[NOT] A one word story

I stepped off the train onto the deserted platform. It was midnight. The full moon shone brightly. I buttoned my coat to protect myself from the chilly night air, and then I left the platform. The streets were equally deserted. My steps echoed.

I walked for a few minutes, seeing nobody. Why would I? It was midnight, after all. I whistled the music from The Godfather to keep myself occupied. For yards and yards I walked, whistling and alone. But then, in the distance, I saw a small, shadowy figure.

It looked like it was a child. What was a kid doing outside at this hour? I kept walking, but the shadowy figure was stationery. Just standing there, in the distance. Was it waiting for me? I got closer, squinting to try to make out the face of the silhouette.

When the face came into view, I gasped and froze. The face was hideous. Goblin-like. He looked Satan’s whore’s aborted foetus.

‘Hello,’ said the creature. He broke into a sinister smile, and his eyes seemed to grow larger.

‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘Tonight,’ said the creature, ‘is your time to die!”

He threw his head back and let out a sickening cackle. I turned and ran as fast as I could. I could barely breathe. My heart felt like it would burst any second. I felt faint. I could hear the creature’s footsteps behind me, chasing me, hunting me.

I took a sharp right to try to shake the creature off. I ran into a tunnel. My steps sounded even louder, echoing around the tunnel. The creature’s footsteps were still following me.

When I emerged from the tunnel, a group of women were there. They all wore pink Stetsons. I collapsed in front of them.

‘Please help me,’ I said.

One of the women approached me. ‘What’s happened?’ she said.

‘Something was chasing me,’ I said, pointing behind me.

The woman looked into the tunnel and shook her head. ‘But there’s no one there.’

I looked behind me and saw that the goblin was gone. I began to sob. The woman put her hand on my shoulder.

‘Why are you all wearing pink Stetsons?’ I asked.

The women giggled. One of them said, ‘Because we’ve just been to a Dolly Parton concert.’

‘Well,’ I said,’ that explains it.’

I stood, thanked the women, and asked if I could walk with them. They agreed. I was safe. To express my relief, I shouted, ‘*beep* you, goblin.’

I hoped he heard. The little bastard. I didn’t know who he was, or what he wanted with me, but he was out of order chasing me like that.

The women and I discussed what had happened. They were all in agreement that the goblin was indeed a bastard. When they got to their house, they invited me inside. I went in and had coffee and scones.

I asked if I could use the toilet. I needed a piss something royal. After pissing, flushing and washing my hands, I left the toilet and was about to walk down the stairs when, through the open door of a bedroom, I saw a glass case with old coins inside. I had always liked coins. I had many myself. I couldn’t resist checking them out, so I stepped into the bedroom.

The coins were spectacular. Old English coins, foreign coins. Quite a collection. I was so in awe of them that I lost track of time.

‘Are you okay up there?’ one of the women shouted from downstairs.

‘Quite,’ I replied. ‘I’m on my way down now. Just had a difficult turd, that’s all.’

I was on my way down when, through the slightly ajar door of another bedroom, I saw a man on all fours, sniffing and licking a red stiletto shoe while he furiously masturbated. I walked closer and saw that he also had a large black dildo in his arse.

‘Are you okay there?’ I asked.

The man stopped touching himself, looked at me, and said, ‘Yes. I’m very well. And you?’

I shrugged. ‘Can’t complain.’

The man nodded and resumed his activity. I walked downstairs and left the house, shouting my goodbyes to the women as I left.

It was now morning. I strolled to the shop, where I planned to buy some crisps, letting the warm sun strike my face. I felt content, but then a gang of hoodlums approached me. There were six of them. They were all in their late teens or early twenties. They all wore tracksuits and trainers.

‘Give us all of your *beep* money, you fag,’ said one of the gang. He wore a blue tracksuit.

I didn’t want to give them my money; I needed to buy crisps. I shook my head.

‘Right,’ said the one with the blue tracksuit, ‘you’re *beep* dead.’

As he walked closer to me, I got on all fours and began to bark. The man stopped and stared at me, his eyes and mouth both wide open. I continued to bark. Each bark was more aggressive than the last.

‘You’re not right, mate,’ said the one in the blue tracksuit.

*beep* weirdo,’ said another.

My barking continued. Louder and louder. Spittle flew from my mouth. The veins at my temples throbbed. If I could have seen my face, I would probably have been alarmed at how red it probably was.

The gang looked at each other and backed away. I turned and raced down the street on all fours like a greyhound. I was still barking. After a couple of minutes, I caught sight of myself in the window of a building and stopped.
I was a dog.

A glorious greyhound with a glossy mane. Other dogs nearby looked at me enviously. I skipped to one of them, a Rottweiler, tapped it on the nose, and said, ‘Your mane is not as glossy as mine.’

The Rottweiler barked.

‘Why can’t you talk?’ I asked.

‘Dogs can’t talk,’ the Rottweiler replied.
‘Fair enough,’ I said.

I couldn’t remember if I had always been a dog, so I trotted to the hospital and asked to see a doctor.

‘Take a seat, please,’ said the young, blonde woman on the reception desk.

‘What time do you finish?’ I asked.

She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I have a boyfriend.’

‘But I bet he can’t lick his own balls.’

‘Actually, he can. He’s a dog, too. But I prefer it when he licks me. It makes me go all gooey inside.’

I turned from the woman and took a seat. Now the doctor would have to mend my broken heart, too. Seated next to me was a rotund gentleman with one of those waxed moustaches that I had always thought made a man look like a twat.
‘You’re a twat,’ I said to him.

The rotund man began to sob. ‘I know I am,’ he said. He began to pull hairs from his moustache. I continued to watch as he pulled out every hair until he was clean shaven. He stopped crying. Then he walked out of the hospital, slapping a small child across the face as he did so.

The child began to cry.

‘You’re a twat, too,’ I said to the child.

It was at that point that I knew I wanted to become a politician. I didn’t even want to see the doctor anymore. All I could think about was becoming Prime Minister.

I bolted from the hospital and headed home. When I got there, I went to my bedroom, typed my manifesto, and printed some flyers. I wanted every home to have at least one hundred wooden pegs, every child to have a green right shoe, and every workplace to serve sausages on a stick at eleven o’clock every weekday morning.

Once I had finished working, I left the house and walked to the Houses of Parliament. Halfway there, I slipped on a banana skin, and when I got up, I was no longer a dog. The walk was otherwise uneventful.

The Prime Minister accepted my proposals, resigned, and made me the new Prime Minister. That evening, I choked to death on a large and surprisingly solid grape.