In The Murder Room

'In the Murder Room, you can make a killing. No pun intended. I hate puns and will wallop anyone if they do something even resembling a double entendre.

No, believe me, the Murder Room is no joke. It's where despicable killers such as moi bump off those too cowardly to off themselves themselves - for the right cash of course. We couldn't let you leave the world for free now, could we? That would be unfair to all the sadsacks with the stones to sit in their car with windows up and the engine on.

Now, obviously ultimately your God or Gods will pass verdict on you but that sure as Hell won't stop me judging you when you're alive, so - '

'Why are you telling me all this?'

'Because, sonny, I'm obliged to give you this spiel lest you misunderstand what the deal is here. That way, if your demise is traced back to us - which it won't be cos we're thorough - we can hold our hands up and go 'hey, we knew full well what the game was; we gave him the speech'.'

'That won't hold up in court.'

'Course it will. We've got tapes as proof.'

'You record the killing?'

'What? No! We're executioners, not perverts. We only film the preamble.'

'I see. Well, I think I've heard all I need to.'

'Great.'

'You're under arrest. I'm D.C.I. Harry Strong and I'm bringing you in on multiple charges of premeditated murder.'

'Hey, it's only premeditated because they asked us to do it!'

'That's a technicality. Our lawyers will soon find a way round that.'

'Unbelievable...'

'Not really. You boast about your chopping block job long enough, you get caught. What's hard to understand about that?'

'You'll regret this.'

'I'll regret this? You're the one in the risky business of mutilating people. Seriously, talk about going out on a limb...'

'Did you just do wordplay?'

'Why, you allergic to linguistic tricks?'

'Nope. I just really hate puns. And do you remember what I do to people who crack them?'

'Uh...'

He hit the ground before he could even blink. I picked up my phone and dialled.

'Oi, Terry? I've got another one for you. He's heard the speech and is definitely up for it. Be here in five minutes? Ta.'

I love my job...

The House of Gross Acquaintance

'You don't have to live up to your name, you know', I said carefully wading through the mess in search of a clean patch of carpet, 'That nominative determination thing is a load of bollocks'.

Gross smirked. 'Yeah, but you would say that, wouldn't you, Woodcock? Don't want people to think you've Pinocchio's nose instead of man meat.'

'I don't want them to think I've a nose or meat down there. I'm a girl!'

'Oh.' He pulled his greasy hair out of his eyes. 'Sorry Holly.'

I stopped and leaned on a fairly staple pile of newspapers. 'My name is Poppy.'

He waved a dismissive hand. 'Eh, doesn't matter. If my name was Gross Best Friend, maybe I'd bother to remember, but it's not, so I don't.'

'You can't keep using your name as an excuse for everything, Gross.'

'Can't I?' He sneezed, farted, then belched. 'Huh, what do you know? Looks like I can.'

'That's it!' I turned around and carefully started to make my way to the front door.

'Wait - what - where are you going?'

'I'm getting a hoover and a hose! From now on, at the very least, your house will be clean.'

'No!'

'Yes. I'm doing it and you can't stop me. If you try, I'll spray you with the hose.'

He hissed. 'You wouldn't...'

'I would.'

We glared at each other. Eventually he threw his hands up in the air. 'Fine. Go ahead. Clean my place.'

'I will do. And Gross?'

'Yes?'

'We are no longer acquaintances.'

The Skylight

When I have nothing better to do, I lie on my bed and look up at my skylight. I've watched rain fall, lightning illuminate the sky, and snowflakes slide down the pane, but mostly my ever-changing canvas shows clouds.

Clouds are odd. I wouldn't classify them as their own weather condition but rather as a transitional state. You cannot go from a sunny day to a storm without it having being overcast in between. The white wisps above act as a signal for us to move indoors, a warning that what we knew is, for now at least, over.

It was you who first taught me to look up and start appreciating the world outside my bubble. Beforehand I was very much stuck in the city mind-set: stare ahead, don't interact, and if someone asks you a question, they must be after your phone. Now I see everything anew. Anything can be amazing.

And then you left. Having converted me to your way of thinking, you went to preach to another. I struggled to find solace in the small things for a while but then one day whilst in the garden I looked up. I saw one small solitary cloud and then it hit me: what I'm feeling is temporary. This mood, like a cloud, will pass. Once it's rolled away, normal service will be resumed. The sun will come out.

To remind me of this very fact, I ordered a skylight for my room.

A (Probably Not At All Much-Anticipated) Sequel

Almost two whole years ago, I asked friends to provide me with titles for stories. Would I give them one per cent of the royalties if I made money off of the pieces? It was never discussed.

Anyway, they gave me suggestions that were evocative, intriguing, or just plain silly and I turned them all into stories. This year, to mark National Flash Fiction Day, I decided to repeat the game and consequently have a few new works to share very soon.

The first one will be up within sixty minutes and they will continue to be posted every hour on the hour until you bring the money in full to the prearranged location.

*Ahem*.

Apologies, wrong forum. Correction: They will go up until I've run out.

TIHSPITFOAL: Barcelona Edition!

I went to Barcelona and saw...


A terrible attempt at the Micky Mouse silhouette



 The wrong sort of buoy

 A lizard having a breakdown

A winning combination

A shop with a very specific item for sale

and the Tenth Doctor missing half his head. No wonder he was so mopey.

That's so Nineties.

I went through my childhood bedroom and found...


BERT REALLY LET HIMSELF GO AFTER ERNIE LEFT

I DO THE MOST ABSTRACT SNOWFLAKES

THE GHOST OF SOOTY

MY MOTHER WAS A GIANT

LIVING IN A RURAL VILLAGE DIDN'T HELP ME IDENTIFY ANIMALS

FICTION DOESN'T HAVE TO BE PLAUSIBLE

KEEPING UP WITH TECHNOLOGY WAS NEVER MY PRIORITY

PIKACHU'S 'BEFORE' AND 'AFTER' WEIGHT LOSS SHOTS

AND...

THE HORROR, THE HORROR...

A Queue for Disaster

Whilst working in a canteen, a customer asked me whether it mattered which end of the line was the beginning. Whilst this is an innocuous enough enquiry, it betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of how queues work. We Brits invented queues because there’s nothing we like more than order, politely taking turns, and insisting someone else go first. The result? We disregard which end is the head and which is the tail, and we would have complete anarchy.

If who’s at the front is irrelevant, then it would come down to who shouts the loudest. There would be pushing and shoving to ensure you are heard and others are muffled. Fights would ensue and workers would struggle to break them up given that we will do almost anything if there’s a decent cup of tea up for grabs (or, in fact, any tea. We’re not picky unless it’s the Americans’ idea of a brew in which case “I’m fine for now, thanks”).

Said workers would, perhaps unsurprisingly, need time off for the stress brought on by seeing forty day trippers kick each other in the shins to stop some stranger get the last Earl Grey. Replacements would be drafted in but soon their shifts would need covering too as once more the lack of a queue results in fisticuffs. It’s an endless cycle that would admittedly solve the national unemployment crisis by providing literally everyone in the country with a job but soon we would all be on paid leave. Either that or we’d be in what should be a queue.

With the entire nation getting compensation whilst off work, the economy collapses. There’s mass layoffs – our employers can’t keep giving us pay-outs. We go to the dole – there’s no money there either. All you have now? That’s what you have to live on. It runs out and you have to steal in order to survive.

Don’t worry though – the police won’t stop you. No, remember, they were laid off too (besides, no one has faith in them anymore – they couldn’t even stop fights in queues). You can do what you want if you can get away fast enough. In a world without law enforcers, the quick are more powerful than the rich.

If you can’t evade others though, you’re going to get injured. Unfortunately, given that hospitals are out of action too (if you thought the competition was heated for a cup of tea, imagine how intense it was between those needing a kidney), you’ll have to stay hurt. For some, this risk is too much so they never leave their house. Others take a chance and end up limping for life. Nobody wins.

Civilisation ends. It would. If everyone is potentially going to take your supplies, nobody has allies. Acquaintances don’t become friends, friends don’t end up as couples, couples don’t start families together. The human race dies out and all because we abolished the rules of queuing.

I didn’t tell the customer all of this of course. No, I just pointed out she was at the wrong end and went back to work. They don’t pay me to stand around you know…