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"Doctor", Parody of "Starman"Another lonely night in Leadworth by myself
Nothing to do, I was bored you know ow ow
This crack was scarin' me, something bout Prisoner Zero it said
Then a loud sound, then a man (not ginger)
Made me cook him up custard and fish fingers
That weren't no policeman, this was something much more weird
There's a Time Lord waiting in the sky
He's coming down to meet us
But I think he'll blow our minds
There's a Doctor waiting in the sky
He took me on his spaceship
Said he'd need me for a while
He tells me:
"I've heard children crying
To save them all I'm trying
And just this once, not lying."
He took me up and showed me everything ing ing
Left my fiancée and engagement ring ing ing
Met up with Van Gogh and with Winston Churchill too
I got pregnant, had a baby girl irl irl
She grew up and was then feared by every world orld orld
She was my best friend too, now tell me, is that not right?
So I'm Amy, floating through the sky
Then Rory came to meet us
But he always seems to die
So we're h
Watched by a godA god sat on his throne of clouds and observed the world beneath him. This was one of his least favourite planets, a pathetic little blob of green and blue in an old-fashioned section of the universe. He didn't know why he'd chosen to watch them, barely paying attention, the way they watched their televisions.
The inhabitants had named it Earth, but it was known by a much more offensive name in ethereal circles.
The natives here, a mostly sapient race called humans, had messed up. Many planets had races that had failed, but few had failed as dramatically as the humans. While other cultures explored the limits of knowledge and scientific advancement, humans had apparently given up, inventing instead a billion and one ways to amuse themselves without achieving anything worthwhile.
The slacker species of the universe a species predisposed to play.
Last time the god had watched here, the humans had just worked out exactly what gravity was and how it worked. It was hardly a mystery b
Deceased - IIIDying hurts, and don't let anyone tell you any different. People bang on about how, "Oh, he died peacefully in his sleep" and shit like that but don't believe a word of it. OK, my death was violent anyway nothing prepares you for being catapulted through a windscreen but I've spoken to people up here who've died in their sleep and apparently it's no less painful. It's something to do with the soul having to be ripped from the body "ripped" being the key word here.
On the whole though, once you've gone through that, it's actually quite peaceful. I thought I'd be worrying non-stop about the people I've left behind but as it turns out, I'm not. That's not to sound selfish, it's just that once I'm up here, there's nothing I can do about them. Well, OK, so I can help one person, but you don't get any choice in the matter.
Everyone's a guardian angel up here, see. You die, you cover someone's back until the time they're destined to die, making sure they don't pop it firs
Painter - IIWith Josh gone, I don't know what to do anymore. I know we were together for just eleven months, but it felt so right. I guess it always feels right at the beginning if it didn't, you wouldn't press on. Art is my final class of the day but I'm not really with it. We're supposed to be painting the still life in front of us a mish-mash of fabrics, fruit, stuffed birds and the top half of a mannequin but my mind isn't on it. Everyone has made some progress but I still have a pure white canvas staring back at me.
I pick up a paintbrush and continue to think about Josh. It's been a week now. I had a few days off school for it but because I'm not family or anything, I can't get compassionate leave or anything. I've just got to press on. It's hard to think of him laughing and joking now I've seen him with his blood and brains smeared across the front of his car. My leg still twinges a bit from where it was caught under the dashboard, but it's not severely damaged.
Grapevine - IYou'll never guess what I heard! No, wait, I mean it! I shouldn't even really be gossiping about it but I had to tell someone. Do you remember Pete? You know, Pete thingy? The one who was going out with Tina but they broke up when she slept with his brother? You must remember! Think back, it was huge news like, last month. No, two months ago. I don't know. Yeah?
No, well anyway, you remember his mate Duncan? Oh you must know! You'd know him if you saw him he's the one who got really wasted at Anne's eighteenth? Jumped on the table and declared himself King of the Lesbians? Long hair? Anyway, never mind him, it's his brother, Josh. You have to remember Josh! That's right, the one who spent last Hallowe'en making eyes at you and your pumpkin costume. Totally hot.
Anyway, yeah, you'll never guess what happened! He was out driving with his girlfriend Becky you must know Becky and anyway, what they're saying is that he swerved to avoid a deer and crashed and he's dead.
I wake up.I wake up.
I'm on a dark desert highway and I don't remember how I got here. There are a few stars in the sky but no moon and not enough light to guide me. I reach into my pockets and pull out a torch, but with nothing for the light to bounce off, I cannot tell how far I am from anything.
I begin to walk, and I walk for several hours, or maybe days, or maybe just a couple of minutes. I arrive at a house with lights burning from every window. I knock on the door and the wood sounds like metal. There is a clank and a clang and the door opens slightly.
An old woman's face looks out at me. She screams something in a language I don't understand and I feel a bullet lodge itself in my lung. I choke and I wake up
I'm leaning against a set of lockers in my school corridor and I don't remember how I got here. It's after hours, still light outside but the school is empty. I walk down the corridor, which seems longer than I remember. It takes an hour to reach the door at the end. It's locked
Letter To The Future21st July 2010
To Whom It May Concern:
If you have found this letter, congratulations. I am writing this in the year 2010 and hopefully, nuclear war permitting, it will have reached you in the year 2110. The language I am writing in is English which, while I assume will still be a dominant language in one hundred years time, may have been killed off by the Chinese.
2110 sounds so futuristic, but once upon a time 2010 sounded like that, yet here I am. It's weird to think that this year is now history to you, the way we look back at 1910 and think they were a bit backwards. You probably think that about us.
It's 41 years since humans first landed on the moon (unless that has since proved to be a hoax) and we've currently no signs of heading into space again. They keep talking about it, but there's nothing happening. I hope we're on the moon by the time you read this. Hopefully you've got to Mars by now. Maybe you're reading this on Mars!
Are there aliens yet? The closest we get is Doctor
Excerpt: 2117The first noise I heard in one hundred years was a gentle hiss. I felt dizzy and realised that I was lying on cool marble table wearing only shorts. There was a mask over my mouth, feeding me oxygen. I turned my head gently to the side and noticed that the mask was connected to a tube, which fed down into a small glass dome. Inside the dome was what appeared to be a bonsai rainforest.
What I presumed to be a clock was on the wall just above it, although it was hard to tell. It had no hands but instead four circles of various sizes were in place beneath the numbers, one of them ticking with what I presumed were seconds. One was moving too fast to be properly seen.
The hissing continued, very faintly. I wanted to sit up but I quickly realised that my wrists and ankles were fastened to the table, although I could feel no fastening at all. It was almost like I'd been magnetised and stuck to the fridge.
I heard a door open and someone entered the room, and at the same time, the oxygen mask
Character Study: Jazz ClubLively jazz music plays. The club is dark, square lights allowing for just enough vision through the fug. You can almost see the music circle the clientele. Three people sit in the corner booth, all of them smiling and laughing together.
The first is Dexter Ruggles; dressed in a black shirt, black trousers, black ankle boots and a black trilby balanced on his black hair. Just a slim white tie adds colour to the ensemble. He laughs loudly, baring straight teeth, nostrils flaring. He's a writer, a novelist (one book published) who also works as a waiter. He's happy with his lot and his friends.
The second is Rebecca Lowe; dressed in a white top with red swirls all over it, and a short grey skirt. Grey boots reach up to her knees. She has an unlit cigarette behind her ear, tucked into the dark red hair that has been sprayed, straightened and waxed so often one would think it wouldn't bother messing itself up again. She sleeps around, sleeps with anything. She wants a relationship but does
homeI pray to go home.
on bended knee,
I lift my heart
to a nameless god,
I bless his heart,
or maybe hers,
and ask for deliverance
to a land
I feel a map,
carved into my shoulders.
three mirrors are arranged
directing my attention
to my back, a range of mountains,
but my eyes don't see.
is water through a sieve.
puddles flow beneath me,
no barrier to hold me
a cheshire smile
and reversible signs
lie to me
and no amount of tears,
salty oceans on my cheeks,
will bring me home.
I dream of a room,
soft and fuzzy to the sight,
where I feel at rest;
I know that I am still
runaway irony (FFM 22)Twenty minutes after finishing the documentary on New Zealand, Nicole had a plan worked out. She wrote it all down in gel pen, an itemised list of all the things she needed; then she got to work.
It wasn’t easy to convince the man in Bunnings to sell her nails, but she put on her best innocent face, and told him it was for her father’s garden shed. It wasn’t easy to convince the neighbour to let her have the old fence palings, either; nor the logs that had been earmarked for a bonfire, but a few hearty fibs and her best “I just want to help my daddy” smile went a long way to convincing them.
Two weeks later, she had bruised hands, a lot of knowledge about how not to use a hammer, and what she hoped would pass for a half-decent raft. She packed herself a bag with some clothes and spare underwear, then packed another bag, this one larger and wheeled, with as much canned food as she could carry. Before she left, she remembered to grab the can op
Fall of ManI remember thinking: if this were a story, it would be alright. Even tragedies have meaning when someone else holds the pen. But this is not a story. Unless it is.
There was me cradling you in the wreckage of a building; and in the distance, the sounds of running and screaming and alarms of ambulances, everyone calling for help, and there, another building collapsing.
A snowflake fell on your forehead and for a moment it seemed more important than the blood, more important than bombs falling from the sky, the war that had begun. Blocks away perhaps a television was somehow still on, perhaps it screamed propaganda. All I knew was you had no reason to be punished.
People can’t run with broken legs, and you also had a broken arm, and when I heard another woman scream for her beloved to come back to life, I knew you would die.
I should have remembered what you whispered to me, but the planes above were too loud. If I had heard your last word
Ageing Superhero (FFM 24)Nathan always imagined he’d go out in a gunfight, cape fluttering; a hero’s death in the pursuit of peace. Turns out, he was only right about the “gun” part.
* * *
Mr Cuddles weaves around Nathan’s ankles. He’s purring loudly, and shedding fur all over Nathan’s slightly-too-tight bodysuit, but Nathan’s attention is fixed on the tinny voice coming from his mobile.
“Look, your international days are over. You’re getting older, and I know you’ve gained a few pounds. No, don’t try to lie to me. You wear spandex, Nathan. It’s pretty unforgiving, and you no longer have a six-pack. The world events, the foreign villains, you can leave them to the newbies.”
Paying no attention to the plaintive-sounding agent, Mr Cuddles hunts, unnoticed as he follows Nathan towards the safe on the landing.
Nathan’s carrying his guns one-handed; he’s only half-listening to his age
NebraskaHe called her Nebraska. The first time he did was in a Wal-Mart parking lot with August humidity pressing the air from their lungs. It also happened to be the first time she saw him. “Whoa there, Nebraska!” he’d said as the blue shopping cart got away from her and rolled right into him.
She apologized profusely. At least it was empty, and hadn’t got a chance to gather much speed. Besides, what the heck was he doing standing in the cart return?
“Why the heck are you standing in a cart return?” she asked him. He was tall. Lanky. He had a military haircut, and she should have known then. He was young; she likely had the long side of a decade on him. But when he smiled, everything just felt better.
He vaulted out of the pipe enclosure and held something up between his thumb and index finger. A nickle. He grinned again, and his green eyes crinkled, “I dropped it.”
“Well that explains it.”
“And now,” he said, “I ha
PhotogenicPeople have often said I'm photogenic. From what little I've seen, I haven't liked many photos of just myself. But there are a few sentimental, spontaneous portraits, taken by people who saw the beauty in me when I didn't, which are definite exceptions to the rule.
There's that one that Jordan took of me, sitting under some trees at the Great Sand Dunes of Alamosa. I'd been crying over an unexpected altercation with a friend, though few can tell that by looking at the snapshot. "Can you smile and be pretty and love me?" he'd asked. In his mind, I'd done the latter two things; all I needed was to do the first. So I smiled, because I felt loved.
Then there's the picture that Thomas took of me, lying in the lower ring of what Texas A&M students call the Modern Art Sculpture. "People here do this all the time," he'd told me; I felt like I was blending in with a completely new culture--Thomas's culture--and it was exhilarating. It was my first time visiting campus, and I was in awe of a
[TGB] Leave The Light OnIt seemed only natural that she found him.
Her paws had been weary, her mind restless - home no longer felt like home and he .... he had always had a calming presence upon her soul. His smirking blue-green eyes soothed a fire in her soul and made everything shift when she hadn't been aware it was askew in the first place.
He held her steady, whether he knew it or not and right now Arya felt like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
"Fancy seeing you again - if I didn't know any better I'd say you missed my dashing looks."
Perhaps it was in the way Arya fumbled for an appropriate response, or perhaps it was how her grass eyes misted over with unshed tears - full to the brim with emotion Arya usually kept hidden from her companion.
"Arya?" His brow furrowed slightly and he took a hesitant step forward. His firefly was strong ... for her to be so shaken ...
She wasn't sure when the tears had started, hadn't noticed their slow descent down her cheeks until Idek's nose was touchin
My Knee Hurts and I Hate David BowieThey're at it again.
I've grabbed the broom and smacked the handle against the ceiling, but the neighbours upstairs take no notice. I think about calling the police, but I hate doing that without at least talking to them. Everybody deserves that chance, I think. Still, the prospect of standing outside their door and talking to them isn't one that sits comfortably. When I think I'm going to explode if I have to listen to another second, I give in.
I power up the stairs like nobody's business, and pound on their door. I'd knock like a normal person, but if they can't hear the broom hitting their floor, they won't hear a knock, either. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens and sound washes over me in a wave that's all but solid.
The figure in the doorway looks like a reject from an 80's concert. He's got a blinkin' mullet, and he sparkles... but he's got nothin' on the fella behind him. Bloody queer's wearing a dress, and more makeup than an entire row of beaut
A Grave Digger's KissesI fell in love with a gravedigger. His hands were rough and calloused; no matter how many times he cleaned them, grains of soil remained rattling in his palm. It should have been a warning – dirt nestled in his love-line, but something about the way he held me, how he always seemed surprised that I was warm, that I was alive, was endearing. He once said that in winter, when his fingers were like ice, he couldn’t feel the difference between the coffin and the bed, that he wouldn’t know whether to kiss me or assume the worst. But he refused gloves, scoffed at them; said feeling the earth part under his feet was the only way he knew up from down.
And his eyes were shovels, constantly burrowing through me, dragging up fossils, the skeletons dancing in my closet. He lived with the dead, only understood the chattering of skulls, would unearth forgotten secrets, examine them as if he were a mortician, a pathologist. Then those eyes would silently begin again, reburying
Xanthic LightAlice and Edward stepped closer together, examining one another in the streetlight. Both of them had aged since they'd last seen one another and looked curiously the same but so different.
"Can you believe it's been fifteen years?" Edward said, raising his hand to stroke Alice's hair.
"Don't," she said. "Edward, please don't do this."
"Fifteen years," he said again. "Great Scott, you can't tell me that the feelings aren't still there, even after all this time." He begged her to agree with him.
"I can't," she said, refusing to look at him now he was so close. Just run, she thought. Kicking herself inside, she wondered why she had agreed to see him. Love didn't fade, even after all this time.
"Maybe I should just go," she said.
"No," he said, firmly. "Oh please, don't go. Please, I made such a mistake when I left you. Queen of my heart, forever and a day." Roaring cars passed them on the bridge, a few of them wondering who the two people were chatting over the water. She wished she had j
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