OKAY So basically my good friend asked me for story ideas and I jokingly said “write about a man with guns instead of arms”. He surprised himself by writing an oddly dark piece – http://baselesspride.wordpress.com/2010/06/08/armless/
I decided to write a less-serious piece to accompany his, so we could compare them after completion. Mine reads like a terrible, terrible sequel to his.
by Sajan Rai
Kaleidoscopes of colour slid over her face, the whites of her eyes flashing suggestively with neon lights. Sullivan had caught a glance of her from afar. She moved like a petal fluttering in summer breeze. He was drawn to her like a horny bee.
He said hello, so did she. They spoke a little – but neither knew what the other said. The deafening bass spoke for them as their hips connected. They danced for a while before she motioned for him to join her outside of the club. He twisted and turned his way through the maze of drug addicts, naïve teens and corporate wolves – careful not to brush against any of them. They weren’t like him. He was different.
The thumping drones became muffled as he stepped into the biting cold air, scented with plumes of cigarette smoke.
She sat down and began rolling up.
“So what’s your name?”
She laughed. His erection died significantly.
“Nice name…you don’t mind flavoured rizla do you?”
“I don’t Smokeullivan”
He lowered his head embarrassed, accidentally making an odd squeaking noise as he breathed inwardly.
She laughed nervously and continued rolling.
“So where are you fromullivan?” he blurted out, noisily.
“North London…what about you?”
Her giggle was hoarse and pig-like. “You’re funny…why do you keep doing that at the end of your words? I mean, sentences?”
“I can’t say…it’s a defect i’ve had since my Gullivans.”
“Sounds like a disease.”
He stared at the stars, the exclaimed, “Maybe Humanity is a diseaseullivan.”
The silence that followed was abrupt, odd and magical. She stood up with her rolled cigarette, it was lond and thing, like her figure. She swept back her hair.
“Shit…I don’t have a light…do you have one Sullivan?”
“Yes I do.”
“What happened to the ullivan-“
But before she could finish he had swept back his sleeves to reveal that instead of arms he had two extraordinarily-sized guns – disproportionate to the rest of his body. He swung his shoulders clumsily to swing his right gun to an angle matching the height of her cigarette. Then he let blow. Her cigarette grew alight and smoke came off it.
He waved them about and performed a dance that he liked to call the Twistullivan. She had left by the time he had finished, as had many other people who had been standing outside. He faced his empty audience as the sound of police cars faded into existence.