It was another stain on the floor. Spluttering air-conditioners in the room over barely take the edge off the forty-degree day as I stared at the chunky mess of half digested pizza, chips and cake on the floor. Soft drink painted the concoction a vivid pink. The offender, a greasy-fingered boy who was looking much perkier now that his lunch was out of him, barely looked at his little mess or at me.
Are you alright?
He shrugged, apathy hinting at a yes. Not exactly helpful. It was a practised drill, tell the kid to let someone know if he felt sick again and then send him back into the game. There wasnt much else you could do. His next shrug was more excited and he high-tailed it down the stairs after the other kids, vomiting escapade forgotten. Stuck up there for the rest of the day I turned back to the problem, nose wrinkled. I could almost visualise the little stink waves floating off the slowly spre
00 Working Title - Prologue00 Working Title - Prologue
Sand stung their eyes through their gauze veils. Shifting position now would have been both difficult and stupid as gale-force winds buffeted above their heads. Better to stay here, sheltered by some archaic rubble, close together until the storm passed. She could feel him next to her, solid and soft against the moving sand, and was grateful for it. He could slit her throat right here, right now if he wanted, slice open her belly, sever the backs of her knees and leave her to bleed to death in the storm. Hed done that sort of thing before. She scooted closer and he didnt move. He wouldnt. They had to stick together, after all. She knew the way. He had the gun. It was a working relationship.
How long? Such a useless question to risk a mouthful of sand on. He could barely be heard over the wind and she simply shook her head.
How long until what?
Four over Five - KiribanFour over Five
Whoevers idea it was to host a bar in the beached hull of a long-forgotten mariner should be labelled a genius. The black sea sloshed sleepily outside, blanketed by a sky loose-knit enough for the stars to peek through. Im romanticising it all; grungy high-rises pushed the beach back day by day, sand was doped up on forgotten syringes and Heaven lay like some beached whale against the moon.
Heaven. Stupid name for a bar, really. Id lost track of how many drunkards had shambled in hollering for entertainment, having mistaken the buzzing neon sign outside to be advertising a brothel. I felt the name a last resort, so out of place. The décor protested it. Countless shelves and crannies inside the bull boasted a maritime theme that was difficult to ignore. A brass teapot sat proudly in the porthole beside me, one of four Id counted through my visits, and bearded maps peeled free of th