Chapter Three: Scream


&&&&&&&&&&hhhhhhhhoooooooowwohhhhhhhhllllllllllll… ow…ow… &&&!!!!…wa…. wah… da… wah… …wha…???..r??…oh…oh… whaol…whowl…howlll…how??….all..al…eye…Iye….I…who?… owhooo…&&&&…. & I whurts… I hurts… I hurt….where?…oh my froke…..argghhhhhh… string pain press me head, tangly… twisty…. blood! bloody tangle…of…of twist???…&&&…. Swirling spinning and fizzing & spraying through me head… words!,,, I got words!… they hutt… hurt…. I chuudn’t… I shouldn’t have none….

Pain… Froke… Froke!… Frooookkkkkkkeeeee!!!!…. pain… paint…pant, pant through it…breath with the beat-beat-thrum… flic-flac, flic-flac, flic-flac… splitting the air above me head…

It’s a wheel. Whirring over me head.

It’s freaky.

I’m on tarmac, looking up bog-eyed at that motorbike wheel spin out. Flic-flacking round like the final reel in the movie house. And round me they’re all moving clackerty-clickety like old-times people in a picture show. 

I went down with a whack. Is that wot froked up me nut and put words in it? So now it’s all whizzing ‘n’ fizzing and I can’t get a hold of anythink. They prickle & pinch… not the usual fuzz and grunge but this new stuff… words! Is this wot words feel like?… But ain’t I a dead lad as soon as I start to gibber? Cos’ in this world, Grunts like me don’t talk.  We mutter and stutter and snort but they ain’t words. I gotta get a grip before I get dead.

What do I see? Dust-smacked cars and bandjaxxed vans stacked bumper to bumper on this bridge. And the people. The stick people are sitting in the motors and walking between the bustword trucks.

& I look at them. & they ain’t stopped clickety-clacking. Yer can still near hear the click & crack of marrow when they move. These people move clickety-clack cos they ain’t got no muscle or flesh to grease their bones with. They’re stick thin staving.

& I’m almost dead with pain.

So I wait for the wheel to spin out, me breath tracking with its throb. Clamp me gob tight, petrified to let a word spill. I’m praying all the mad pieces, all these brittle-bit words, fall back into place. I want the people to stop jolting and the words to stop paining. Let it go back, be as easy as breathing again. I suck in air and try… try to move like them… the clickety-clack stick people… so I blink… and breathe….

&… arrghhh……………………..&&&&!!!…arghhh… pain, shooting through me from foot to head… blink & breathe, blink  & breathe… the bike’s on me, pinning me down. Move the only thing I can. Me head. & I blink again.

& them.  They’re worse.

Near dead. A breath away from the grave. Skin scraping bones. They got eyes wide open. But staring at nothing. Open only cos they’re waiting for their souls to pop out.

 &&&&&&&…  this hurts! this hurts so bad. Hurts to know the world in words.

&&&&& You! You! Are you dead? My….my… why won’t this word come?… &&&&… arggghhh… burning! Pain burning on me leg…

Try & inch up me head as much as I can… pinpricks dance up me arm when I scrawn me neck round. There’s a metal barrel pulsing red-orange in me face. Wassat thing? A gun!!??? Nah, wrong word, not a gun. It’s chim-cherooing out soot and smoke, scalding me poor leg. It’s the bike’s pipe… gotta deep crack halfway along makes it droop gloop down lava-hot on me. If it breaks that scorching metal’ll brand me through to the bone.

Read on in Chapter Four: Nameless

Get new content delivered directly to your inbox.

%d bloggers like this: