Francsart

They called him CCW, short for Counter Clockwise, and there was a picture of his forgettable face on the walls of every betting shop in the world. He’d never placed a penny on a horse or a football game, but as the PM had once said during an interview; better safe than sorry. He liked wine, in moderation, and good food. To an unknowing eye, at restaurants, he always ordered dessert first, which might seem unusual, but it was due to his condition, and to him it was perfectly fine. His choice of clothes was usually as painful as a punch in the stomach, and his glasses were thick and round like binoculars, but his reputation travelled faster than gossip, and back when he was young, he’d been the object of desire of many desirable women. A Hollywood actress had been caught, back in the eighties, leaving CCW’s house from the back door, and when she was questioned about why she would choose to spend the night with such an – apparently – ordinary man, she said: “He knows how things

The sky, that day, was full of flyers swirling and spinning and nearly crushing one into the other, all busy with their unimportant lives. “One more,” Tony whispered to Magnussen. “One more!” Magnussen shouted into the crowd. Five kids and a teenager came closer and Tony, rolling his eyes, placed a hand on their shoulders in turn. “Nope. Nope. Nope.” Three kids were discarded. “Ew, no! What’s wrong with you, there are kids here!” The teenager too was rejected. “Nope. Ah-ah! Finally, I’ll grant your wish. Everybody else can go. I’ll see you all next week.” The little kid exploded with joy, thrusting through the air like a deflating balloon. “Mommy, mommy! He chose me! He chose me!” “No flying, little one. You know the rules.” The kid landed gently in Tony’s lap and closed his eyes. “I’m so excited!” he whispered. “I bet you are, buddy.” Tony placed both hands on the kid’s head and closed his eyes. His conscience got mixed with the kid’s and started traveling through his

“What do we think about the new one?” “We don’t think; we see, we smell, we taste.” “What do we see?” “We see a lost boy.” “What do we smell?” “We smell fear.” “What do we taste?” “We taste flesh and tears.” “Good flesh? Good tears?” “Very good.” “What are we still missing?” “His ears.”

The rabbits always knew when something was wrong, but now the rabbits were gone, and nobody would believe my instincts. “Why did you call them rabbits?” the Tiger asked me once. “And what’s all that fascination with animals?” “I don’t remember names,” I lied. “Were they very active?” she asked. “Sexually?” “What? No! They were vegan. They used to chew on carrots all day long.” She sipped her coffee, crossed her legs. “Firing them was a mistake. They were not rabbits; they were golden geese.” “I don’t need them. I don’t need anybody.” “Yep; you made that abundantly clear.” I looked at her and smiled. I didn’t sip my coffee. “You’re not getting a share, honey. The business is mine. You can get the car if you want.” “We’ll see about that. My lawyer’s going to contact you.” “I know.” I poured more coffee in her mug. “Just out of curiosity, what animal am I?” “A tiger,” I said. “Should I be flattered?” “Perhaps.” She drank. “And what sort of animal are you?” I looked at

You can’t breathe. You’re dying; there’s no other explanation. Your chest is collapsing like a neutron star and soon the pain will be the least of your problems. No, wait, what did the doctor say? It’s a panic attack. And what are you supposed to do during a panic attack? Focus on details. Ok. Focus on details. You remember the exercise, don’t you? Yes, yes you do. Come on then, let’s start. Five things you can see. You see the yellow seat so close to yours you can barely fit your knees. You see the other passengers covering their children’s eyes. Out of the window – no, don’t look out of the window. Focus. You see a blue shoe on the floor. You see the legs of the hostess, unconscious right next to you. You see vomit, green vomit smeared on the bathroom door. Four things you can hear. You hear screams. God, that’s all you hear; how are you supposed to find another three? No, wait. You hear the moans of the creatures on the landing runway. You hear gunshots. You hear you own

We like the breeze of the summer; where we come from, the heat turns us into night creatures. We like the mild winter; where we come from, the ice breaks the walls from within their moist pores and makes the roads dangerous. We like the spring rain; where we come from, drought is the norm, and all we breathe is dust and all we eat is dry meat covered with flies. We like the gradual business of autumn; where we come from, we need to stay still, to avoid catching the eyes of snipers.

Well, I should have read the job description past the salary, but I was eating my last can of expired tuna and had no idea how to survive for another thirteen days without robbing a bank. The job seemed designed around me; so much that it could have been a set up. They needed a janitor, experienced in heavy machinery maintenance, able to cook unfamiliar and limited food, preferably possessing a high degree of education, fit like a firefighter and – this, I must admit, sounded strange – with a twin brother. I tick all the boxes. I am a janitor, right now. I work in a high school just outside Pasadena for $550 a month; not enough to buy food and pay the rent, but enough for me to stay in the country. I am experienced in heavy machinery maintenance. I worked in a fracking centre in Ukraine, and I fixed more drilling rigs than I can count. I’m able to cook in the oddest situations. In fact, I was the cook of my battalion in Afghanistan, and I can assure you there are no supermarkets

When midnight came and went and all that was left on the road was a pile of bodies, a dog emerged from the mud and, after a long haul, died. “Reality is much more fragile than we expected,” the scientists had said, but then the rocket had been launched and two hours later, radiation became the only presence on Earth. No birds to sing, no bees to buzz, not even cockroaches could stand the DNA-splitting wave. No wind, no tides, no clouds, no rotation; nothing. Men managed to create nothingness from the wholeness of existence. The night strolled across the desolate land in a moment or a thousand years, who could tell? Then dawn broke with an audible crack, a back stretching itself out of a long night time cramp and all was still.