Tag: short story

“Is that the Grey Moon pub?” asked Sprite, shielding his eyes from a sun hanging low in the sky.

“Looks like it,” replied Lucy. “And that looks like Yuffie’s horse outside.”

“You don’t sound happy about that,” said Sprite.

“She’s been a bit aggy with me recently,” grumbled Lucy. “I replaced her bed with a trampoline before I left for the isles.”

“Oh, aye?” said Sprite. “How did that go?”

“She hit the roof,” chuckled Lucy.

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“Could you go ahead?” asked Sprite. “See if you can catch him?”

“The wind’s dropped,” sighed Lucy. “I can’t move any faster than you. I’ll go with you though.”

“Cheers,” sighed Sprite. “I know life ends for all of us someday, but…”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Lucy. “Yuffie and I lost a dear friend a few months back. She covered herself in lard a few days before she died.”

“Why?” asked Sprite.

“Not sure,” sighed Lucy. “But she went downhill fast.”

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A gust of wind blew up the road, and lucy floated down beside Sprite. “Missing your bro?” she asked.

“Yeah,” sighed Sprite. “I think he’s taking the road to the afterlife. I’m trying to catch up to him, but I think he has a good headstart on me.”

“Well, I’ve just dropped out of the sky, and you’re the only figure I could see for miles,” she remarked. “Although I’m sure I saw the footprints and the invisible woman, man, and their children.”

“Hang on,” said Sprite, “They had kids? What are they like?”

“Well,” chuckled Lucy. “They’re nothing to look at.”

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Sprite looked up the road and knew where Spectre had gone and that he may have a significant headstart. He put his headphones on, cracked open Spotify and started Sinéad O’Connor greatest hits. For a moment, he pondered how long it had been since he last heard this playlist.

It’s been 7 hours and 15 days…

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Sprite awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. He was sitting on a road, and in every direction, all he could see was sand. The trees, the wall and Spectre, who were all here when he went to sleep, were missing.

“Cripes alive,” said Sprite. “This place is emptier than a Tory promise.”

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“Listen,” said Lucy. “You keep asking me why I’m here, have you ever wondered why you’re here? Do you even remember how you got here?”

“I…” stammered Meria, “I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Good grief,” chuckled Lucy. “It’s like watching Boris Johnson standing up in parliament.”

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“The sharks won’t let me off this island,” growled Meria. “Every time I try to leave they swarm around me. Tear me apart. Then I wake up in my bed, unharmed.”

“I’d say there’s something fishy about your story,” pondered Lucy. “But that’d be jumping the shark.”

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