Day 2 Of Trying To Write Something (Most) Every Day: Absurdist Fiction

Absurdist Fiction, Wikipedia says. Alrighty, then.


Doing Nothing

David stopped running. He's lost them, after all. &, if he hadn't lost them, there was no point running - they'd catch up with him eventually. Up ahead, past the loanshark's, was a park left over from when Tottengate Road had housed the unemployed upper-middle classes, as opposed to the unemployed lower-working classes, was a metal-fenced park - locked. Quite what had happened was unclear. Some sort of literal class war? An exodus? A flight path? Something. But that, David told himself, was not the point. The point was, in there, amidst the overgrown trees & the probable hypodermics, he would be safe. Safe meaning unseen. 'Damned cameras.' he said, under his breath. 'Everywhere. Except where it doesn't matter.'
   He climbed over the railings, the rusting paintwork (green over black over a sort of red) come away on his hands like a sort of sudden human lichen. 'Call off the fucking search. I'm gone. I'm gone.' A couple of fir trees oozed their chlorophyllstench out at him, but he nestled between them, allowed their fronds to close around him like the inert tentacles of a B Movie creature. & then something moved.
   'Mister? 'Ave you go' a ligh', Mister?'
   'What?'
   A small boy, in peculiarly disheveled school uniform, was sitting, cross-legged, nestled into the left-hand fir. 'I said, 'ave you go' a ligh'?''
   'Yes, yes, I know what you said. How old are you?'
   The boy shuffled, uncomfortably. 'I only said...'
   'Yes, I know. But you're too young to smoke.'
   'Bu' I do, though, so...' He trundled into a disappointed silence. 'Me Ma' knows I do.'
   'Well, yes, but...' He felt around in his pocket. Felt the cold metal of his lighter. Threw it across.
   'Fuckin' 'ell, mate. That's well bling.' said the boy, turning the silver lighter around in his hands. 'You must be loaded.'
   'I get by. Now, light your cigarette & give me my lighter back.'
   'Keep your 'air on, mate. You're well jittery.' He lit his cigarette, pre-rolled & produced from his shirt pocket. Tossed the lighter back. 'Are you a drug dealer?' He took a lung of smoke. 'Cause, if you are...'
   'I'm not.' David said, sharply. 'For God's sake.'
   'Is this a drug deal, yeah? 'Cause I can sling me 'ook...'
   'It's not, OK? It's really, really not.'
   'I wouldn't have told on you. I ain't no grass.' the boy said, & smoked his cigarette. 'I'm Tom, by the way. Tommy. What's your name?'
   David paused. 'I'm ... David. It's very nice to meet you, Tommy.'
   'Yeah. & who are you hiding from, if you're not a -'
   'Who are you hiding from, Tommy? Your school? Your parents?'
   'Nah. Bobby Flashman said he'd kick my ass, so...'
   'Can't you tell a-'
   'Nah. I'm not telling. I ain't no grass.'
   David laughed. 'There was another Flashman. In a book. Tom Brown's-'
   'School Days. I know, I know. I've read it, man'
   'You've...'
   'I'm not illiterate, man.'
    'Well, no, of course not, I suppose I just presumed that it might not be, well, quite your thing...'
   'No need to get all flustered, yo. I know what I look like. But I'm not, yeah?'
   They sat in silence for a couple of minutes.
   'So who the fuck are you?'
   David paused, took a cigarette out of the cigarette case he secretly kept in his jacket pocket, and said 'I am - I was - the Prime Minister.'
   Tommy laughed. 'I see. So you're, like, off your nut. That's OK, man. I had an aunt what was off her nut-'
    'No, really. I am. Was. You seem like a well-informed kid - don't you recognise me? From off the T.V.?'
   Tommy looked at the ground. 'We ain't got one. T.V licensing people... You know...'
   'What?'
   'They took it.'
   'Your mother didn't pay her bill?'
   'No-one does, yo? What planet are you from?'
   David frowned. 'Someone must, though, Tommy. I mean, if no-one paid the license fee, there'd be no money to pay for the programs, would there?'
   'Well, yeah, rich people do, maybe. No-one else does.'
   David lit his cigarette & drew some of it into his tarry lungs. 'Well, it's not my problem anymore, Tommy. It's not my job anymore. You heard it here first. I quit. Actually, I'm kind of on the run.'
   'Alright.' said Tommy, & smoked some more of his cigarette.