Updated: Mar 27

One !Happy

He stood looking out of his window. Outside, the sun shone from a clear sky. There was no sound, no planes, no cars, nothing but the birds. There were times when he had imagined this silence, when writing about a dystopia was in fact a dream, that he fought to bring on the paper.

-Don’t disturb daddy-

-Daddy is working-

-Daddy! Where is Daddy! I can’t see him!-

-no. don’t go out! Stay indoors! We can’t go out! We could get infected!-

-Mummy, the other children are outside-

-I don’t see why we have to stay INSIDE!-


To drown out the voices, he put on Queen. His mother’s favourite band.

After The prime Minister, “Spaffo” Johnson had declared a lockdown against CoViD 19 he thought that they were relatively safe. Prior to the lockdown, both Sophie and himself had pulled the kids out of school. Then came the video feed from Facebook. Crazies going on rampage toilet roll binges, then the supermarkets were empty, then the lockdown of three supposed weeks

Lockdown meant “no going to the shops unless it was extremely necessary. If you were to go out, go out one at a time. Only essential trip. The trouble, was the people simply didn’t trust “Spaffo”. So, they ignored him. This led to many people going outside and getting pissed and occasionally arrested. It was days like this, that he wished he had lived in Amsterdam. They had their priorities straight. The queues at the weed shops for lots of beautiful weed. Here, in the UK, it was bog roll. If society ever managed to sort itself out, it would be the recognised at the great bog roll gathering of 2020.

If society. …the words were hollow now.

He finished his journal entry half an hour ago. He had to write out his fun times??? For fucks sake! There was the now. The now.

-Mum? Mum can you hear me?-


A shadow filled the doorway behind him. He didn’t turn. He sensed its presence. A chill curled down his spine as the temperature in the room dropped, He looked at his arms -goose bumps-

-You can’t go out! You will bring the virus here! We will all die!- Sophies voice rose to a wild panic, the trembling of an insane wild-eyed creature who couldn’t come out in the light.

The words faltered out in a near stutter that he could barely control.


There was turn on the stairs and some steps thumping down slowly.

He left the window and sat back at the dusty black desk.

Things I miss, he scratched in pencil. A lump rose in his throat. Pizza, I miss Pizza. Not the home-made Pizza, that shitty frozen pizza that came cellophane wrapped and cardboard packaged and had a shelf life of about one month.

He looked out of the windows at the birds’ nests. They were huge. Then he wrote Things I never tried: Bird nests soup. Cabbage. Even if he threw up Cabbage. That was the reality of life now.


It was Geraldine. The youngest. He didn’t look up. He kept the pencil firmly in his hand. He gripped it so tight, he heard it crack as he felt a kiss on the side of his head.

It felt cold. Like ice.

‘Hello’ The word came out of him flat. Non tonal.

The. Footfalls fell away into silence and hollow echoes.

Another amusing thing about “!Happy” as he called CoVid19 were the old hippies, who desperately tried to persuade the old punks and the year of 75 older adults, who had listened to the Bay City Rollers and ELO with a form of mysticism, that they were right after all. “!Happy” made people smile and get along with each other. It led to the end of wars. It stopped the trillionaires in their tracks. The silence from their machines had now become deafening.

-sit down! SIT DOWN- Sophie sounded angry. Violent.

The dysfunction of it all, cut him with a knife. ‘DYSFUN IS NO FUN AT ALL!’ his voice filled the empty room; and below him. Came a dark laugh that didn’t sound happy at all.




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Well, this is it.

I'm tired, mostly tired, generally tired, and just plain tired. To start with I am tired of life. tired of living actually. Tired of the drum boredom of it all. Tired of the net, of face book telling


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