The Woman, the Bomb and the Wardrobe
Remember that inspiration can come from anywhere, and it's OK to write a story because a really stupid first sentence came into your head. Is it a good idea? Read this week's story and judge for yourself.
This week's daily stories
Monday
The Incredible Clockwork Boy wouldn’t come out. One too many punters had made a joke about winding him up, and he had stomped off stage as hard as his delicate legs could manage. “Oh, he’s ticked off now,” a voice shouted as he went. He sat in his dressing room, door closed but not locked, and laid a hand over the keyhole in his chest. They key hung on the wall like a brass skull. Such a difficult thing, always to say: “I want to live tomorrow. Please help me.”
Tuesday
The mouse stares at Mike. Mike stares at the mouse. He has seen this play out in movies: a man sat awake in the quiet of the night, connecting for a moment with a little creature that cannot comprehend him but somehow seems to. Usually the man speaks some pithy quip or weary solemnity, but Mike’s mind is blank. He is no better at talking to mice than anyone else. The mouse gives a little squeak, and turns away. Yet again, Mike feels that he is not the hero of the scene.
Wednesday
We used to buy liquorice from the shop up the road, all of us except Mae. We would hang around on the road or in someone’s bedroom pretending we liked it, all of us screwing up our faces as our tongues turned black and Mae shook her head slowly. Later on we bought cigarettes, and then vodka. Mae just kept on buying ten white chocolate mice and a can of Vimto. We all wanted to copy her, but we were scared to do it. We copied each other instead.
Thursday
I won a year’s supply of dog food, which should logically be no dog food, since I don’t have a dog. I expected vouchers, but no: they delivered it in one go. It sat in the hallway, taking up more and less space than I expected, the way every year is longer and shorter than you expect, both at once. I wondered what it would look like if you stacked up all the food I needed for a year, or for a lifetime. I was going to drive it to the rescue centre that afternoon, but instead I made space in the cupboard. I gave it away a meal at a time for twelve months, to shelters and food banks and men on the street you could tell always fed their dogs first. It’s electrifying, to be rich in anything.
Friday
I spent a happy afternoon in the park, following squirrels and digging up their nuts. They are fast, but they are small and stupid, so they cannot stop you. A snick and a flick of the trowel and the treasure is yours. I piled my prizes under a glass bowl, so the squirrels could see what they had lost. Their little paws skittered on the glass. If one dug under I would break its back. We all deserve a chance to be on top.
Saturday
His magic coat grew new embroidery overnight, marking out his accomplishments in threads of green and gold and scarlet. It grew in beauty as he grew in power. Soon his coat was too beautiful to show to his old friends. He took it where it would be appreciated. Where he would be appreciated. The embroidery stopped growing: now she wasn’t there to sit and stitch all night.
Sunday
There were men in the woods with 3D-printed chainmail and LED-tipped wizards’ staves. Eliza watched them from the campsite office: flashes in the trees, and every now and then, a knight or a warlock emerging for a piss or a phonecall or a can of Irn Bru. God, they looked stupid. It was hard not to laugh when they came to pay. But there hadn’t been a monster in the woods since they started coming.
I have been reading...
- It's Not a Cult by Joey Batey. I love Joey Batey's band, The Amazing Devil. His novel has the same mix of melodrama and mundanity as his lyrics, but with more right between the two, as fame and fandom become an unknowable horror and ordinary human connection the only source of hope.
- Proust and the Squid by Maryanne Wolf, an interesting, accessible introduction to the science of reading. I'm perplexed by how little thought I had given to how reading actually works in the brain; this book is a great remedy.
- "Love (a journey)" by Laura Besley at Fictive Dream and "The Ex Files" by Jon Negroni at Cetera, two very different stories involving going to a wedding after a breakup. I enjoyed both.
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This week's story: The Woman, the Bomb and the Wardrobe
At the back of Simone's wardrobe is a passage to another world, where it is always nuclear winter and never nuclear Christmas. Once in a while she pulls aside the coathangers and suitcases and looks to see if it is still there. It always is. She hopes one day to find the splintered roughness of cheap pine – or, better, a world of blue skies and peace and plenty. In the meantime, perhaps the radiation will keep moths away, though in the end everything will be shredded anyhow.