Uncanny, Collapse: Chapter 2

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WARWICK UNCANNY: Undergraduate Literary and Creative Magazine Volume 10, Issue 1, 2023 CREATIVE EDITION © 2023 Warwick Uncanny Warwick Uncanny takes Non-Exclusive Rights for all included works. All rights revert to their respective authors and artists upon publication.

No part of this publication is to be resold, reproduced, or repurposed without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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We reserve the right to omit work of any contributor suspected to have committed unethical or unlawful action.

Team Editor-in-Chief Chloe Peratikou Managing Editor Allaya Rasul Deputy Editors Rose Raju Thomas & Thom Lea Sub-Editors Tom Gray & Bahirah Sawan Assistant Editors Bella Hucknall, Aliza Nini, Saqib Iqbal, Charis Jackson, Isabelle Nathan, Emma Baker Marketing and Publicity Co-Ordinators Rhea Panwar & Emma Hawes Website: www.warwickuncanny.wixsite.com Instagram: @warwickuncanny Twitter: @warwickuncanny Facebook: Warwick Uncanny

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Cover design and contents design by Rhea Panwar & Emma Hawes `

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Contents: Virginity

By Maria Alves

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The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

By Alice Hitchmough

46

Life on Mars

By Katie Johnson

54

Iceberg Graveyard Near Gelrache Strait, Antarctic Peninsula

By Tomas Smith

57

Red Lionfish Inside the Wreck of a Lockhead C-130 Hercules

By Tomas Smith

58

What Could Have Been Legend

By Nina G.

59

Rhythm

By Shreya Krishnan

62

One Rather Drawn-out Collapse

By Ethan Sales

64

Autumn’s Ache

By Finlay Macdonald

72

A Second World

By Chloe Peratikou

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44

Virginity

For the wife of my lover’s lover.

When you were eighteen, he took your virginity.

Over a fridge in a butcher's shop.

You call me crying

because he couldn’t make you but he’s always in a rush.

Something about a wife and children he really loves.

He’ll have her one day.

We were fourteen when I gave you mine.

It was all tentative kisses and tangled toes.

Back when all we had was a mattress on a floor, we giggled under pink covers

and ate sugary cereal when we woke.

But he's still the. one. and I'm just a bitter dyke writing for a girl who hasn't loved me since I was fourteen.

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The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

Robert could not go home. He stood at the top of Piercefield Drive and shook himself a few times like a wet dog, building the nerve to return.

“Fuck,” he said to no one in particular. “Fuck.”

It was all out now. Issy had wasted no time spreading his business to every ear it was never meant to reach. Robert's wife Judith would have received a call, as would his girlfriend Francine. And God, wouldn’t Fran give him an earful. Not

to mention Peter, who would be furious about that little lie vis-à-vis their loan.

There was no doubt he would lose his job once his boss caught wind.

Robert leaned against a telephone pole and put his head in his hands.

“Oh Christ,” he said, every atheist bone in his body turning to salvation in the face of this disaster. “Oh good lord I’m fucked.”

He couldn’t go home yet. He’d let Judy calm down first, as she was almost certainly in a fit of wailing about now. How that woman did cry. He lit a cigarette, pacing up and down as he smoked. He reflected woefully on his life’s choices. His first error, he decided, was taking the wrong degree. Maybe if he had studied something harmless like Geography or Art he would have made some normal bloody friends, but undergrad-Robert had chosen a joint degree in maths and economics. This stuck him with quite the interesting cohort, so that on his first day at university he had, for some reason, chosen to befriend a boy

called Isambard Hughes. What on God’s green earth had possessed him to pick a boy called Isambard?

Issy Hughes was named after the engineer, a man renowned for building the Great Western Railway and changing the industrial face of Britain. It was understandable that a boy lumped with that legacy would feel pressure to live up to it. It had certainly planted something within him—a one-track mind, a rail-road tenacity. He was ambitious and unbending. He was privately educated since infancy, which had instilled in him both a voracious hunger for knowledge and an innate feeling that he was made for greatness. So when in the late-fifties Issy heard talk of the TX-0, an early transistorised computer, he had found his 47

The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

white whale. Soon he was part of a team in Manchester attempting to build the first personal computer. It was a fascination for him.

“All that information at our fingertips,” he told Robert one night, after they’d both had a few too many drinks. “Think of what you could do with that, Robbie. There’s no limit.”

Whilst Issy spent his days fiddling with discs and transistors, hellbent on

building faster and faster machines, Robert was busy taking Judith Kenny out to dance, placating her disapproving father, and crawling slowly up the ladder as a civil servant. Issy was often there too, talking ceaselessly about the promise of the future, a future he would steer. “Wilson’s got it right, this is the age of technology,” he would say. “And Britain will be at the fore.”

Damn Issy, Robert thought, still pacing between the streetlamps. It was Issy who first began all of Robert’s troubles, filling him with pints and introducing him to his 'lady friends’. What had she been called? Sandy, he thought. That had been the first time. Robert had tried to be a good husband, but he’d always been a bit flighty, ever since boyhood. He had hidden all that from Judy of course, but not from Issy. It was no good hiding things from Issy, the man had a nose for debauchery. Robert hadn’t understood quite how far Issy might take this, until one night in 1967 when he saw Issy’s study.

“It’s all in here Robbie,” he said, gazing around the room with pride.

“Everything I know I store away in here.”

The study was a small room with no windows which Issy had renovated from a downstairs toilet. Three filing cabinets lined the wall, green metal things that groaned terribly when opened. Inside each drawer every piece of paper was sorted alphabetically. When Robert asked what he kept in there, Issy grinned.

“Data Robbie, it’s all in there. God you have no idea.”

He walked to one of the cabinets and opened the middle draw, flicking through the files until he found one labelled ‘P.’ He pulled out the folder and handed it to 48

The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

his friend. Robert looked inside. He was nearly sick. Inside the folder were pictures, many pictures, all of Robert and series of women who were not his wife Judy. In the pictures he was kissing them, or he had a hand on their knee, or sometimes higher. The photos were taken in bars and restaurants, and a few in an apartment, those all included the same woman. God help him, how had Issy taken them? It was horrific. Robert looked up at Issy and felt again that roll

of nausea. He was stood watching him, like a child might watch a parent who had promised to bring them a present. His eyes were shining. The man was practically vibrating, a look of mad relish on his face that Robert had never seen before, but that somehow did not look out of place.

“What- what the fuck is this?” He yelled, waving the folder at Issy. His voice shook, as did his hands.

“There’s more,” Issy said gleefully, skipping across to the next cabinet.

“In this one I have the receipts for the money you took from your job, and here the loan you took from Peter you haven’t paid back, as well as the stubs from three casinos. And bills for the restaurants and hotels of course. And here,” he pulled out yet another folder, this one labelled ‘F,’ “is all the paperwork for the apartment you rent for Francine.”

Robert staggered towards him, but Issy sprang away, grabbing the folder from

his hand.

“Don’t worry old boy,” he said, almost giggling. “I just like to have it, that’s all. Imagine, one day, I won’t need it on paper. I could store it all electronically. Isn’t it brilliant?”

Robert had lived in constant dread in the eighteen months since. He dropped the girlfriends, all except Francine. He curtailed the drinking, the spending, the skimming off the top. But he was still in debt, owed lots to many, and was flying blind at every turn. Despite this he offered Issy money, but he didn’t seem to want it. He didn’t seem to want anything from Robert. And now, for no apparent reason, he had turned him in. Everything, his whole life, torn to 49

The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

shreds because Isambard, like a child bored of his toys, wanted to draw on the walls. Robert’s life, held together by admittedly haphazard seams, was now falling apart around him. He finished his cigarette, crushed it under his shoe, and walked down the road to his front door.

Two people were waiting for him on the living room sofa. Judy was crying, her

pale face marked with thick black tear tracks, the photographs in a pile at her feet. She would not meet his eyes.

“Your friend Isambard was here,” she said in a choked voice.

Robert nodded. The spin dryer growled like an engine from the kitchen. Peter sat perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat, his work suit rustling as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

“Listen Robert old boy,” he said in his stiffest voice, his face tight. “I gave you that loan on the understanding that you simply couldn’t find the cash up front. You assured me you had the funds to pay it back. Now I learn you’re in debt? You’re gambling? It’s- it’s extraordinary! You’ve used my money-” Robert left him blathering on. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a brandy. There was no dinner waiting for him on the table, or in the oven. He had not really expected to find any. With a sigh he returned to the

living room, tripping over the long cord of the vacuum and spilling his drink onto the carpet. For once, Judy did not complain.

Everyone jumped at the sudden buzz of the doorbell. It was loud and unforgiving, whoever it was had their finger pressed insistently on the button.

“Who is that?” asked Judy, her puffy red eyes regarding her husband with suspicion.

“I don’t know,” he answered, though he knew exactly who it must be.

“They must have the wrong house.”

“Robert you bastard!” came a familiar voice. “Open this fucking door!”

Robert groaned, putting his head into his hands.

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The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

Judy asked again. “Robert? Who is that?”

“I know you’re in there you cheating piece of shit!” Francine yelled, this time through the letterbox so as to make sure it was heard clearly by the people inside. “Let me in! I’m not leaving!”

Judy covered her face with her hands.

“Open the bloody door,” Peter said wearily.

The sound of the slap was heard clearly by the pair on the sofa. Fran pushed past the frozen man, shaking her stinging hand, a tornado in a mini skirt charging down the hallway. With regrettable accuracy, she landed immediately on the correct door to the living room.

“Is this your wife?” she called, chest heaving as she stood in front of Judy, who was hunched over, sobbing into the armrest.

Robert trailed after her, his left cheek very red. “Yes Francine,” he sighed. “This is my wife.”

“You lied to me!” the young woman shouted. “Three fucking years you’ve been lying to me!”

“Three years?” Judy squeaked, raising her head. “Look at me Robert!

Three years?”

“Francine,” Robert pleaded. “Please leave.”

The girl laughed. “When I’m finished.”

She turned and left. Her footsteps pounded up the stairs, followed by a series of mysterious thuds and bangs. Feeling rather uncomfortable, Peter looked up at the ceiling as if expecting it might cave in.

Francine reappeared out of breath. “I’m very sorry,” she said to Judy. “I had no idea.” Then she flounced out of the room, slamming the front door behind her.

Judy left the room without speaking. Upstairs in the bedroom, she found the wardrobe door flung wide open. All of Robert’s clothes were strewn across 51

The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

the floor, the sleeves of his stiff white shirts torn off and thrown aside. His alarm clock was smashed, his lamp broken, and his bedside table overturned. Judy’s side of the room was untouched. The vase on her nightstand had not moved an inch. Her clothes were all still on their hangers, except for one dress, but that one was always slipping off. She sat on the edge of the bed, drained of tears, waiting for the next blow to land.

Downstairs, the phone rang. Robert didn’t answer it. It would be his boss, he could feel it. He would be fired, and probably arrested. Embezzlement.

Misappropriation of company funds. Out and out theft. Soon the whole damn street would sound with police sirens, red and blue light bouncing of the lawnmowers and garage doors. Everyone would know. He’d never find work again, and he was steeped in debt. What could he do? He couldn’t just sit there waiting to be taken away. He had to do something, if only to prove he still could. Fuck it all. Robert pulled on his coat, and placed the revolver into his pocket.

The taxi stopped in the street outside Issy’s apartment. Robert jumped out and left without paying. The man shouted, but he didn’t turn back. He pressed hard on the buzzer, and when that failed, he banged on the door until he thought he

would splinter the wood. Eventually a confused looking janitor opened it, and again Robert brushed past him without a second glance.

Issy was not in his flat. The door was open, and inside it was almost bare.

All that was left was an empty bookshelf, a kitchen island, a coat stand. The stripped bedframe in the bedroom. A shower with no shower curtain.

Completely deserted. Robert moved through the flat until he reached the room he was looking for, the study with no windows.

This too was empty. Only the rusty green cabinets were left standing.

Hopelessly, Robert pulled the nearest drawer open. It wailed at this intrusion.

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The Collapse of the Life of Robert Price

The drawer was empty. Every drawer was empty. In the middle of the desk was a single sheet of paper. On it, in Issy’s printed letters, was a message for Robert.

SORRY ABOUT ALL THIS. THE DGC ARE ONTO SOMETHING BIG IN THE STATES RE CIRCUIT BOARDS. FELT I COULDN’T LEAVE ANY LOOSE ENDS. I DIDN’T LIKE HAVING ALL THOSE PAPER COPIES.

ONE DAY I WON’T NEED TO. ISN’T THAT MARVELLOUS? ALL MY LOVE TO JUDY, HOPE SHE’S NOT TOO UPSET. —IRH Robert crumpled the note into his pocket and shut the door behind him. He walked to the train station and stood for a while watching them go by. They would never stop, he considered, trains would come in and out of the station until the earth caved in. He bought the first ticket he saw and found a seat. He would go anywhere. There was nothing worth staying for. The police would be at his house soon, Robert knew that, but he was not running, he had simply renounced any pretence of control. Fuck it. Let the railway tracks take him where they would.

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54

Life on Mars

Little starlings, boiling brains under hot tin roof, Abandoned by Mother, searching for safer space: Wind makes heavy her wings as she bears her mistake.

Jump out of the nest!

Flee!

Don’t starve, dehydrate!

Broken wing, hot tarmac, eye half-open in fright, Writhing soft on the char, unaccustomed to light, I am found, cupped in palms, then another pair takes Me back to woven tomb, sealing my fiery fate.

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Iceberg Graveyard Near Gerlache Strait, Antarctic Peninsula

Shallow waters here ground large icebergs leaving them to gradually erode and melt away.

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Red Lionfish Inside the Wreck of a Lockheed C-130 Hercules

This plane was deliberately sunk by the Jordanian government to create an artificial reef in the Gulf of Aqaba. Soft corals have quickly colonised the underside of the wreck, while lionfish patrol the cockpit. They have a troublesome reputation due to their invasion of the West Atlantic, though here in their native range they are an important reef predator. As the wreck continues to disintegrate it will more closely resemble the surrounding reefs.

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What Could Have Been Legend

potent is the songbird that sings without a tune, it does not escape the beak even though this was Songbird’s last song. Weeping melodious bird I hear your lyrics amongst

the fog like whispers of an oracle that never came true, that splattered a canvas a bitter-gray blue, and s h o o t it left it for when the ascension would come. Arrow to featheredbodied tune; cloak of ruby, gray stone hue for when their world would rain with ash, lyrical countenance found on leaves that burnt envy into carcass, but never forgot you. Air stopped moving through waning harp

lung. Gravestone mortification on Skeletal radio, spun by DJ Reaper, a deathly groove.

‘End & Beyond’ written by Seraph and Nephilim, found in the Library amongst a contagious hum, a simple song that goes da-di-da-di-dum *615 beats per pump* it saved it, it guarded it, Songbird left 60

What Could Have Been Legend

it for when the ascension would come, for when their world would rain with ash, and tree branch would tumble, and then the air stopped moving through waning harp lung. Life’s song

was done, but a new one has begun.

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Rhythm

Rhythm, a feeling, living, word, lightened her eyes. She yearned. Palms engulfing her into a cocoon.

Grasped the truth, and the truth alone, for that’s all she ever knew. Fingers now circled, protected her solidarity. Crystal case, encased, felt ideal. Perfect.

Layers yet to unfold.

World built on dreams and dreams built on clouds, higher and higher she soars.

Mind exploring the obscure and reaching terrains farther than familiar shore.

Snare, trapped, tightened round her waist, catching her off-guard. Focusing everything she had, to abscond. Bloodshot eyes, wounds and scars healing slower than forming.

Twisted, turned, yanked and shuddered, hearing gasps she bound herself to her chains. As she slept, she dreamed, dreamed of the world built on the clouds, capsized on droplets she never knew existed.

Porcelain dolls near the edge, cracks never to be repaired. The glass heaved, shattered, into eyes that screamed candour. Rhythm, a feeling, living word, beating a different beat than it had emerged.

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One Rather Drawn Out Collapse

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One Rather Drawn Out Collapse

Evie can sometimes be a bit harsh. She normally puts my feelings first though.

Adam can be fucking useless sometimes. Like honestly just pathetic.

Jenny said we need to list things we like about each other.

That bitch Jen said we should start listing things that we can stand about each other.

I like it when Evie strokes my back from bottom to top (touching all the invertebrates along the way), tells me I’ve done a good job and when she makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It makes me do that little giggle. Evie calls it my `stupid fucking giggle’ which I think is meant lovingly.

I like it when Adam carries the furniture around the living room so that it can be easily rearranged, when he makes me coffee in the morning without being asked and when he can reach high places in the big shops.

I don't like it when Evie shouts at me or tells me I’m not listening or when she throws things at me. Although I like it even less when she hits me with what she throws. I prefer small things being thrown because they’re easier to fix. Note to self: get better at dodging small objects, practice with tennis balls as these shouldn’t hurt.

I don't like it when Adam acts like a pathetic child, only eats the chips in his fish and chips, doesn’t understand how to read a map or when he wants to kiss me in public. I find the kissing issue exacerbated when he tries to kiss me in private too.

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One Rather Drawn Out Collapse

Jenny is our relationship counsellor. She said that we need to come up with sentences like the one I just did. Ones that start `I like it when my partner [blank]’. She also says we need to say sentences that start `I don’t like it when my partner does [blank]’ and that end them ‘because it makes me feel [blank]’. I think about telling Evie how I feel but I don’t want to annoy her. She’s very busy.

If that skinny bitch thinks blonde highlights and some time listening to Adam moan qualifies her to talk about anything, the stick shaped cunt can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I bet where her sun doesn’t shine is perfectly shaped.

Fucker.

I think that sometimes Jenny can get under Evie’s skin a bit. There's something about her that just sort of riles Evie up. I always feel a bit calmer when Jenny is around. Evie says that’s because I fancy her. I don’t think I do. She is very calm though. I like being calm. It’s nice and calming.

Some excuse for a pissing therapist. What the fuck am I doing in some clinical glass box of a room with tissues on a neatly decorated table. I’m rarely inclined to act childish, but these sessions make me want to throw a tantrum. The fact she's been playing with paper clips and some failed marriages for a couple years does not mean she can say shit to me. I’m leaking money from all orifices so that she can prove she’s done a fucking online course.

I’ve never been one much for the whole words thing. I’ve always found it a bit of a pavlova. It just used to be such an issue, always exacerbated by the fact I’ve always been a little intimidated by Evie and all her word stuff. I think Jen is helping. Then Evie tells me I’m being silly, and I need to remember that Jenny is a silly blonde with a size 4 waist and 2 A-levels. I always remember to say thank you to Evie.

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One Rather Drawn Out Collapse

Adam was dressed like a drug dealer for our dinner tonight. If he didn’t look like a criminal, the effort I saw him put into it could almost be seen as endearing.

My rather brilliant dress now hung down like a scarlet silk noose, stretching round my body in a way which made me look too good for my spouse.

I made sure that my black tracksuit bottoms matched my black tracksuit top. I picked out the one which said Nike in red and not in blue because Evie said she likes that one more of the two. She uses the phrase ‘hate less’. I liked how the red writing on my legs matched the red writing on my chest. I felt very stylish.

We were on the tube to dinner and he looked at me very strangely, there was some sort of strain in his expression, I’m not sure quite what it was but he was definitely struggling with something. Adam’s idiosyncratically strange episodes were common by this point. Sometimes I will admit that he can be kind of cute when he’s looking useless, it’s when I get to feel like a care worker looking after an emotionally stunted child or an animal. I held out my hand so that he would have some comfort. I comfort my good little boy.

Now I haven’t been on the tube in a while I’ll be honest, it’s out of the vicinity of my comfort zone. So, on the way to dinner, I did find it a bit weird. Luckily, however, Evie didn’t realise, I put on my brave face, and she didn’t have a clue that I was struggling. I did one of my happy smiles to distract her, it worked because she didn’t realise how nervous I was and asked to hold my hand. I was able to make a real happy smile, and not a fake one. I don’t like doing fake ones. I read one of Evie’s magazines once and it said if I keep doing fake ones, I’ll end up melancholy and alone and I don’t want that.

I suddenly had one of those nagging thoughts knotting itself to the back end of my brain. It rooted itself inside me with nearly the same level of repulsion as 67

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when one of those annoying other children grips your leg at a tacky pirate themed child birthday party. It’s bad enough when your own does it, let alone one of his snotty associates. I would like to say that normally I’m superior to such mundane thoughts, but I had to ask Adam if he’d done the front door, just to check he locked it, and his odd little nod and thumbs up reassured me. That was a change.

Wheelchair Pauline from Church group said there’s been an increase in crime recently. She said Mushy Lee got robbed last week, twice. My guess is it’s an urban-person deprived teenager sort of thing.

Evie seemed perfectly fine and then she told me something kind of strange. I don’t know why she felt the need to tell me she had locked the front door, but I let her know I was proud with a big smile. I also gave her a thumbs up. Jenny says it’s good when we celebrate the achievements of our partners.

Leicester Square, we have arrived. Once we were off the train and I was liberated from Adam’s pained face but crucially I could finally light myself a fag. I was two drags into the warmth of evening nicotine when he smacks me in the fucking face.

I thought that I could join in with smoking tonight. I thought that Evie would like that. Us. Together. Smoking. It would be romantic. Like in the romance films (the romance films she hates and says are sexist). I raised my hand to gently slip the cigarette out of her lips but for some reason she decided to turn her face just as went to pick it out. My knuckle hit her lip. This was bad.

Fucking arsehole. Dopey. Useless. Clumsy. Arsehole.

I told Evie I was sorry. Really sorry. Really really sorry. Even more sorry than the time I ate her special birthday cake. It was a really nice cake actually. The 68

One Rather Drawn Out Collapse

yellow icing made me smile. Jenny says it’s good to find things that make me smile. I was still so very very sorry when we arrived.

He was still blathering on about an apology and started saying some bollocks about some cake when we arrived, I will never be able to comprehend him or the limited circuit of his brain. I fixed the smudged lipstick to make sure there wasn’t a bruise. I had to check that at the very least I didn’t look like a domestic abuse victim on my 20-year wedding anniversary - it’s the little things in life. Then dinner in the shithole began.

Evie was drinking quite a lot of wine. I wasn’t complaining too much because she normally gets tired this way. Well eventually.

There’s only one way to get through this. Glass of wine 1. Glass of wine 2.

Antipasti. 4 Zaleplon sleeping pills. Bottle for the table. 4 Triazolam sleeping pills, extra strength. Calzone for main. Another 4 Zaleplon for dessert, ensured to prevent sleepless nights. Mint tea to round things off and then finally freedom from this place.

Evie looked a bit woozy. I didn’t want to have a go at her. It was nice that she appreciated that I’d booked dinner. I think she liked the restaurant. Then we had a chat that didn’t go well.

Then I had to open my fucking mouth. `Well done with the door darling’ Evie snorted. `Yeah, you did a great job’ Adam replied. `You know how I struggle with the latch’ `Yeah, I’m very impressed with you’ 69

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`What do you mean?’ `Do we split the bill Hun’ `What do you mean?’ `Do we do half me and half you?’ `You didn’t lock the door?’ `No, you did, should I tip?’ `You’re fucking joking’ `I think 10% is what it’s normally meant to be’ `Fucking useless’ `I guess 15% is too much, I never really know’ `Fucking. You fucking can't- fucking doing do- fuck’ `Is it weird to do 12.5%?’ `No no no no’ `If I round up to 13% that might be weirder’ `I can't beli- You Actuall-’ `What's wrong hunny’ `You are an absolute-’ [The rest of the conversation has been censored as an offensive expletive was utilised by one of the parties involved] The fucking useless prick. Pathetic, painstaking, pitiful, pointless prick. Useless.

Without use. Without purpose. Not fit for service. To be put down. To be handled with care. To be handled with a fucking bat.

Evie got pretty loud; it was worse than that time I said women who are pregnant are less attractive than normal women. She was very loud. Lots of people stood and stared. Well, they sat and stared. I looked at my shoes. My socks were mismatched, note to self: black and black go better than black and red.

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Complete unadulterated idiocy. I’m a fucking idiot, why do I trust him with anything. This mock-Italian restaurant is a shithole. I’m having a breakdown in a shithole. The floor is sticky, the waiter has spots, the wine wasn’t left to breathe.

I should at least be having a breakdown somewhere I should want to actually be.

Then she called me a c**t.

Then I was a bit harsh. I asked if he enjoyed acting like some sort of c**t for a reason.

Sometimes I feel like Evie doesn’t put my feelings first.

Adam was such a fucking wanker today.

Evie was a bit bruised in the morning, this normally happens when she has been drinking too much or tells me it’s a self-medication day.

Adam was useful enough to run me a shower and to ease up my sores with some frozen garlic flavoured chips (run out of peas). I asked him why he had a ball shaped mark on his neck, and he said that it was `looking after Evie time’ and not `looking after Adam time’. He could occasionally be cute when he was looking after me.

Adam and Eve stayed together until death.

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Autumn’s Ache

Two magpies perch on the washing line,

suspended on their spot in empty space.

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Autumn’s Ache

Two Magpies perch on the washing line, Suspended on their spot in empty space.

These days, you live within me.

Trace my shadow, shadow my solitude.

Memories flood through my vacant mind

like letters posted to an empty house: We sit beneath a sunrise which shuffles through a gap in the blinds and lingers around your thighs which are not here.

I sing of you, the smoke made flesh, curling through my thoughts like the remnants of smouldering ash, who exists as an impression on my chest, a swift stroke on quilted canvas, a body which pools like mercury, limbs which drip beyond the horizon of the mattress, a sprawl of hair hanging like honey from a spoon, a silhouette still strewn over the headboard: smooth, shadowy, genderless, naked, singular.

But for a brief moment, we exist outside this room, nestled like birds beyond the bookends of rusting September nights.

Hours pass, and now moonlight, pinned to the bedroom wall, haunts our hollow bones and illuminates the sculpture of my stranger.

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Autumn’s Ache

I kneel, etch my name beneath your feet.

Ice crackles in your wine glass, and when I open my eyes the magpies have flown.

And the day hums on.

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A Second World

Prologue [Lights are completely dark. Stage is empty. Beth’s voice can be heard but audience cannot see her].

Beth: It was a pretty gloomy day today. Miranda said it was because the blue light projectors are broken again — something about the new interns not programming them correctly. These days are always the hardest. We depend on the projectors to mask the steel grey of our roof. Without them, we remember where we are. The committee gives out pills on these days. We don’t have to take them; nothing is compulsory here. We just do, because what’s the point of suffering? The committee says they’re natural anyway, they just boost serotonin, supposed to replicate the feeling of being in the sun. Not that I would know, but my mum says it gets pretty close. This is a community of delusion.

We’ve lost everything. Delusion is the only thing which keeps us from losing our minds. Since the disaster of 2098, the world has been ripped into shreds.

Older voice: It started with a summer of sweltering temperatures. That summer,

the temperatures never dropped below 50 degrees. Entropy, apoptosis, metabolic breakdown — most people didn’t make it through the summer. Along this were storms and floods like we’ve never seen before. Those of us who made it, were faced with the Cyano outbreak. Being trapped inside the Arctic’s frozen land for over a million years, its pathological structure was entirely unfamiliar to our scientists. Being unlike any previous bacterium known to earth, and having no known treatment, anyone who caught it was destined to die. It lived in the water — the rain became toxic, rivers and oceans deadly, even showers became risky. The only people who managed to survive were those of us with genetic immunity. Most of us lost everyone, but we built our 76

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own community. We all clustered here, and our engineers built the steel walls to protect us from the outside.

Beth: Everything in our community is made up — projections, delusions. We don’t have a sky, or a breeze, or wildlife, but we made them up. When everything is working, our sky is always blue, our air crisp, temperatures kept at

a solid 20 degrees, always with a light breeze. We’ve built the perfect community, and now we have a chance to start over — do things right. This is why it’s so strict. We can’t afford to mess up again.

Scene 1 [Beth and Miranda walking down a street. The lights are dark and gloomy].

Beth: Gosh, it’s such a miserable day today.

Miranda: I know, the blue light projectors are broken again. It’s the new interns, they keep programming them wrong.

Beth: Someone’s going to hear it at review today!

[Awkward silence].

Beth: Are you nervous?

Miranda: Yeah, a little. It’s hard being a writer. I don’t know how to prove that I’m being productive when my career feels so pointless sometimes.

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Beth: Oh, you know that’s nonsense. Art is the beauty in our world. It’s all we have left. Without you there’d be no joy. You have no reason to worry.

Miranda: That’s easy for you to say, you’re a scientist. They could never banish you, no matter what you did. Don’t make me remind you about Spencer.

Beth: You’re being silly. You know we have equality.

Scene 2 [92 people sitting in rows facing the audience. They look nervous. 15 children are scattered in the corners, playing. The Decision Maker sits in the center on his own desk, with two robots on either side. Joel is standing downstage with his back to the audience. Lights are harsh, bright, and clinical].

Joel: This concludes my year in review. Thank you for your attention.

Decision Maker: Thank you Joel. Next.

[Miranda takes his place].

Miranda: [a little nervous but trying to sound confident]. Dear Decision Maker, committee, fellow community members, thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my year in review. As you may know, this has been a really productive year for me. 95% of the population attended the evening readings of my most recent book and most have loved it. I’ve had excellent reviews and a 4.5 star rating, with people commending on the book’s ability to uplift their mood. I know we’re all going through a tough time, and I hope that 78

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my book has helped you feel a little better. This concludes my year in review.

Thank you for your attention.

Decision Maker: Thank you, Miranda. [Looking into clipboard]. I think that’s everyone. You have all made our community proud with your accomplishments.

Keep striving for excellence, and I’m sure that our economy will soon stabilise.

I am pleased to have such a diverse group of individuals. The economic, spiritual, and physical health of the community relies on you, and you continue to exceed expectations every single year. Before I let you go, I would like to remind everyone about our New Year’s Celebration on Monday evening. As always, we will meet at 7pm to give enough time for the goal planning session, before we celebrate the New Year. I will now take a moment to convene with my advisory committee. You may be dismissed.

[People start getting up as lights fade].

Scene 3

[Decision Maker in the middle with robots on either side].

Decision Maker: I must say, I’m quite impressed with this year’s work. It will be a difficult decision.

Robot 1: Especially as the community bonded so well over this year.

Robot 2: Well, according to the statistical predictions, the economy will only be able to support 108 community members in 2125, so someone will have to go.

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Decision maker: But they’ve all been so productive. How can we make that decision?

Robot 2: I think we must look at the distribution of occupations and pick from what is in surplus.

Robot 1: We must prioritise individuals with families, as leaving children with no support will cause the community to crumble.

Robot 2: Must you always be so dramatic? Nothing is crumbling with one person banished. Anyway, so as I was saying, our most over-subscribed jobs are engineers and farmers, with 9 and 10 respectively. We must prioritise our spiritual workers because we only have 3 of them, and our research has proven the importance of spiritual prioritisation to the strength of a community.

Robot 1: The community is in perfect harmony. People are just starting to find their bearings after the disaster. We cannot cause more grief.

Robot 2: We cannot afford to support everyone. We don’t have the resources.

Scene 4 [Beth and Miranda in the gym finishing a workout. They are sweaty and panting. They are wearing heart monitors and fitness watches].

Beth: How did you do?

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Miranda: [Looking at watch. Excited]. Hey look! I generated enough energy to watch some TV tonight!

Beth: No way, congrats! I take it that means you reached the laundry goal too?

Miranda: Yup, 260 watts generated for that.

Beth: Oh that’s amazing, I also generated 300 watts for our laundry so we finally have enough to share a load this week.

Miranda: We have to keep doing 2 hours a day because we need enough energy to bake something for the New Year’s party.

[Lights fade].

Scene 5 [Marketplace. Miranda is picking out produce and putting it into cloth bags.

When she’s done she goes up to Joel. They greet each other. She shows him what she picked up and hands him a little cloth pouch].

Miranda: Here are your seeds.

Joel: [He opens the pouch, counts them, looks confused, checks his notes and recounts. Whispering]. Miranda, you’re missing 2 seeds!

Miranda: I’m sorry, I forgot!

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Joel: You can’t keep doing this, you’re going to get caught. I’m going to have to report you if you do it again.

Miranda: I know! I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.

Joel: Also, you didn’t dry them properly. These will be hard to germinate.

[Lights fade].

Scene 6 [Circular tables are set out and decorations laid out. People are silently making posters and writing lists. Audience watches them in silence for several minutes.

Bell rings].

Decision Maker: [Gets up and walks center stage]. Time’s up everyone. I hope you all had the time to set up your goals for 2125. Before I continue with the results of the review, I would like to spend some time to commend everyone for their efforts this year. Together, we managed to grow 36 new trees, stabilising

our oxygen levels at 22%. This means that our atmosphere is no longer oxygen deficient and we will no longer need to rely on oxygen stabilizes. Needless to say, every single community member has once again achieved a carbon footprint of net zero — a commendable achievement which demonstrates commitment to the community. The Work Out to Chill Out scheme, established by our honorary Spencer Wilson, has used our gym to produce 55% of the community’s energy, helping those who are less mobile in gaining access to electricity. Be reminded that people who are mobile are expected to produce their own energy. The advancement of our plastic-eating bacteria scheme has also supported us in reducing the residue plastic pollution to 0%. I am 82

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indescribably proud of our community’s achievements. Throughout this year, the community has bonded and shown incredible care and respect for each other. I can only toast to further successes and to the continued bonding of our community.

At the beginning of the event, you were all asked to vote on whether you would

like a re-election and I am so grateful that you all unanimously supported me in managing the decision making of the community for another year. Of course, be reminded that should you, at any point, feel that I am taking advantage of this responsibility or making decisions which are not properly considered, you are welcome to call for a re-election.

Now, as is customary following the yearly review, my advisors and I have closely assessed everyone’s productivity. As you may know, our statistical research has predicted that the economy will only be able to support 108 people in the following year and you might know that our current population, including myself is at 109. However, after careful consideration and input from my advisory committee, I have decided that I will not be banishing anyone this year. All of you have worked tremendously hard and I want to recognise and

commend your efforts.

This is the first year in which the state of the community was able to support such a decision, and this is all down to you. Of course, this will mean a tight upcoming year with little flexibility on rule breaking. Just to remind everyone, that although people are encouraged to make their own decisions in their personal lives, actions which affect other community members must follow community rules. As previously, production and use of plastic and other nonbiodegradable materials is strictly prohibited. The introduction of plastic-eating bacteria will soon be discontinued due the disruption to our already fragile 83

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ecosystem, so no more plastics are to be released into the environment. No exceptions. Furthermore, waste of any sort will not be tolerated. Composting unwanted materials will continue to be mandatory. All seeds from fruits and vegetables consumed must be stored according to packaging instructions and handed back to the farmers. Because of this year’s tighter budget, our lab scientists have advised that they will be able to cultivate enough meat for 24

portions per person, distributed however they like throughout the year.

Furthermore, the three strike rule will be reduced to two offenses, with the exception of plastic production and use of fire, which will result in immediate banishment. Possession of plastic without intent to supply will fall under the two strike rule.

As always, if anyone disagrees with any of the measures established, they are free to voice their concerns and suggest an alternative. Should anyone wish to leave the community, they are free to do so but should be reminded that under no circumstances would they be allowed to return since we cannot support the risk of contamination. All of the information that I shared in today’s speech will be available for reference in tomorrow’s newsletter and if you are unhappy with any of it, you will have until the end of the week to suggest alternatives.

This is all the news from me. Once again, a massive congratulations, let the celebrations begin!

[People get up. They cheer and clap. They are mingling and chatting. Music starts playing. Coloured party lights turn on and eventually fade].

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Epilogue [Beth sitting cross legged center stage. The stage is empty and dark, with just a single spotlight on her].

Beth: It was difficult, but we did it. People will do anything in order to survive, but the disaster showed us that the only way to make it out alive was to combine

our forces and build a community. We work together because we need each other. We don’t have money, or profits — people just work to offer something to the community. Here, arts and sciences are equally respected, and engineers don’t make more than farmers do. People just choose something that they enjoy and are good at and do it. It can be anything as long as it’s useful. When we go to the market, we don’t buy things, we just pick up what we need and nothing more. We don’t need rules because we know that in order to survive we need to respect each other — greedy people would get banished anyway, there’s no room for them. And the things we do have, we respect. We don’t dare to waste things, that’s why giving the seeds back to the farmers is such a big deal. If we don’t do that we’ll run out of food.

We don’t have prisons or a police force, we don’t have the resources for that.

People behave so that they can stay. We don’t know what happens to people who get banished, but we know that you can’t survive out there by yourself. We also don’t have an army, there’s no one to fight. We just live in harmony and respect. We respect each other’s free will and we support each other. We are free to be and believe in whatever we want. In our personal lives, nothing is compulsory. But community wise, we have to think of what’s best for everyone’s survival. We’re loyal to each other and take betrayal very seriously.

We were given an opportunity to try again, and we’re definitely not going to waste it.

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In all the pain it caused, the disaster forced people to shift their priorities and value different things. I do often wonder what would happen if we were wiser from the beginning… I think about all the grief that could have been prevented.

It’s been hard, but I know we’ll make it. I mean, you have to when it’s do or die. You have to make it.

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