Monday, 6 November 2017


"ARSEHOLES DON'T HAVE ORGASMS, DICKHEAD!" screamed Creg as he charged down the hill, one hand raised above his head, the other formed a fist out in front of him. His eyes squinted tight as he charged, which gave his intended target plenty of time and opportunity to move slightly out of the way, turn side on and trip Creg over as he passed. Creg hit the ground and all the air went out of him.

"HUUURP.......I'M..........HUUUUURRRHHHHP.... DYING.......HURRUPPP" Creg gasped as his lungs tried desperately to refill. He rolled on his back, staring up into the cloudless sky. If this was TV one of his heroes would be jutting suddenly into his vision, performing CPR, or pulling him to his feet to held fend off the bullies. "Tell...huuuruupp... Charlene.... I love.... huuuurrrrrrppp..." Creg felt a sharp pain in the side of his bum. Instead of a hero, someone had instead kicked him in the arse. A final indignity as he felt his life drain away.

"I ain't never seen no-one give up on life at bein' winded 'afore," said Nigel the Janitor. He had been watching Creg's flailings as he pushed his cleaning cart about, looking for the post-lunch rubbish. Creg had gone still, not even bothering to try and breathe anymore. "Ah wonder if aI'm meant to do somat?" he said, before kicking Creg in the arse again to try and restart his breathing. "Ahm not putting mah mouth on his," he said to no one in particular. He lifted Creg up by the arms and folded him over his garbage cart. There's a certain heart racing panic that only being upside down in a rubbish bin can bring. Creg discovered his will to live as he kissed up against a half sucked strawberry roll-up, a smelly egg sandwich, and a half eaten tub of expired yoghurt. He gasped deeply and drew in all the foulness of his current prison. "WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?" he yelled.

"To the sickbay you little blighter, jus' sit still."

Creg paused his thrashing. Perhaps Regina would be at the sickbay still. Perhaps this was all going according to plan. He relaxed and let his chariot carry him to his queen. Besides, at this stage the fumes and lack of oxygen had all but overwhelmed him, he was slinking in and out of consciousness.

"Creg? ........... Creg?" a voice was calling him. A voice that seemed to be everywhere and coming from no place in particular. Creg looked around the whiteness, "am I in hospital?"

"Ah Creg, you're here, with us, you're safe now." This time the voice came from one place, Creg wheeled around and came face to face with an old man in white clothes.

"I'm here? Where is this? A hospital? Am I OK?"

"You're fine, now, my child," spoke the old man with a surprisingly deep and commanding voice. "I called, and you answered."

Creg began to panic, he suddenly came to the realization that he had died. He was in heaven. This was an arch angel - or maybe even God himself judging him on his sins. The thought of sins suddenly threw all the horrible images back into his mind, of all the horrible things he'd done over the years. The dimple in the doorframe. The killing of his grandmother. The horrible things he'd wished upon his god-fearing mother. "I-I-I'm sorry!" he stammered. The old man smiled.

"All is well Creg. You will soon be fit and ready to return."

Creg let out a long sigh. So he wasn't dead yet! But he'd be damned if he let this opportunity slip him by. "God....wh-what's your real name? Why am I here, why are any of us here? What's the point of all this?"

The man smiled again. "Ah Creg. I am Jáim Sandom. You're here because you needed me. Without me there is no life. There is no resurrection from the garbage cart of humanity. There is no... how do you say... blessed... beloved... sorry I have learned most of my English from the catholic mass. I will tell you though, regarding the point of life, life is pain. Life is suffering. Either you suffer, or you make others suffer. Happiness is a lie. It's a fake emotion that sweets and greeting card manufacturers sell you. It's not a feeling at all, it is just a moment of neutrality between sufferings."

"That's it?"

"That's it. What more could anyone want."

Creg was astounded. Mother would never believe that he had met God, let alone knew his real name. Mother would, however, definitely believe about the pain and suffering part, that part made sense. If there were two things his mother knew well, it was about either inflicting or being afflicted by pain.

"Thanks Jáim Sandom," said Creg finally, but he was gone. Jáim had wandered back into the whiteness.

Footsteps approached now, this time a woman came toward him. "Craig?" she said sharply.


"Okay Craig..." she shrugged, "roll over it's time to insert the hose for your enema."

"Enema?" Creg wondered if he'd fallen back to Earth.

"You don't have to repeat everything I say. Wait, you are Craig, right?"


"Oh? Creg? Right. The bloody hospital is out of beds so we're sharing space with the mental health unit. I thought you were a different patient. This is bloody typical, they don't give you the info and then when you get it wrong, it's you neck on the block isn't it? They don't come down here and lend a hand do they, the bastards."

"Well, no I mean, I'm sure you're probably right," said Creg not wanting to make a fuss. "People often just get my name wrong and write it down as Craig."

"You're right Creg, I shouldn't second guess myself. Thanks. Well, roll over then. Try to relax and imagine rabbit trying to fit down a mouse hole."

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