Friday, 26 August 2011

47 Days

I stepped through the doorway into a white corridor which stretched off into the distance.

I glanced backward over my shoulder and watched the door quietly close behind me, the door too was white, and handle-less.

I didn't spare a thought as to why I was here, I knew that the answers would be revealed when the time was right.

I began to walk.

The corridor never varied. Walls, floor and ceiling a uniform shade of white that stopped just short of being a glare.

I didn't worry that the temperature never altered, despite my nakedness I felt neither warm nor cold. The floor was the same temperature as my bare feet, which gave the sensation of walking on nothing. When I touched the walls there was no texture, only more of the sameness.

One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...

My internal clock counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours and days.

Just keep walking.

I didn't think about the strangeness of not feeling the urge to eat, or drink, or sleep, or defecate, or urinate.

Just keep walking.

One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...

Although I didn't pass anyone else in the corridor, I never felt any sense of loneliness, or isolation.

Just keep walking.

Twenty three days, eleven hours, sixteen minutes, four seconds...

One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...

Just keep walking.

Forty seven days, three minutes, seven seconds...

A large signpost stood in the corridor, effectively blocking my way, peering through the narrow gap at the side I could see the corridor stretching away into the distance exactly the same as before.

I stood looking at the signpost, feeling calm, somewhat detached. I just knew that whatever happened, if anything happened, it would be the right thing.

A shadow appeared on the smooth, white surface of the signpost.

The shadow darkened, solidified, became readable, the words said simply...


I turned around in the corridor to face the direction I had come from, and there, just a few paces away was the white, handle-less door, the door stood ajar revealing a bright light on the other side.

I stepped through the doorway into a blurred kaleidoscope of moving colours, and the sounds of faraway voices, and a cacophony of bleeps, beeps, pings and burbles.

A bright moving light shone into my right eye, moved to my left eye...

“Just relax, just relax, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna make it...”

The voice seemed to come from the moving blur hovering over me... which slowly, slowly began to resemble a face.

Over the next few days I learnt about the accident, and all the other details.

The doctor said it was some kind of miracle.

“You were forty seven days in a coma, total body shutdown, permission had been given to turn off the Life Support Unit. I actually had my hand on the switch ready to pull the plug...

And you opened your eyes.”

©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 19 August 2011


I live in a very quiet cul-de-sac.

My elderly next door neighbour was very sweet.

The middle-aged couple on the other side were bitter.

George and Maria at number 22 were rich.

Frederick at number 16 was a sour old git.

Janice Almondey-Smythe at number 11 was a lady of great taste.

In contrast the Belmonts at number 9 were very tasteless people.

The big bully and his overbearing wife at number 23 were tough.

The young man who resided at number 4 was a very tender person.

Robert and Glynis from number 12 were like chalk and cheese.

The big-bosomed wife at number 8 was a real dish.

Whilst I found her compulsive liar of a husband a bit hard to swallow.

Eighty-odd year old Peterson from number 17 was a crabby old bugger.

I didn't like the widow from number 13 at all, but her son was quite nice.

A new girl has just moved into number 27, I can't wait to get my teeth into her and find out if she's as tasty as she looks.

Mwuhahahahahahaha.... MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

P.S. I'm going away for a couple of days so I'll be a bit late catching up with reading and replying this week. Have a great weekend everyone.


Friday, 12 August 2011

A waste of pain

Jack had been strapped to the table for almost three days now, the exquisite pain and suffering he had endured were almost over, he would be dead soon, his body had had enough, his mind and will had had enough. Throughout the agony he hadn't spoken a single word, hadn't given his torturers one single shred of information.

They had snatched him from outside the government building where he worked.

A chemical sprayed into his eyes, handcuffed, and thrown into a van, it had happened so unbelievably quickly.

The constant questions were of a military nature, where were the silos? What was the stand off capability? How many troops? Where were the heads of command situated?

Jack had all the answers, and he would have given them to stop the pain, he worked on the computers and had access to the information they sought, and they knew this.

What they didn't know was that Jack had been a deaf mute from birth, and although he could lip-read perfectly, the unwise choice of chemical spray his abductors had used had burned deep into Jack's pupils, the poor man never regained his sight.

©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 5 August 2011

Off the boil

Lance hadn't been able to sit down for over a week now, in fact he had been able to do hardly anything, the rather large, and extremely painful boil on his right buttock was ruining his life. He could manage to sit by perching his left buttock on the seat, but the pain caused by the skin being taut meant that even this position couldn't be held for very long, so he had taken to standing to do just about everything, the cream that the doctor had prescribed may just as well have been rubbed onto the carpet for all the effect it had on the boil.

He had to sleep on his stomach, without covers, but was awoken screaming several times each night as he rolled over in his sleep. The touch of any fabric against the offending, fist-sized lump was agonising, so Lance had to cut a hole in his only pair of jeans just so he didn't have to walk about semi-naked all the time, which he didn't mind so much, but he couldn't afford the extra heating costs.

The constant pain, and the sheer exhaustion caused by being on his feet all day, combined with the lack of sleep, were beginning to take their toll, and poor Lance was becoming run down and depressed.

Thoughts of suicide were trickling through Lance's mind as he stepped out of the shower, straight onto a patch of previously spilt shower gel, both legs flew high into the air, and he landed heavily on his backside, the pitch of his scream almost hit ultrasonic as the boil splattered an impressive amount of blood and pus in every direction across the tiled floor.

A few minutes later the pain had dulled to a bearable level, and Lance whistled cheerfully to himself as he stepped back into the shower, and began to wash the red and yellow goo from his freshly de-boiled bum, thinking to himself that falling on your arse wasn't always a bad thing.

©2011 Stephen. J. Green.