Monday, 8 March 2010

expertly written short story

I sit in bright sunlight on a bench in a park and I wait for a man in an attic to shoot me through the head with a bullet from a sniper rifle. My hands rest on my knees and I am thinking about all the events that have happened in my life. I think that I won't be aware of the shot when it comes. Everything will quietly stop. I wonder if there is any way for me to know whether everything has already quietly stopped. I think that there isn't.

People walk past and some teenagers are playing music on a mobile phone. There's the sun. It's not a warm day. A breeze makes it colder every now and then.

The teenagers are laughing and joking together. I think about what the teenagers are made of.

The teenagers are strutting around and smoking joints and cigarettes. They are wearing hooded tops and are having a great time all together. The male teenagers are looking at the female teenagers and vice-versa. All of the teenagers want to have violent and passionate intercourse with each other. Seconds and minutes pass by at the normal speed.

I am part of a rambunctious and vibrant scene that is typical of life. The park is bisected by a concrete path. I think about lying down on the concrete path and pressing my face up against the path to make myself warmer. Concrete is usually warmer than the air that surrounds it.

It is dark and rich and thick and wonderful. It smells wonderful.

Human beings love concrete and everything else that is like concrete. They like tarmac more than anything else. All human beings wish that their entire house was made of lovely rich and thick dark tarmac. All human beings want to have sexual intercourse with warm and lubricated tarmac.

The bullet hasn't come yet. It is a matter of time before the bullet comes and knocks my skull apart and my brain falls out. I look straight ahead and try to do an impression of someone who's brain has been blown out of their head. I don't move my face at all and look straight ahead. I think about my brain flopping around on the floor like a fish. I think about my brains gills being useless outside my head. My head is full of blood, by the way.

When it finally gets shot apart the blood will fly all over the place and splash all around.

There is a small chance that the blood from my brain will drown some kind of insect, maybe a low crawling insect. Stupid insects I think. I wonder what kind of insects eat blood. Probably snails. A group of snails will eat all of the blood and move towards my brain. My brain will become their leader and make all of the decisions for all of the snails from now on. They will carry it around everywhere and it will get to make out with all of the hot female snails. My brain is a snail.

After a long time waiting I begin to get restless. I think that maybe I should go back to the office.

It is one thirty and my lunch break is over.


Aiden Clarkson said...

did you have to pay someone to write this for you?

how much did it cost to have someone write this for you?

Socrates Adams-Florou said...

DJ Berndt said...

haha. Good job, Socrates.

Crispin Best said...

i'm the editor of top literary journal 'rejection digest' and i think you should lose the last line of this otherwise expertly written short story.
i think it would have more emotional resonance if you lost the last line.
that's just an opinion, but it's the opinion of the editor of one of the top literary journals around

Socrates Adams-Florou said...

well i think that your comment would have more emotional resonance if you deleted the whole thing editor!!!!!!!!!!!