“I can hear it my head …”
“Me too.”
“Who’s it by?”
“Umm …. Tim something.”
“Tim … Tim …”
“Fuck … I know this … Tim … Tim …”
“Deluxe!”
“Yes! Tim Deluxe …”
“Fucking banger that.”
“Fucking banger.”
“Remember when Camisra dropped?”
“I lost it “
“We all lost it.”
“That fella up the pole almost fell off.”
“Oh yeah … he was cracker.”
“What a night.”
“Yeah … what a night.”
“Can’t believe I wasn’t going to go.”
“Imagine if you hadn’t?”
“Wouldn’t be here … or you.”
“Nah, it would have happened … just somewhere else. Meant to be you two … she told me.”
“When?”
“That night … at the station.”
The station. I remember now. My number in her phone. Not even my name. His. Jim Corr. Fuck that made laugh. I don’t look anything like Jim Corr.
“Feels weird just me and you.”
“It’s what she wanted.”
“Always was nostalgic.”
“Who isn’t?”
“Me. Don’t see the point.”
“Maybe coz it hurts.”
“Everything hurts.”
“I know.”
“I fuckin hate this … she should be here.”
“She is here.”
“In an urn … a fuckin urn.”
I can’t do this … I can’t
“I’m sorry .. it’s just …”
“I know.”
“She’d been so pissed with me … don’t you cry, she’d say.”
“Don’t you fuckin cry she’d say.”
“Yeah … fuckin … loved she had a mouth.”
“Got her into trouble.”
“Put you two together, didn’t it?”
Yeah … put us two together … and now I’m holding you … in an urn.
“Come on then. We going to do this?”
“Wanna play a song?”
“She didn’t ask for one.”
“Reckon she’d okay with it.”
“What should we play?”
“Something from the night.”
“The one at the end … that one.”
The one at the end … our first kiss … our first dance
“Okay … come on … it’s time.”
This fictional short story was written for a 50 Day Project organised by the artist Amanda Billing. I get 45 minutes to an hour (not the project’s rules, it’s just about the time I have right now) to write a story, sometime between 4.30am and 5.30am. After that, the day is no longer mine.
N.B. The sketch image for this short story was created using AI (at best, I can draw a half-decent stick man). The words are all mine.
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