by Zygmunt Nowak Solinski
Invited round. Small, wild garden with children. Stupid kids. Look at them, playing football. How can you talk with them kicking that bloody ball around? It’s going to hit … Yesss, the table! Bloody Hell! WHAT a MESS! Mother, like an ugly old whale, fat legs. What are we doooing!? Here? Kids are crazy. Boot up the arse. Strangle them, that big one, face like a mass murderer. Bloody train stopped. People gawpin’ out. Christ, the line’s pretty close. They never stop, she says. It’s the first time. What’s that guy gawpin at? Stupid lookin’ guy in garden with those kids and that fat woman. Jesus fancy livin’ next to the line. Every time a train stops … Christ, the guy sitting opposite, in front of me, has sticky out ears. Could fix that with my staple gun. Pin them back. Laugh at that. Shit. Mean lookin’ bastard.
What’s he lookin at? Creepy little runt. Out next stop. Thank shit. Doors open. Head down. Force through. Watch your step up into the air. Road busy, as usual. Cross over quick. Shit, the Bussss! Where!? Driver Fat face! “Jesus! Where the hell did he spring from!? God! Streets jammed now.” Open door. “STOP SHOUTING STUPID COW!” An accident. Black car blocked over there. Driver getting out. Official, can see that. Cop. What’s he staring at? Ambush? Accident, asssshole! Fat stupid bus driver knocked down some stupid pedestrian. Roads blocked. “Accident Sir. Roads blocked.” Can just see the minister, pompous asshole. “We’ll walk. Presidential palace just up ahead.” Handsome, arrogant captain, security, he calls himself, put him in his place. Head down, keep moving. No one will recognise me. Don’t stop. Through gates escort behind now. Safer here. Corridor door ahead opens. No guards or anything. Security stinks. Come in here, spray the place. Putsch, and it’s all over. Up ahead. President. Fascist. Catch his eye as he stands. Arrogant asshole. “The Ammn Dvjjrjhd the right Hon Kkrhs Ggrggfh,” the secretary at the door says. Know who he is. Pain in the ass. In he comes, the little shit tries to eyeball me. Turn my back to him, arrogant upstart. Me, the most powerful man in the world, and he irritates me. Back to the old days. A nod, and off with his head. Nice to see that. At the window, look up to the golden, blue sky. Stupid helicopter too close and waggling about like that. Security. Where is security!? Eye in his lens, the photographer shouts, “IGOTTHEPRESIDENT! Hey! What’s going on?!” Looks round to pilot.
“Engine!” he shouts into his eyes.
“Hey! I’m gonna puke!”
Pilot looks down. Pulls stick over. Prays into microphone.
Beside him. The photographer SCREAMS!
Engine stops. Helicopter flies like a brick with no engine. Pilot looks down to speedily approaching ground. No time for a last-minute thought. Car parked at the side of the road guy down there. Surprise surprisssss!! A quiet piss in the bushes. Nice. Noise? Look up to see. Pilot’s face as helicopters lands on ME!