiwork now that the tattoo is very much on the healing stretch. You’ve got to realise that you may have spent too much time in a tattoo shop when everyone greets you with such warmth as you arrive. Cèsar of course got me to lift up my top so he could see how the tattoo was doing, what I hadn’t expected was for him to call around another four of the (male) tattoo artists to join in the inspection. It’s not everyday you end up with five men intently examining your naked stomach and nattering away to each other in Portuguese. And may I say the examination involved quite a lot of touching. Strangely it was not awkward at all. I suppose to them my stomach is a piece of art rather than a body part. You will all be glad to know that it is healing well but will need a couple of touch ups when I get back from Aus. I left with many hugs and much love and a request to bring gifts from my holiday. Cheeky!

The Muse

Flash 20
Prompt: An idea that a friend of mine shared with me.
Characters: The Muse
Timeline: Somewhere far in the future on an alien planet.
Author’s comments: I wrote this a little while ago for something a friend of mine asked me to work on with him. He rejected it for that concept but I still like it… so here goes.

To whom it may concern:

That’s kind of ironic. Starting a letter with to whom it may concern. I don’t think anyone is particularly concerned that I’m stuck on this prison planet. I suppose one can hold out hope.

This is my last chance to communicate with the outside world, while I can still remember the outside world. I can’t imagine I have enough energy left to project this piece of paper very far. They give us drugs to slow down our psychic abilities and I was never very good anyway. In fact, that’s what got me in here. If I was a half decent sorcerer (I hate that word but that’s what they call us), they never would have caught me. I would have disappeared in an explosion of flames or something else equally exciting. Unfortunately I was never very good at flames. I only ever had the one talent. Love spells. I was doing a good trade making wealthy water merchants fall in love with space traffic controllers.

I can’t deny I knew it was illegal. I just never thought I’d get caught. Guppies like me don’t get caught. The Bureau rarely bothers to follow up some little spell merchant making a couple of credits out of their pod. I can only imagine that it was someone important that turned me in. Maybe it was that girl who handed out merchant licenses at the bureau. I told her that there were consequences when it came to using the spells on someone who was already taken. She never forgave me.

It doesn’t matter what the severity of the crime is. Sorcery is sorcery and when they found out about my grandmother, well it was all over. I didn’t have a chance. Arrested, tried and sentenced in one day. I wonder what my grandmother would think if she could see me now. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Her granddaughter on death row on a far-flung satellite, forgotten by the world.

That’s right, I said it. I’m on death row. The punishment for sorcery is always capital. It’s like having a chain around my neck, constantly being pulled tighter, until there are moments where I find it so hard to breathe that I feel like I might just stop and save them the trouble of gassing me.

I’m not sure what I fear most, not knowing what death holds for me or having to wait for it. These days, weeks, months and years stretched before me… empty… caged… only The Bureau knows when my final moments will come. I don’t envy them that power. Life and death. It must weigh heavy on your soul choosing who lives and who dies and when. I think the when might even be worse than the who.

I’ll take the chance sending this. If they catch me, what more can they do to me. Kill me quicker? I think I might prefer that.

Whoever you are, you hold what might be my last words in your hands. How do I sign this? As bold as I am in taking the chance to send this, I’d rather not lead them right to my cell. My grandmother used to say I was her muse. That might work.

Yours in the spirit of freedom
The Muse

If Angelina Jolie wore her skills cloud t-shirt…

• Find out more about Skills Clouds
• Check out ifeveryoneworetheirskillscloud.com
• Join the facebook group
• See Leona Lewis’ skills cloud
• See Paris Hilton’s skills cloud
• See Amy Winehouse’s skills cloud
• See Madonna’s skills cloud
• See Russell Brand’s skills cloud
• See Tom Cruise’s skills cloud
• See Katy Perry’s skills cloud
• See Ozzy Osbourne’s skills cloud
• See Bono’s skills cloud
• Silly Lily Allen’s skills cloud

Unrelated and probably uninteresting musings…

Thoughts going through my head right now:

• They have put new doors in separating my section of the office from reception. Feel like I’m in a cage.
• My Priscilla Queen Of The Desert, The Musical tickets have arrived. I shouldn’t be this excited, should I?
• Hell or glory. I don’t want anything in between.
• How did I miss that Trace “Papercut Hips” Cyrus and Miley “Leave My Beaver” Cyrus were brother and sister. Wonder how dad, Billy Ray, feels about Metro Station’s lyrics about paying junkie lesbians for sex.
• Why am I so damned sleepy? I went to bed at 11.20pm last night!
• How early in the morning is too early for chocolate?
• In between the tattoo and the allergies I’m not sure any part of me doesn’t itch. Considering removing my skin as an escape mechanism.
• How did my wrist get so sore?
• Thomas Dutton is a genius. Why doesn’t someone actually make Razia’s Shadow as a stage production?
• Why is all the rum gone?

Trace, Miley and Billy-Ray Cyrus

Priscilla

Rum

if I’ve cooked it, you’re gonna eat it!

Date two with RLHB happened last night. Once again racked with nerves. It’s easy to make conversation with a bar when you’re both a bit tipsy but having someone at your house requires you to entertain them to some degree and if you suddenly have nothing to say it can get very awkward very fast.

Fortunately, once again I was worrying about nothing. RLHB and I settled straight into taking the complete piss out of each other, telling band stories and making out. He claimed to like my cooking, although while I was putting the pasta together, we had discussed the fact that he would have to tell me he liked it even if he didn’t. So I am choosing to believe that he genuinely did enjoy it.

I then subjected him to Everything Is Illuminated. It’s kind of a litmus test for me. It’s a properly surreal film and half of it is in Ukrainian so it’s not to everyone’s taste. He passed the test though since he seemed really into it.

In the end RLHB was sent home to face the night bus yet again. I am taking whatever this little thing between us is at my pace and trying to learn from past bad judgment.

Now we wait and see if there will be a third date…

You’ll do

Flash 19
Prompt: You’ll do
Characters: Tyler Wilcox, Eliza Donahue (Amped)
Timeline: This is three years before Chris and Blake find Tyler on the side of the road and start Evil Spacemonkey
Author’s comments: We rarely tell that much of Tyler’s story… probably because he doesn’t actually talk that much… hence the fact that it’s written from Eliza’s perspective.

I suppose the bones of the plan are already there before I ever see him behind that dilapidated old drum kit. It’s like a mantra, a drumbeat that repeats over and over in my head. Escape this town, escape these people. Escape this town, escape these people. I know I don’t belong here and he looks like a ticket, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

I inspect him carefully from my vantage point on the grass. Even with those dreadlocks that hang over his shoulders and wearing nothing but a pair of holey shorts, I can tell I could clean him up nice. Imagine the horror from my parents. Imagine how much street cred I’d get if I road off into the sunset with a future rockstar. And I know I’m going to tame this wild gipsy boy if it kills me.  Pity he’s not a singer though… but I can make do because he’s good. Really good.

“Oh my god, this is so lame,” says Jessica. “Eliza, why the fuck are we still here? Can’t we just go to the park? I heard Ed and Patrick where going to be down there. You know Ed fancies you.”
“Everyone fancies me, “ I say. “We’re still here because I need to talk to someone.”
Jessica looks around. “We don’t know anyone here. It’s just gippos and old hippies.”
“That one,” I says, pointing at the boy who is the youngest of what I can only imagine is some kind of travelling family folk band. He is busy packing up his kit.
“What?” asks Jessica. “Ugh, he looks like he hasn’t had a shower in a month!”
“You’re so prejudiced!” I say, knowing how to push her buttons. “He’s a musician and an artist and I think he’s fit.”
She rolls her eyes… but she won’t cross me. She knows what’s good for her.
I put my drink down on the grass.
“Come on,” I say to Jessica.
“I’m not going up there,” she says.
“You are!” I say and pinch her arm as I drag her up off the grass.
She yelps. “Ok, ok!”

I sneak up behind the boy and tap him on the shoulder. I love seeing the expression on his face when he turns around. Boys are all the same…. indie, hippie, scene, emo… and I know exactly what I look like.
“Hi,” I say. “You were amazing today.”
He smiles and scratches his head, losing his fingers in the light brown dreadlocks. He towers over me and even in this rough state he really is quite beautiful in a strange feral way.
“Thanks,” he says.
“I’m Eliza and this is Jessica.”
“Tyler,” he says.
“It’s your band, right?” I say.
“’S everybody’s band he says. I just play.”
He reminds me of a puppy… all hands and feet and so painfully innocent.
“How old are you?” I ask him.
“Sixteen,” he says, shyly. He’s trying not to look down my jumper and failing miserably. I can’t blame him, it’s barely even a jumper.
“Oh my god,” I say. “So are Jessica and I! You should totally hang out with us tonight. We’re going to the park.”
“For real?” he asks, eagerly.
Jessica looks horrified. I imagine the look on Ed’s stupid, smug face.
“Definitely,” I say. “You’re like the most amazing musician I’ve ever met.”
He blushes. “I guess I could. We’re here for a couple of days before we go to Devon.
“Awesome,” I say. “Well we’ll come by here in an hour and come and get you.”

Without warning, I reach up and pull him into a hug, making sure to press every possible part of my body against him. His slight intake of breath tells me I have him. Trapped. Caged. Boys… they’re all the same.
“Oh, and wear a shirt, tonight” I say.