Mouldy oranges

It was tight. It was good.

Gerald had never worn spandex before, but he was enjoying himself.

Certain parts of his body were being hugged for the first time and he felt alive. Sure, his stomach was protruding more than he’d like but, my word, it felt like two firm-handed beauties each had their fingers wrapped stiffly around his buttocks.

As he walked across the stage preparing to flex his biceps, Gerald suddenly got distracted by an all too familiar stench. He turned around to see the source, which was when he spotted Marcus, glaring back at him from the front row.

‘How?’ Gerald mouthed, before Marcus silently raised his right hand and began launching mouldy oranges at him.

The first twatted him in the mouth, the second against his jaw.

Gerald jumped off the stage and ran past the judges towards the door, clutching his face in an attempt to dodge another of Marcus’s missiles.

‘Come here, you bastard!’ Marcus yelled as he chased Gerald into the street.

Running as fast as he could, Gerald took a sharp left out of the building, tripping instantly on a crack in the pavement and spraining his ankle. As he lay on the ground, Marcus’s shadow consumed him.

‘This was my year,’ Marcus said.

‘I’m sorr-‘ Gerald tried, before his former apprentice smashed the remaining mouldy oranges over his skull, then wandered back to watch the rest of ‘Scarborough’s Grocer of the Year’ competition.

© Carl Burkitt 2015

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