Paradise Revisited

‘David? David?’

It’s Penbury, the unmistakable voice of Mr Penbury, yanking me from dreams of shooting people and shagging women. A very strange dream. He is pushing and pulling at me.

‘What is it, Mr Penbury?’

‘The guvna wants to see you. Come on, out of bed.’

I feel Claudia’s bony hips with the top of my fingers, pull back the sheet and swing my feet to the floor. Another day in paradise beckons.

‘What for?’

He throws my work clothes onto my lap, I can feel the distinctive touch of the worn denim overalls. As I’m pulling on the clothes, I speak:

‘What’s it about? Do you know?’

‘No. Come along, David, get ready.’

My fingers feel for the sleeves, the button holes and the zip. As the panic rises, the simple task feels like I have ten seconds to diffuse a bomb blindfolded.

With the finish of the last lace, he takes me under the arm and pulls me up, leads me the four steps across the floor to the door and out into the corridor. I hear the Special XXX zombies shuffling past, bouncing off the walls like giant moths.

‘Come on, David, hurry along, the guvna is waiting.’

‘I’m going as fast as I can, Mr Penbury.’

It’s a speedy shuffle to the guvna’s office and we’re shown straight in.

‘Sit down, David,’ he says. Five steps and I’m in the chair. The door clicks as Penbury leaves the room. ‘How are you, David?’

‘I’m fine, Sir.’

‘Good. Good.’ His voice is distant. He is probably watching someone in the park below. He’ll bring them up to his office after dinner tonight and rape them over his desk. The rumours are all true. There is silence for some time; the panic, never far away, bubbles and breaks into my thoughts. I hold my hands tightly, trying to keep them still.

‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, David.’ I say nothing, worrying whether I should ask, or let him tell. The panic beats against my chest. ‘I’m sorry to say that your mother has passed away.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. Apparently it was a heart attack. She was a large lady, I’m told?’

‘The last time I saw her she was, Sir.’

‘I see. Let herself go did she?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Hmmm. Well, it has to be said,’ he says, his voice becoming stronger and nearer, ‘that women who allow themselves to degenerate into pulpy messes can have no complaints, no complaints whatsoever when their chubby breasts rebel and eat them from the inside, or when the fatty tissue clogging their shitty arteries strangles the life from their worthless … fucking … bodies.’ There is silence. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Hmmm. Yes Sir, indeed. So, when did you last see her, David?’

‘The day I came to Paradise Towers, Sir.’

‘Oh,’ he says, surprised, ‘I see. You did not … correspond by letter?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘She never came to your wedding?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘I see. Pity. Women tend to do this. You had obviously bored her – outlived your usefulness. No matter. Someone by the name of Adam Hobbs has organised the funeral. It is set for tomorrow. Is this man your father?’

‘No, Sir. He is my brother.’

‘And your father?’

‘I don’t know, Sir. I haven’t heard from any of my family since I came to Paradise Towers.’

‘Well … you had no need. You have all the family you could ever have wished for, right here. Would you like to attend the funeral?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘No? Why ever not, man?’

‘I don’t want to leave Paradise Towers, Sir.’

‘My God man, they will take you and bring you back. You have enough credit in your account for transport. It’s a good opportunity to see your brother, perhaps?’

‘No, Sir. With respect, I’d rather keep the extra money I have saved, Sir.’

‘You can’t take it with you when you go, David!’ He laughs.

‘I know, Sir. I am saving, Sir.’

‘For what?’

I think. ‘I can’t remember, Sir.’

‘Well, there you go, David. I think it’s a good idea for you to go. The reason you won’t go is because you are saving for something so important that you cannot even remember what it is! Nonsense. You are going. I insist. It’ll do you the world of good. Penbury!’

‘Sir, I’d rather -’

‘Nonsense, David. Nonsense.’

The door has opened and Penbury takes my arm, pulls me up and drags me towards the door.

‘Sir, I’d rather -’

‘Quiet, David. It’ll be good for you.’

Before I can say another word, the door has closed. I know he’s taking my money. He’s taken it before. I need it for something, but I can’t remember what it is. I get muddled these days. Penbury says it’s all the drugs I take. I don’t take drugs, but I wouldn’t ever say Penbury was wrong.

‘So, what was all that about? Did he do anything to you?’

Penbury asks these questions every time I have to see the Guvna. My answer is always the same. ‘No,’ I say. It hasn’t always been true.

I wait a bit, then tell him what happened. He says nothing and takes me to breakfast. From there I go to work.

I pull open the boxes and reach for the first condom of the day. My skilled fingers test it for quality, seal it in its empty package and place it carefully in the empty box. The first of today’s ten thousand.

As I place number 894 in the box, Claudia speaks:

‘What did he want?’

‘My mum is dead. They are taking me to the funeral tomorrow.’

She says nothing more. She mostly never does and it’s been a long time since I ever expected her to. I thought she was odd the first night we were together. I was right. In latter years, we’ve spoken very few words, despite the fact we spend almost every minute of every day within touching distance. It’s strange, because I do love her in my way. I always have. I reach across the table and touch her wrist. She snaps it away and says nothing.

The air is crisp and the birds are so loud, they sound like they’re on my shoulder singing in my ears. It’s very strange to be outside and to hear the sound of the small stones beneath my feet. Penbury opens the doors of a van and helps me inside. It crunches across the gravel and moves out onto the road.

The van fills slowly with the sickly heat only vans make. Since I went blind, all my other senses are sharper and I hear every snort and lump of mucus blown up Penbury’s throat. From his sounds, he’s sitting on the floor of the van across from me. He rustles some paper and I hear him begin to eat. It’s a bacon sandwich, definitely bacon. After a while he stops and I hear only the sound of the van moving down the road. The smell of bacon stays in my nostrils and it feels good.

‘Do you want some?’ he says, the sound so loud, it makes me jump.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Penbury?’

He takes an age to reply. I begin to wonder if he spoke at all.

‘The rest of my sandwich?’

I would trade my legs for some bacon, but I wonder if he’s trying to pull me into a trap. He rarely bothers beating or scoozing me these days, but I can’t be sure.

‘Do you want it or not?’

‘Yes. Thank-you, Mr Penbury.’

He takes my hand and places the sandwich in it, closing my fingers around the edge. It’s most of a half, with a bite taken out. I lift it to my mouth. It tastes like heaven.

‘I’m sorry about your mother, David.’

I’m not sure what to say, so I thank him. I want him to leave me with the sandwich. He waits awhile.

‘I was wondering … why didn’t you ever go to see her? Or let her visit?’

I shrug. I don’t know the answer. Since my eyes were burned into the back of their sockets by scoozes at work, I never wanted any change to my routine, thinking if today was the same as yesterday, I would survive it without pain. Time passed, I never gave it much thought. There you go.

‘You must be looking forward to seeing your brother? Adam, isn’t it?’

‘Ad. Yes, Mr Penbury.’

‘That’s nice for you. Me? I haven’t got any family.’

‘Fuck off, Dave.’

My old memories of home escaped from my mouth. I could see Ad sitting in front of the tele, furiously working a game controller. It disappeared as quickly as it came. I await punishment.

‘Pardon?’

I can’t speak.

‘What did you say, David?’ He sounds more insistent. Away from Paradise Towers, he might throw me out the back of the van and say it was an accident.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Penbury. I’m so sorry.’ I move forward and crawl towards him, with my tortured face close to the oily floor.

‘Sit up, David. Sit up. I just wondered what you said and why?’

I answer from the floor:

‘It’s what Ad, my brother, used to say to me.’

‘Oh.’

‘He used to say it a lot.’

‘Why?’

I shrug my shoulders.

‘Sit back up now, David. There’s a good fellow.’

Time passes. ‘It’s been a long time since I went to the capital,’ Penbury says.

I say nothing.

‘Things have changed a lot.’ He waits. ‘At least I heard they have.’

Time passes. We stop for two toilet breaks, but the van still rolls on: the journey never ending.

‘It’s a nice day today,’ says Penbury. ‘a nice spring day.’

I realise that I had no idea what season it was. Since losing my sight, going outside is too much hassle. It’s easier to stick to my routine. The only fresh air I get is when the big windows are tilted and the odd wisp mixes with the smell of freshly made condoms and dusty cardboard. I don’t know what year it is or how old I am. I know it’s about half past one and I should’ve finished lunch and returned to my bench by now. Supervisor O’Neill won’t be happy.

‘So, considering she lived in the capital, your mother made a good age.’

I’m sitting against the side of the van, my hands against the thin metal. I feel the vibrations moving from the tips of my fingers, up my arm, across my shoulders and into my head. The outside is just a few millimetres away, and it scares me. I want to go back. I need to feel the safe texture of condom and cardboard. I don’t answer Penbury and I can’t quite remember what he said – something about my mother. I wait for the power of the scooze. It doesn’t come.

‘She was seventy-one. Not bad.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Not bad.’

‘Mr Brown? How long until we reach the capital?’

The driver mumbles a reply.

‘How old am I?’ I say. There’s silence. ‘How old am I, please, Mr Penbury?’

‘You’re forty-one, David. Forty-one.’

‘How long have I been in Paradise Towers?’

He rustles some paper. ‘Twenty-four years now, David. You are one of our oldest families.’

“Families” he says. A family of the Paradise Towers workhouse. No children, but a family all the same. Everyone works for one another for the common good. I don’t know what good it did for me when Supervisor O’Neill scoozed my eyes every time I missed my quota. She said I could make ten thousand in a day. I didn’t believe it was possible and told her. She said I could do it blind. She was right.

The driver cuts the engine. The back doors open. They take me out into the cool air. It smells strange: smoky and dirty, but we appear to be outside. I hear voices around me, strange voices. Lots of them; they’re talking in strange languages as well as English. They profanitise. They should be scoozed. It shocks me. I crouch. I cover my ears.

‘David? David? What’s the matter?’ says Penbury.

‘Profanitisation is evil, Sir.’ I feel my bowel loosen, sweat on my forehead, hands shake.

‘Come on.’

He pulls me along. I hear laughter. I hear the voices mock me. We move away from the sounds, but they roll around me, echoing and following.

‘This is the door,’ says Penbury. ‘This is where you used to live.’

I remember the brick walls in the passageway leading to my old home. I remember the door. It was blue. I want to know the colour of the door. I can’t ask. I don’t know if I’m supposed to know.

Penbury knocks on the door. Fear takes me again and pushes me to the ground. I cover my head with my arms. Penbury tries to drag me up, but I won’t move. I’d prefer the pain of the scooze to standing.

‘Come on, David. You don’t want your family to see you like this. Stand up.’

Something seems different. It’s not an order – it’s like a suggestion. I’d prefer it to be an order; I don’t want choices. My head fills with blood and it’s going to explode. A thousand muddled thoughts flood my brain and I mess myself.

‘David? David, what have you done?’

I hear the door open. ‘Who the fuck are yoos?’

‘I’m Mr Penbury from Paradise Towers. Are you Mr Hobbs? Mr Adam Hobbs?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘This is David Hobbs. Here for his mother’s funeral. I’m looking for Adam Hobbs.’

‘You’re having a fucking giggle, ain’tcha? Is this a fucking wind-up, mate?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘You’re trying to tell me this is Dave?’

‘Yes,’ says Penbury.

The voice is a little nearer, as if he’s bending down. ‘You saying this is my bruva?’

‘If you are Adam -’

‘My bruva,’ says the voice. ‘He stinks of shit.’ The man behind the voice has straightened up. ‘My brother wouldn’t stink of shit.’

‘This is David Hobbs.’

‘Dave?’ says the voice. I don’t reply. It’s not my name any more. ‘This is a fuckin’ wind up, ya cunt. Where’s the fucking cameras? Is this on the tele? If it is, I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat for ya.’

‘No, Sir,’ says Penbury.

‘My muvva has just popped her clogs, and yoos bringing some shit-stinking cunt around ‘ere and telling me it’s me long-lost bruva? You gotta be on the wind-up, son. Do you fink it’s funny? Where’s the fucking cameras?’

‘I can assure you -’

‘Who the fuck’s that, Ad?’ says a woman’s voice.

‘It’s some geezer, dressed up like a prison bloke, wiv some mad cunt wot’s shit ‘imself. I can’t work it aht, Shas. I fink it’s a tele wind-up fing.’

‘ere, let me see,’ she says. ‘Fuck me. Look at the state a that cunt down there … and he fuckin’ hums like a fuckin’ carsey after a night on the old ruby. Cor blimey, Ad. Don’t let that cunt in ‘ere, will ya?’

‘Nah, Shas. Bruva or no bruva, I ain’t ‘aving some geezer in my ahs, wot’s shit ‘is pants. Sorry, mate. You’ll have to clean ‘im up, before the bird’ll let ‘im in.’ The voice comes closer. ‘Dave?’ he says. ‘Dave? Is that you, mate?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Fuckin’ hell. Look at that. Paul!’ he shouts. ‘Come ‘ere.’ There’s a pause. ‘Look at that! That’s me bruva down there.’

‘Where?’ says a man’s voice.

‘Down there. Look, crouching down. It’s me bruva, and he’s shit ‘imself.’ Ad comes closer. ‘Dave? You gotta be on quality gear, son.’ He waits and stands up straight. ‘Is he on some crazy shit, or someit?’

‘Yeah,’ says Penbury. ‘He’s on Special XXX and he dropped a few Ks on the way down in the van. He’s mashed, alright.’

‘Yeah?’ says Adam. ‘Just like me bruv. Paul? Do me a favour, son? Get the bird in the kitchen, while I get me bruva in the bathroom and sort him aht. The geezer’s fucked … and it’s me fuckin’ bruva, for fuck’s sake.’

I’m pulled forward into the house. A door is pushed open and some taps are turned on.

‘Let’s get his clothes off,’ says Penbury.

The hands work at my trousers and pants. A large pair of hands pull me up.

‘Fuck me,’ says Adam. ‘What’s happened to his minces? Where the fuck are they? They’re fucked.’

‘There was an accident,’ says Penbury.

‘What kind of accident? Looks like some cunt pulled ‘is fucking eyes out, son.’ says Adam.

‘He’s blind.’

‘No shit?’ My head is moved one way, then the other. ‘Fuck, it looks like his face has been burned with fucking acid. What fucking happened?’ Ad’s voice is aggressive and I want to curl into a ball and wake-up in my room. I want to swear and get scoozed, but the pain frightens me. ‘Get in the fucking bath, Dave, will ya?’ He pushes me and I nearly fall in the scalding water. I sit and it burns. ‘Now, wash yer fuckin’ arse, will ya?’

‘It was years back,’ says Penbury. ‘It was a fight. They were fighting with scoozes … and David lost.’

‘Scoozes? Fuck me. They were banned fuckin’ years back.’ He talks right into my ear, really loud: ‘Dave? Wash … your … fucking … arse. It’s got shit all over it.’ He addresses Penbury: ‘I ain’t washing his arse, mate. Bruva or no bruva. I wouldn’t even wash my kids’ arses. Know what I mean?’

I carefully wipe myself all over with soap. No one speaks. I get out and some clothes are stuffed in my hands. I put them on, but they’re far too big for my thin body. I have to hold the trousers up as I’m led out the door.

‘Ah, there you are. Do you feel better now?’ says Penbury. The man who used to rape my wife seems to have turned over a new leaf.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Listen,’ he whispers, ‘there’s been a mix up. Your mother’s funeral was yesterday - she was cremated. I thought you should know. I don’t know how we managed to get the date wrong.’

‘Don’t you?’ I say, still holding the trousers up. He says nothing for a while and we stand just outside the bathroom door.

‘There’s some people in the front room there. I’ll take you in.’

I haven’t heard a television or video game in all the years I’ve been in Paradise Towers, but I can hear their distinctive sounds as I walk in. I try and remember what the room was like, but the images are all gone. We stand in the middle of the room.

‘George? Jane? Turn that fucking thing off for a minute, will ya?’ The noise continues. ‘George! Turn it off before I kick your fucking head in for ya. Jane? You wanna smack, girl?’ It stops. ‘Shas? Shas?’

‘What?’

‘The tele?’

There’s silence in the room.

‘Nice clothes,’ says Shas.

‘This is your uncle. It’s Uncle Dave.’

‘You said he was dead,’ says a voice from the corner.

‘Well, I fought he might be. ‘Ow’d I fuckin’ know, eh? Anyway … ‘es not. He looks like he’s halfway there, but he’s not.’

‘Alright?’ says a boy’s voice.

‘Alright?’ says a girl.

I turn my head in their direction.

‘Dave? This is me wife … Shas.’

‘So, you’re blind then, are ya?’ she says.

‘Ten points for observation, Shas … fuck me.’

‘Yes,’ I say.

The video game starts up.

‘That’s a fucking shame,’ she says.

‘Some accident … some sort of fight, the bloke says.’

‘Yes, it was,’ says Penbury.

‘That geezer over there?’ says Ad. ‘Asleep in the chair? Ignore him. He’s mashed. He’s been asleep two fucking days.’

‘I fink he’s barely alive,’ says Shas.

‘Shut the fuck up. What you know about having fun, eh? You can sit on the settee. Help him aht, geezer, yeah?’

I’m guided to the settee.

‘So, you missed all the fun of the funeral then?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry,’ I tell him.

‘I wouldn’t fuckin’ worry. It was shit. We ‘ad a few of ‘em back. Got pissed. It was shit.’

‘What about my father?’ I ask.

‘Dad? You’re having a laugh, ain’t ya?’

‘No.’

‘He died years ago, mate. Fucking donkeys.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m sorry, David,’ says Penbury.

‘Thank-you, Mr Penbury.’

‘Yeah, he was walking ‘ome from the pub one night and some gang of Romanians got him. Fucked him up proper. Beat the fuck out of him. Cut his face up. Virtually cut his face right off his fucking head, in fact. We couldn’t recognise the cunt. No fucker could. Totally and utterly … fucked up. Wern he George? George? George!’

‘What?’ says the boy.

‘Weren’t your granddad fucked up?’

‘Yeah, real fucked up,’ says the boy. ‘Now, fuck off, Dad, will ya?’

‘See? Fucked up. And don’t tell me to “fuck off”, ya little cunt.’

The boy howls, like he’s been kicked.

‘Yeah, fucked up. So me mum … well, “our” mum … she got more dole and everything was sweet. Shame abaht the old man. He was a dirty old cunt, he was. He used to watch me shaggin’ Shas, didn’t he Shas? Shas?’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t me old man used to watch us shagging?’

‘Yeah.’

‘See? Dirty old cunt. He was. Dead now. Fucked up, like I said.’

‘They didn’t tell me.’

‘Anyway, what’s with this “Sir” and “Mr Penbury” shit? You talk to him like he’s your fucking guard. And anyway? What the fuck you sitting here for, pal? Why don’t you just fuck off?’

I cower and hope the settee swallows me up. I’ve done something wrong and I’m gonna burn in agony on this settee. I’m gonna get raped and choked and spend weeks away from my bench. Then Supervisor O’Neill will burn me for missing my quota.

‘Not you, Dave! You! You, suited and booted piece of fucking shit! What you following my bruva around for, like this? Eh?’

‘Oh, Ad, leave it, will ya?’ says Shas.

‘No, I won’t fuckin’ leave it Shas, I won’t fuckin’ leave it. I don’t buy this fucking “accident” shit either. What’s your fucking game, mate?’

‘It was a long time ago -’

I feel Penbury lifted from beside me. I try to grab hold of him, but I can’t. I hear him shouting and the video game stopping and the volume on the tele being lowered and Shas standing and shouting for Ad to stop and the sound of two bodies falling in the hallway and Penbury shouting and screaming and Ad raging and screaming and banging and scuffling and … nothing.

‘Ad, what you gone and done, ya cunt?’ says Shas. ‘Ad?’

‘What?’ he shouts from the hallway. I smell cheap perfume waft past.

‘What’ve you done?’

I hear movement from the hallway. ‘Look,’ says Ad, almost calm. ‘Look at that. He had a scooze stick in his pocket. That’s illegal.’

‘Let me see, Dad, let me see,’ says George.

‘Show me, Dad,’ says Jane.

‘Reckon the Romanians will have that off me. No bovver. Look … it’s charged.’

‘Blimey. What’s he doing with that? It’s banned,’ says Shas.

‘Dave? Did he hit you wiv that? Dave?’ says Ad.

I wonder if I’m next. ‘Where’s Mr Penbury?’

‘Where’d you fink he fucking is, Dave? What’s this guy like? He’s in the hallway, mate. Knocked the cunt out. Do you wanna do ‘im, Dave? Here.’ He gives me something. I hold it with one hand and feel its length with the other. This is fucking power. I feel the base with my finger until I find the control. I know these buttons on the side. I move the slider up to full power. A big enough hit can kill a man. Ad gets George to help him drag Penbury into the front room. I move my feet and can feel him breathing. ‘Wake the cunt,’ says Ad.

‘Wake up,’ says George. I feel Penbury moving. George is kicking him. Penbury moans.

‘Ahhh … leave him will ya?’ says Shas.

‘Lift his head. That’s it, George. Lift it. Dave? The head is just in front of you, son. He’s all yours.’

I reach out and touch his face with my fingers. He moans and says my name. I touch his eyes, then I touch mine. The skin around my eyes is rippled and burned. I touch the useless mass in my eye socket and all around my rough face. I touch Penbury. His skin is old and his mouth is wet. It must be blood.

‘David,’ he says. ‘Make them stop.’

‘There’s another,’ I say. ‘He’s outside in the van, waiting for us.’

Ad sits next to me. He speaks low. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get him in here and we’ll do him too.’

‘You can’t,’ I say. ‘He’ll be missed.’

‘Dave … no one cares … no one cares no more.’

‘Come on, Dave,’ says George, ‘fuck him up … stick it in his face.’ Penbury struggles, but someone is holding him. I move the slider down to minimum power. I reach out and touch the face with my hand; it struggles and his breathing is heavy. ‘Come on, Uncle Dave … do it … hurt him.’ I feel his eyelid with my worn-down thumbnail. He squeezes his eye together and tries to move. I move the scooze towards him and flick the switch off. He jolts backwards as the cold metal tip touches his face. He wriggles until he realises that it’s off. The girl laughs. My thumb hovers over the switch. Penbury is stiff.

‘Mr Penbury,’ I say.

‘Stop fucking calling him that!’ says Ad. ‘For fuck’s sake! Shas? Hear that? He keeps -’

‘Shut up, Ad,’ I say. ‘Shut … the fuck up.’ The words release themselves and feel good as they blow through my liberated lips.

I flick the switch on and feel the power shoot forward. I feel it vibrating in my hand as Penbury’s face shakes uncontrollably and he screams. I pull back the scooze and his scream dies away and leaves him panting.

‘Oh shit, Jane … look!’ says George.

‘Oh … my … God,’ she says.

‘Let me see, let me see,’ says Shas. ‘Oh … fuck … his fucking eyeball is … smoking. It fuckin’ don’t ‘alf hum, dun it?’

‘That,’ I tell Penbury, ‘is for Claudia … that fucking fucked up piece of stinking filth that you made me marry.’

‘You married, bruv?’

‘To some slut … yes.’

‘Congratulations,’ he says, ‘Is she … a good shag?’

‘No … no she ain’t.’

‘David,’ says Penbury, his voice weak. ‘Don’t profanitise … don’t fall back … you’ve come so far.’

‘This,’ I say, pushing the slider to the max, ‘is for my son, who never had a chance to see the light of day.’

‘George! Ged off him … don’t touch him … you’ll get scoozed an’ all!’ shouts Ad.

I feel them back off. I thrust the scooze forward to where I think his eye is. I struggle to hold it as it rocks in my hand. Penbury says nothing, but gives firm resistance against the stick. The scooze is stuck to Penbury like a magnet; I start to think it’s fused to his eyeball.

‘That’s enough! That’s enough!’ shouts Ad. ‘You’re wasting the batteries!’

I give it a final shove and pull it back. It comes away with a bit of resistance. Penbury’s head hits the floor.

‘Fuckin’ … hell,’ says George.

I smell burning: that oh so familiar scent of burning flesh.

‘That’s fucking ‘orrible. Look at that,’ says Ad. ‘You gotta kid then, Dave?’

‘Fuck off, Ad,’ I say. ‘Fuck off. This one … this one is for me.’

‘I think you’re a bit late, mate … he’s definitely dead already,’ says Shas.

‘I know,’ I say.

I thrust the scooze in my mouth and bite down. I hear their screams briefly, but it goes quick enough. My head and my whole body shakes uncontrollably, but it doesn’t matter. The pain is comforting and warms me ol’ cockles as I make me way to the fuckin’ light … it’s a pretty fuckin’ dim light. Me fuckin’ old bones are rattling and me soul is hotter than a tart’s vag. It feels like I’ve had a skin full of the old bevy, a smoke to calm me nerves, shot me load and passed out on Spesh K. Total. I think I’ve only got one last thing left to do in this poxy fucking shit hole that we’ve been left in. With me last conscious thought, I gather meself together and kick that cunt, Penbury, in the head. He’s had it coming for quite some time. Cunt.