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

Pit

The man just wanted to jump in a ball pit but couldn’t find one anywhere, so he went and bought a warehouse and filled it with two million multicoloured balls.

The second he dived into his plastic heaven he felt quite sad and quite lonely, so he went and bought another warehouse and filled it with hundreds of dancing women, booze and music.

As he got drunk and struggled with conversation, the man just wanted to jump in a ball pit.

Luckily, he knew just the place.

© Carl Burkitt 2016

Prick

Three birds are on a rock.

BIRD 1: Love this rock
BIRD 2: Yeah, love this rock
BIRD 1: Just so peaceful
BIRD 2: Yeah, so peaceful
BIRD 3: Not a fan, personally
BIRD 1: Really?
BIRD 2: Really?
BIRD 3: Yeah, I love that rock
BIRD 1: Never tried that rock
BIRD 2: Yeah, never tried that rock

The birds fly to that rock.

BIRD 1: Wow, love this rock!
BIRD 2: Yeah, wow, love this rock!
BIRD 3: Not a fan, personally

© Carl Burkitt 2016

Monday morning

When I left my house this morning I saw a baby’s head. It was sat on the path, looking at me through the one eye it had left. The baby’s head was of course not that of a real baby, rather the skull of a now incomplete doll. But it got me thinking. It reminded me of my baby. Its blue eye twinkled and told me secrets. Secrets of how its head fell off. Secrets of how my baby’s head fell off. My baby’s head is not real either, but if it was I imagine it would fall off and land on the path for someone to find on their way to work. That’s just the kind of luck I have.

© Carl Burkitt 2016

I am a light bulb

I am a light bulb. When you turn me on I think you look lovely. When you turn me off, I just think about the next time you’ll turn me on. I can’t wait until I die and I feel you again. I hope I don’t hurt you.  

© Carl Burkitt 2016

642 Challenge: “Write a story through the eyes of an inanimate object.”