Thursday, 29 November 2012

'Wig' - by Richard

I am from another planet. It's very different from yours. The first thing to mention is that on my planet we don't have hair. We don't have follicles. We don't have long, lustrous, shiny hair, or beards, eyebrows, macho chest hair, pubic hair, or the wiry hair that grows out of ears, nostrils and big toes. We are bald.

When I arrived on your planet I was naked except for a traditional garment, like a big shawl crossed with a toga, crossed with a nappy, that is common on our world. My spaceship crashed in the middle of a large field. A four-legged creature stood nearby, feeding on the green ground-hair that sprouted abundantly around. I had never seen such a sight. On my planet we don't have anything that sprouts from the ground. The rocky scalp beneath our feet is as barren as the flesh-scalp on our heads. I proceeded to the four-legged creature. It was richly furnished with lush brown hair, which I couldn't help but stroke, feeling it's prickly wires.


Monday, 8 October 2012

'The Ceramic Businessman' by Brett

Let’s imagine the ceramic businessman going to work. Getting up out of his ceramic bed, sand under the pillow, broken shards of his own feet at the bottom of the bed.
Let’s imagine him brushing his tiny, brittle, sandpaper teeth. Taking a shower and realising a towel is not as effective as he would like.
Let’s imagine, as he walks to work, the cracks in the pavement giant crevasses; puddles like lakes; the litter in the gutter vast swathes of insurmountable rubbish — an impossible challenge for our little hero to overcome.
Let us pause, and wonder at how easily he might avoid the ticket inspectors, and creep silently between the feet of the giants on the underground.
Careful, ceramic businessman, not to be trampled! You are fragile: A tiny, insignificant, unseen, unremembered agent in the world of the organic.
And even if he reaches his desk, will he have the strength to lift the pen or the coffee cup, or summon the will not to crumble?
Poor, poor little ceramic businessman: Go home, go back to bed, back to the sand between your sandy toes.
Sleep, sleep, tiny ceramic businessman. Sleep.