Tuesday, 9 February 2010


There are two people sitting under the gazebo next to the car park. They are both drunk. I am walking back from the supermarket and I have two bags with me. They are full of booze, crisps, chocolate, dipping sauces, cured meat and French cheese.

As I approach the two people I think, 'Please don't say anything to me.'

One of the two drunk people burps and then sneezes. He burps again. He drinks more of his strong beer and then burps.

I am very near them now.

The man who was burping slowly turns around. He is looking at me and standing aggressively.

He says to me, 'Party in number 41 tonight?'

I live at number 41. I try and smile at the man, but it is difficult when I am so scared.

As I walk into my home, I can feel the blood pulsing around my body.

I pace around for a while, thinking about the people.

For the whole night I sit up in my bed, unable to sleep. I think about the two people waiting outside my home. Waiting to follow my every move.

My groceries remain, uneaten, on the kitchen table.


gamefaced said...


Eli Regan said...

there's no excuse not to eat that food.

enjoyed the pace of this, it felt aptly tense.

i know most of the pieces seek to create tension in the reader, but feel this one did.


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