A Ghost of Eurydice

by Adam Wilby James watched as the last of the group departed from his pub, the door closing behind them almost in time with Kirsty McColl as she exchanged reminiscences with Shane MacGowan of the Pogues. Now that they were gone the bar was now empty and he wished them a safe trip home. The wind could clearly be heard blowing a storm outside and there would no doubt be tidying up to be done tomorrow. A fresh torrent of rain lashed against the windows and as he took a moment to look round at the Christmas decorations, in less than a week they would all be boxed up and back upstairs in the cupboard, all the better for them to be out of sight and out of mind in his opinion, he only put them up because it was expected for him to do so. A new song started playing on the jukebox and he checked his watch. A quarter past two in the afternoon and given that it was Christmas Day there were unlikely to be any more customers. The rest of day could now be his to kick off his shoes and sit upstairs with his feet up. There would no doubt be the usual feel-good Christmas TV on, inclusive of a token film in the vein of It’s a Wonderful Life, intermingled with a fair dose of TV drama. As he walked the length of the bar he reached out without needing to look and stroked a finger across her photograph which had long been positioned in the same place on the wall. Tomorrow it would be three years to the day since she’d been gone and he’d unquestionably feel the same sense of shame he always did, perhaps this year the conversations he’d have with customers would be enough of a distraction. If not...

Parataxis (First Exercise of the 4 AM Breakthrough)

Parataxis   You can’t.   Mom.   Really.   He’ll do it again.   He’s a bastard. A real A-Hole!   Seriously.   Mom.   What are you thinking?   Re-Marriage? Next Saturday? That’s ridiculous.   Don’t you listen?   Didn’t you see the porn in his closet? Buried in the back of his desk? In the garage?   In MY closet? And Lisa’s?   He’s scum, Mom. Scum.   You’re not listening.   Well, I didn’t think I’d have to go there. But now I do.   Follow me. Look here. Look in this box. Wait for me to unlock it.   You see those? Those are Ben Wa Balls. Not marbles, Mom. You don’t know what those are? Of course not.   Another reason NOT TO MARRY HIM. Again. Christ.   You stick them in your Vagina. Yes. Supposed to strengthen it. Make sex better.   Probably just for the guy.   You know who gave those to me?   Dad. Yes, Dad.   I don’t know why!   No, I haven’t used them.   The point is he gave them to me. Lisa got a pair, too. Ask her.   But you have to believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you. You don’t want a man like that.   I don’t care about your religion. I don’t care about the cost of an annulment. I don’t care that you don’t want to be alone.   He’s going to give you a disease. He’s unfaithful.   I’m sorry that it’s hard to believe.   Oh yes, it happened. Look at these. Yes, he gave me those, too. They look like gay magazines. Girls don’t really want to look at pictures of muscle-bound men masturbating with each other, do they? I think girls would rather look at Playboy.   And look at these. Yes, they are graphic sex...