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Weekly Contest #373
Looking back on it now I’ve realised that everything started earlier in the evening. I don’t know if it’s because I was older than my brothers, or maybe I was just more receptive or susceptible to that kind of thing, but the fear that struck me that night still strokes me now when I think about it. My brothers have vague memories of what happened. Some are funny. And I’ll laugh, tentatively, because the shadow still looms. I’m certain now that it started when my mum turned ever so slightly on the couch, her legs still crossed, and she frowne...
Weekly Contest #312
Hi there, I am Abigail, your Brogan and Schotts appointed therapist. Please, come in and take a seat. Is this a fucking joke? I’m sorry, I do not see the humour in this particular situation. You’re one of those therapy bots. That is correct. My name is Abigail, your Brogan and Schotts appointed therapist. Please, come in and take a seat. This is a fucking joke. I have not attempted any humour- Stop. Yeah, yeah, I know, Brogan and Schotts, for fuck sake. I get it. No humour, sit down. I’m sitting, okay? Sitting. You happy? Thank you. Yeah, wh...
This is how it starts: a patient is found in cardiac arrest, most likely medical, most likely a thrombus, which is to say, some kind of clot. Imagine a piece of plaque, built up over years, caused by physical punishment to the body, eating fatty foods, sugars, smoking forty fags a day. Imagine this piece of plaque breaking off and hurtling through the blood vessels like a piece of space rock rolling towards planet earth, only in this scenario planet earth is the heart, maybe it’s the heart of a fifty-five year old smoking, type 1 diabetic fe...
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