Pieces of you

Your golden brown skin hides so much from me, dry and flaking it repulses me at first, pushes me away, but I know the wonders that lie underneath. Never judge a book by it’s ageing, dead cover. Inside is where your true meaning is found, your curves offer movement, your sharpness brings me to tears. I love the way you taste, no matter how you arrive on my tongue it is always a moment to be savoured, sweet at times, sour at others. Sliced through you reveal your heart, wrapped in so many layers of protection, hidden away from the world. A tortured soul deep within. Each layer of your protection grown and cultivated with purpose, keeping your core safe …

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A night in the office

There he goes, walking through the Final Portal, leaving me here in this office again. I always get a little flashback ss the doors swing shut, back to my Delivery Day which feels so long ago now, the day I said goodbye to the Transporter – a large and kind van that wished everyone well whether they were arriving or departing – and entered my Place of Destination. I’m getting older and those memories are starting to fade now so sometimes I have to concentrate really hard to recall what life used to be like beyond the Final Portal, remembering how nervous I was as we all huddled together in the Great Birth House of Ware, listening to rumours of …

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No Big Deal

It’s early evening. Two men sit In a car parked outside a warehouse. They are deep in conversation. “It’s definitely a sliding scale, right? I mean things that are important to you might not be important to me so how do I decide?” “Are you telling me you can’t decide what’s important in your life? Or don’t know what the last important decision you made was? Seriously?” “Hey, look. I know what decisions I’ve made but I’m just not sure I’ve changed my mind on something important, like, ever? No big deal really, yeah?” “Bullshit, brother, bullshit. You might not be willing to admit it to yourself but there must have been something, somewhere, at some point that you changed …

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IKEA life

The first few nights were the hardest. I guess it was fear of the unknown and being in such an alien, yet oddly familiar, environment. I soon learned the schedules the building ran too, when the generators would kick in, the ticking of the heating system as the pipes warmed in the morning, the slow electronic clicks late at night as systems started to shut down, the gentle squeak of the security guards shoes as he did his rounds. How I got here is no big surprise. Well, perhaps the location might be to some but the more I get used to it, the more I wonder why more people don’t do it. But then, how would I know if …

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How could I just kill a man?

It was the first time I’d killed a man. Logically it wasn’t any harder than killing a dog, the physics and physiology differ but the principles are the same. You plan the method of death, account for size and weight, and follow the plan step by step. It’s terrifyingly simple, terrifyingly easy. I can see why serial killers continue to kill again and again and again. After all everyone likes to improve, to do something better the next time, and soon it is a compulsion. A tweak here, a change of tactic there and maybe the perfect murder will happen next time. Not that you’d know a perfect murder when it happened, I don’t think. The perfect murder needs investigated, tested, …

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