Winter writing competition

The Sun-God Apollo looked down on the world, evaluated the day and summed up the previous 15 hours in a single sentence.

"Bugger that for a game of soldiers."

Flicking through the gears he sped up his journey to the horizon, giving the lifeforms below a stunning sunset on the beach but unfortunately increasing his motion sickness.

Cracking open his 9th packet of Polos the deity closed his eyes and sucked, wondering yet again how he knew all the knowledge of the world and still have no idea how the holey mint could settle his stomach.

The religion crunch had hit Olympus Industries hard, he could only thank Dad he had a necessary position in the grand scheme of things, unlike some of his siblings.

Genetically modified crops meant Demeter was making ends meet with a pick-your-own farm outside Illfracombe and Aphrodite, made redundant by Harley Street, was at this moment squeezing into her day-glo orange shorts for the graveyard shift at Hooters.

Parking the Sun in its lockup for the night he sighed, picked up his thermos and slammed the corrugated iron door behind him, not even bothering to slip on the padlock.

Of course his day wasn't over, it never was now the prayer-flow had dried up and the price of Mana had increased tenfold at Lidl.

Banging through his front door he heard the clock strike 10pm and the ringing of the phone that heralded the start of his second job...

"Hello, you've reached the Oracle Psychic Hotline... Yes, I know what you want to know, the whole experience is a let down, he's premature and you never get the stain out of the ottoman... Hey, you wanted to know... Same to you, bitch!"

Reality... They just didn't want to know...

Like treading on fresh dog vomit on a shag pile carpet the soft wet sand flooded the gaps of my toes as I walked along the beach.

It had been a while since I'd been back here but the memories came flooding back as though it was only yesterday. The bright white foam of the lapping sea on the shore broken only by the rotting flesh of a dead jelly-fish covered in seaweed. I closed my eyes and saw myself as a twelve year old child running up and down the beach, watching boats bob along the coast and people on air-filled death traps floating on the reflective surface of the water.

A breaking wave, bigger than I’d been expecting, broke me from my memories as it splashed water over my feet and up to my knees, soaking my jeans and showing the world that I was unprepared for where I was. When I looked up she was there.

Her beauty was stunning and the sunset on the beach had given her a radiance I’d not seen for so long.

“You look good,” I said.
“Thank you.”
“I hate that.”

As her face broke into a smile I realised I’d missed her so much more than I knew. I’d paid for that smile and not seen a penny in return but if I asked her for it she’d tell me that her years of ‘service’ had been repayment enough.

“What do you want?” she asked.
“To give you this.”

I handed her the envelope. She looked hopeful, as though she was expecting a letter from me announcing my unending love for her and telling her I so desperately wanted her back.

“Are you having me one?” she asked with a wry smile.
“No. The totals are correct. If you could pop a cheque through the door that’d be great. Anyway, I’ve gotta run, I’m meeting the lads for a beer. See ya later.”

The rain was falling down hard, the bus stop was cramped...looking at my watch I realised I would be late, "Damn!" I thought, as I clutched the black leather briefcase to my chest...remembering lightly running my fingers over the contents, feeling the smoothness, the contours and watching it glisten in the new daylight...That was the perk to my new found life and job.

Finally the number 48 is here, we all jostled to get on, the rowdy schoolkids were on again, I find a seat and tap my briefcase, smirking to myself, and contemplating using the contents on the little shits. The world around me is busy and loud, yet I feel a sense of calmness, like a sunset on the beach..this always happens when I'm focused on the task ahead. A timid girl comes and sits next to me, she smiles and it's the smile I've seen before, the one where you keep your head down, don't make eye contact, in hopes no one notices you...but the problem is certain people do...those are the ones my job deals with.
 

The bell rings and the girl gets up, instinctively knowing I have to get passed. The rain is beating down hard, as I step off, I look and see I'm back in the place I've been before. My job mostly entails nightwork, but this job was a special case, it couldn't be done any other time. I walk up to the familiar pathway, and walk around to the backdoor, I feel under the plantpot, ahh i think to myself, there as always. I quietly unlock the door, my breathing heavier, although still controlled. I remember where all the creaks where, but there's no sound he will hear.

Except the one of my gun.

At the top of the stairs, we turned into what would become The Lord Cardigan Memorial Annex - a large room, containing one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and, on the floor, crate upon crate of books.

My employer told me that the noble Lord had collected these books throughout his life and had, in his will, left them to the University. Given the nature of Lord Cardigan's demise (he had gone missing, together with his lover (his children's au pair), in a boating accident six years ago, leaving his wife (Lady Victoria) and family almost destitute), the collection was smaller than originally intended. Nevertheless, cataloguing approximately fourteen thousand books in less than four months would be quite a task.

It was a task that I relished, however, for the collection contained so many rare and original works. I took time to study the instructions set out in Lord Cardigan's will (these set out where each category should be placed on the shelves and also specified that none but the person cataloguing the books may visit the Annex until they were completely arranged). Despite the fact that I was often working sixteen or seventeen hours each day, my work captivated me in such a way that I hardly felt any fatigue. As the crates emptied and the collection took shape, I barely noticed that which would later be obvious to all.

Finally, on the seventh anniversary of his Lordship's disappearance, the grand opening of the Annex took place. Looking up at the finished work, the assembled dignitaries stood in silence, mouthing the words that were now spelled out by the spines the duly arranged books "Victoria - you fool! By the time you read this, I shall be watching a sunset on the beach."

I’ve been a long time dead, 237 years, six months and three weeks if you want to be precise. Do you want to know something else? Death, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve loved every second of it. I never truly started living until after I died, on the day of my death at was like a great weight was lifted from my shoulders, and the pain in my heart went away for the first time in many years. Of course the pain went away. How could I have felt heartache when my heart was no longer beating?
There used to be a bar, on the outskirts, the fringes. I’d go there sometimes when I craved the taste of flesh, the touch of a woman. The women who frequented the bar may have lacked sophistication but at that point in my life I wasn’t looking for deep and meaningfulls, I had no desire to put the world to rights I had done my share of the good Samaritan bollocks, and look where that had got me, laying on a mortuary slab for a couple of nights before I rose again. I just look out for number one these days, because let’s face it; nobody else is going to are they?
It’s nice to not have to think about anyone but yourself. You should try it sometime, not to have a care in the world, to see all the suffering, to know that it’s there but to not give a damn. You may think that’s a selfish attitude, but I’m not selfish, I’m dead. How can I care and love when I feel nothing, when I’m barren, hollow, empty. How can I feel when my heart is static in my chest and my blood no longer flows? So what if I never see a sunset on the beach again? Those things are over rated anyway.

Pretty women out walking with Gorillas on my beach.
From my sunshade I'm staring as my Frappe gets warm.
Look over there!
Where?
There!
There's a lady that I would love to know.
The Silverback on her arm is just a little too rude.

Is she really laying down with him?
Is she really gonna shave his back tonight?
Is she really laying down with him?
Coz if my eyes don't deceive me,
Some munters are getting laid around here.