You know what I’m like!

“Weekend plans, fella?!”

“Well-”

“One too many beers for me, I imagine! You know what I’m like!”

“…Well, most of it will be spent second–guessing myself, I imagine. Taking things too personally and pushing people away. I’ll pop out for a bit, but I’ll be looking over my shoulder. I’ll smile and nod and make a joke or two, but I’ll regret everything I’ll say. I’ll blame myself for the weather, the traffic, anything that derails the fun of others. I’ll hold on to the smallest comment and push it down and down in an attempt to silence the fear despite its voice getting louder and louder with every push. I imagine… You know what I’m like.”

“Cool, have a good one fella!”

© Carl Burkitt 2016

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Fang

The other day I met a man called Fang. He had a full set of round teeth. There was not a single spiky gnasher in his gob. It was one of those ironic nicknames, apparently. I didn’t find it funny. I still don’t, to be honest. He looked rather unkempt. His hair had potential. There was just so much of it – a solid straight line atop his forehead. But I got the impression didn’t enjoy washing it. His dress sense was one I could only describe as ‘Earthquake survivor’. The great unwashed. I told him all of this, by the way. Later in the evening his girlfriend said Fang didn’t like me. She did though, I can assure you. I told him that, too.

© Carl Burkitt 2016

No Access For Unauthorised Personnel

He stared at the door marked ‘No Access For Unauthorised Personnel’.

Shall I? he thought. It’s an office, how authorised do you have to be in an office?

So he went for it. He pushed the door and stepped into the little room.

His feet were the first to fall off.

Then his hands.

Then his fucking nosy nose.

© Carl Burkitt 2016

The day I murdered seven men

The day I murdered seven men, I was grumpy. But that doesn’t tell the whole story, you see. I was very, very sleepy and I’m rarely happy when I have a bad night’s rest. I start the morning all slow and dopey, but then the smallest thing can set me off. This day – the day I murdered seven men – it was that precious little “princess”. She always acts so bashful and coy, but she’s not. She’s manipulative. She has all the guys clamouring over her and gets them to do all of her dirty work: filing, proofing a Word Doc, franking the post. The other day she even got one of them to clean and dust her desk, fully aware he has allergies! Poor sod was all puffy and sneezy. Unbelievable. She’s like it with all of them, but they just put on a brave face and whistle away their day. Well, they used to. The day I murdered seven men, I was grumpy. But I like to think I put those little guys out of their misery. Not everything is as black as coal or white as snow.

© Carl Burkitt 2016

Talentless

The talentless man just sat in his room being all talentless. He watched his talented friends be talented and wished for a fraction of their talent. The talentless man decided to let his talented friends know how talented they were. He texted one talented friend congratulating her on her talent. He emailed another talented friend telling him he liked his talented thing. He called up another talented friend who was struggling with her latest bit of talent and reassured her how talented she was and that she should just keep working talentedly on her latest bit of talent. When he was done, the talentless man just sat in his room being all talentless.

© Carl Burkitt 2016

Plane

“It’s a bird!”
“It’s a plane!”
“It’s…it’s a fucking bird holding a plane. RUN!”

The crowd tried
but no one could escape
before the deadly gull slowly sliced
their heads with its stolen
woodwork tool.

© Carl Burkitt 2016