| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Bill West is uncomfortable in his skin. He writes Flash Fiction to stretch it a little.
He lives in a remote rural UK location with his wife, two sons and a three legged cat called Thing.
For a brief while Thing learnt to talk. His speech developed quickly and he could make simple requests for food, water and to be let out at night. Trouble started when Thing learnt to count. Bill identifies strongly with Thing..
Website : http://www.writewords.org.uk/members/show_profile.asp?member_id=2319 |
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| © 2006 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| Ho ho ho |
| by Bill West |
| I was rolling my last spliff when there was a thump. My caravan shook. I ran outside and looked up, saw antlers, reindeer nudging shoulders and stamping the snowy roof. The sleigh looked big, heavy. The caravan walls buckled ominously.
Santa was hanging, tangled in reins. He smelt of sherry. I cut him down, dragged him inside, slapped him a bit and gave him a toke. "Ho ho ho," he said. He looked around at my bare walls, crud littered floor and my one red Christmas candle. I could see he wasn't impressed. That made me mad. He was 'The Man,' he had the white beard, twinkling eyes, fur trimmed coat and his own wheels. Santa was the main event, and he hadn't visited since the orphanage. So full of himself; he didn't give a damn. When I challenged him to Russian roulette he just blew smoke rings at me. I pulled out my imaginary gun, cracked it open, loaded a single bullet then closed it with a “snick”. I gave it a spin and slid it to him. The back of his hand was hairy. He licked his lips, put the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger. I said “click!” Now it was my turn. Despite the cold I was sweating. The imaginary gun felt heavy, familiar. I put it to my forehead and squeezed the trigger. Santa said, “click!” I nearly stopped it then. I should have stopped it. But, every Christmas was the same, just me in this battered caravan in the middle of nowhere with my one red Christmas candle. I had to do something. Santa raised the gun to his brow and stared at me with bright blue eyes. He squeezed the trigger. I said, “bang!” Santa's head exploded, showered the room with gouts of tinsel, holly and ivy. Bright red berries bounced across the carpet and the air filled with the smell of pine forests, roasted meat and mulled wine. “Ho ho ho,” I said. |
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| June 2006 |
| 64 |