The Unexpected Arrival - Part Two
The unexpected arrival of an Alien is something I often dreamt about but never in a toilet let alone a disabled one and yet, a few years ago an Alien did just that...
I recently started wild swimming, (more wild paddling for me). I meet up with three other women as the sunrises and stagger into the Lock Fyne a cold sea lock with enough seaweed to make me scream like a girl along with the odd curious seagull and I’m told possible seal.
The others swim seriously into the distance while I float like a buoy. Sometimes the waves are so strong we don’t swim but hold hands and stand against the waves. It is an exhilarating experience that I feel Pete and Woody need to explore. Perhaps somewhere on Planet Hy Man, may be the other side where the blue women are.
Here is the second installment of Woody’s memoirs. I am toying with the idea of continuing with his memoirs along with Pete’s— two different viewpoints of the same thing. Maybe they can go for a swim in a cold loch somewhere…
Woody’s Memoirs -Part Two
No one heard the clatter in the disabled toilet, until the hand dryer burst on followed by unfamiliar robotic cursing.
The staff turned to each other with an “I thought that was empty” look.
There was another crash, this time against the door—it jolted.
“It’s probably some drunk,” muttered the elderly woman.
The assistant manager knocked on the door. “Everything alright?”
There was another crash.
The assistant manager knocked again. “You okay in there?”
Silence.
“Can you let us in?” Snapped the Owner. She turned to me; I knew what she wanted. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to squeeze through a window the size of a cat flap.
“Extra coffee and any amount of cake— all natural ingredients….” She said.
I edged myself through the window, jumped onto the floor, and saw what I thought was a statue street performer out for the count and blocking the door. The chances of me moving him were as probable as that toddler tucking into a flapjack. I bent to shake him, then stopped, there was something funny about him I couldn’t put my finger on.
Knock, knock, knock, “everything alright…er… what’s his name?”
“Woody.”
I touched his shoulder, it felt spongy, in a non-fleshy way, like playdough.
“Woody you Ok?”
He turned to me, and blinked— I stumbled back against the door. Jesus! his cheek was dented, bashed in like the side of a car, like he was made of something squidgy— not skin.
Knock Knock Knock “Woody, everything alright?”
He blinked again….his face began to puff, expand— rise like dough, filling in the dents.
Jesus wept!
Bang Bang Bang!
“Woody, what’s going on in there?”
My guts twisted, faces don’t just expand like balloons, just like whips don’t spring to life, despite what antidepressant you’re on.
Bang Bang Bang!
“Just open this friggin door”, yelled the owner.
Brushing toilet paper from his shoulders I helped him to his feet as he staggered about like a zombie on dope. And then I saw it, his outfit was his body and his body was his outfit. He had not painted himself gold, it was the color of his skin, flesh or whatever the hell it was. He was as weird as that bus shelter prostitute, although now when I think of it, she probably wasn’t a prostitute as she talked like him like she had swallowed a dictionary while reading an encyclopedia.
His name was Pete and when he plonked himself down at my table like I asked him, I didn’t argue. I felt compelled to act naturally.
“So, this establishment; serves coffee?” He said.
“Aye, but no books” shouted the elderly woman.
Pete looked at me with a robotic smile, then gestured toward my untouched flapjack.
“May I”
“Sure, knock yourself out.”
“It's a flapjack but not as you know it” shouted the elderly woman.
I was beginning to think she wasn’t blind after all.
He turned the slice in his hand and sniffed it. “Apricot, I gather, and…” he sniffed again “…condensed milk. I have heard about this but yet . . . no word can capture its true fragrance . . .”
“Some people just eat it,” I said.
He took a bite and sighed like he was having some sort of orgasm. “So this is what a mouth is really for.”
It’s just a flapjack, I thought.
He lifted a sugar sachet.
I watched as he inspected it— like it was the first time he’d seen such a thing. He shook the sachet close to his ear, looked at it again, and then shook it so hard it broke spraying sugar everywhere.
I started to laugh, Pete followed with a robotic ha, ha, ha …ha, stopping the elderly woman mid-coffee sip.
I ordered him a coffee and watched as he lingered with each sip and was just about to (casually-like) ask “if they had flapjacks or even coffee where he came from?” when he looked at me and said. “You haven’t met a woman dressed in leather by any chance?” he faltered. “With perhaps a whip, you know the sort that…well… sniffs things?”
I looked about the empty cafe, the staff busy erecting an out-of-order sign, the owner muttering about closing earlier or perhaps for good, and caught the eye of the elderly woman.
She tilted her cappuccino at me—“and so it begins” she murmured, she definitely wasn’t blind.
I caught Pete's eye, and nodded, not only did I have my first sci-fi story but I was about to live it.
Save The World- by J. Scott Coatsworth
Twenty ways to fix the planet.
We asked sci-fi writers to send us stories about ways to save the world from climate change and twenty. Dive in and find out how we might mitigate climate change via solar mirrors, carbon capture, and genetic manipulation.
The future’s not going to fix itself.
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Zoe Calloway is about to unravel the secrets of time travel and her father's mysterious disappearance.
A four-book series is £ 0.99 each for a limited time.
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Until next time happy reading