Sunday, 22 November 2009


We’re bored. There’s nothing to do. We can’t even get a drink; the shop won’t serve us.

“I know where we can get a beer,” says Mozza. “Bet there’s stuff in ‘The Eatery’.”

It closed six months ago. The fella did a runner in the middle of the night. Jamie’s not keen, but we know he’s just scared of his dad.

We prowl round and lurk in the shadows. We prise a window and slither in, sniggering. It’s the most fun we’ve had in weeks. We flick our lighters. Everything is filmed with black, sticky dust.

Mozza’s wrong; there’s no booze here. We clatter through the kitchen. The oozing darkness closes behind us.

I open a door. The lighters blow out. There is a smell; sour and earthy. When Mozza’s spark lights, Jamie screams.

Bodies; the room is full of bodies, dead bodies, sprawling in piles across the floor, limp limbs dangling.

Then, somewhere behind us, a door slams.

I wish we could go back to being merely bored.

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