Smashwords — Weed - A book by Chris Page

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Weed
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By Chris Page

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ISBN 978-0-9559588-0-9

The characters and events in this story are all fictitious. Any resemblance to anyone or anything real is as accidental as it is unlikely.

Cover illustration by Chris Page

This is weird.

The telly seems to be getting closer. It is creeping across the room during lapses in Warren’s concentration like an ingratiating dog or a stealthy predator. It also seems to be sprouting leaves.

Blaring primary tones, the tv is showing men stuffing wriggling, living sardines into their swimming trunks and chasing wailing bunny girl sirens around the studio while the audience howls, delighting in its own lobotomisation.

Outside the flat, in the sodium-stained night, the city pulses about as low as it ever gets: the police sirens are distant moor wraiths, and the screeches and growls of the elevated railway might be the distracted ruminations of Hell’s teeth.

And the tv just shuffled a bit closer.

Warren — Warren Ladd, who incidentally adores from afar Sharon in Procurements — needs sleep. The week as usual has left him without rest, and this fast Sunday night is nearly done. Back to work in the morning. However, he is not going to sleep, he is not going to let the bastards take even more time from him. His employer, Daikon AirCon International, already has a great deal of Warren’s time and has a contract to take much, much more in the future. It’s not just Warren: they sap time from everyone they use; they are hungry for time — but then they are a growing concern and, time-wise, their nutritional needs are great. They have now taken so much time from Warren they have left him like a rusted and seized old fob watch. So now Warren is stealing back time by petulantly refusing to go to bed at a proper hour and condemning himself to a miserable Monday dragging his hangover and exhaustion round the office. He’s going to squeeze out the last of this weekend, he’s going to wring it dry; he’s going to leave the weekend like Daikon AirCon left his friend Bob Weed: all wrung out.