Deus ex Machina

Deus ex machina, or ‘god from the machine’ has come to mean a plot device that allows an abrupt and unfeasible solution to a problem when a writer has painted a character into a corner.

Semantic satiation

When Ian used the word for the third time, Carley knew something was seriously wrong.  “I’m passionate about hoovering the bedroom.”  “I’m passionate about this cup of tea.”  “I’m passionate about what that man on Sky Sports has just said.”

Ian was never passionate about anything!  Never had been.  Not ever in the twenty, long years of their married life.

Now he was passionate.  Passionate, Passionate, Passionate.  The more passionate he was, the weirder the word sounded.  It became devoid of any meaning, a sound only.  Not really very different to ugh or eeuw.  Grimacing, she thought the word had actually become passion-less.

But where had his use of the word come from?  When she checked his phone that she knew would be in the pocket of his jacket on the hall bannister, she found the source of his passion.  Text after text to Suki in accounts.  “I’m passionate about your eyes”.  “I’m passionate about your tits.”

Bastard.

It’s not even that Carley wanted him for herself any longer.  It was more that she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get out first.  Not before she did.  No way jose.

She said nothing to him overnight as she lay awake in the dark, listening with increasing irritation to his snores and gentle farting.  But in the morning, she was angry.  Bloody, incandescently angry.  She started plotting what she could do.  God, she wished she had a big, fucking gun.  She’d blast the bastard with it if she had.

She went in to the bathroom to think on the toilet, when on the floor next to the washing basket, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before.  A long, dark green box and looking more closely, she saw it had a sign on its lid.  ‘Only open in case of emergency’.

She got up from the toilet, bent down to open the box and lo and behold, inside it was a shotgun.  A big, fucking shotgun.

Outside on the landing, she heard the stairs creak as Ian walked up them.  She took the gun in her hand, opened the door and came out.  Both barrels blazing.

***

Stiffy

Jack Jauntily, gentleman adventurer and part-time necrophiliac, leapt through the window of the funeral home.  Some young lady was going to get lucky tonight!

He twirled his moustache while he looked round the room.  It was dimly, some might say tastefully, lit and fragranced with the overpowering scent of lilies.  There were a number of coffins placed on their stands, some with lids closed and some with their hinged lids open.

He’d been fighting tigers in Borneo only the day before, so Jack was quite exhausted.  Sometimes, he liked the challenge of a closed lid, but not tonight.  Tonight, he wanted the ease of an open coffin.  Wham bam, thank you ma’am, delighted to make your acquaintance.  Then off for a tipple or two at the club.

He finally settled on a coffin in the corner of the room.  A nice, rosewood one, lid propped open; with what looked like a fine young filly inside it.  He took off his coat, draped it over the chair at the side of the coffin and then climbed in.

On closer examination (and it was a lot closer!), the filly wasn’t as young as he thought.  More mature.  More vintage champagne than young Beaujolais, if the truth be told.  But hey ho, thought Jack, he didn’t want to be deemed impolite.  So he shifted a little and settled down to business.  However, just at that moment, he kicked the coffin lid with the back of his fine leather brogues and it shut with a decisive snap.

Now, there was only darkness and an odour that the strongest lilies in the world wouldn’t be able to overcome.  What could a gentleman adventurer in this position possibly do?  With his ardour fast cooling, so to speak, Jack made a plan.

There was just enough space to wriggle on to his back and apologising profusely to the grand old dame, he kangaroo kicked the coffin lid open.  Apologising again to the coffin’s occupant (she rather reminded him of his mother), he sat up.  And with one energetic bound, Jack was free.

***

Exo

I’ve always liked changing and improving things.  Rooms in my house.  Myself.  I’ve changed my hairstyle more times that I can count and not one item of my clothing lasts longer than a month.

Over the years, I’ve got into extreme body modification.  I started, of course, with a few, tame piercings and these led me on to the colourful, wonderful world of tattoos.  There’s not an inch of my body, including my face, that isn’t inked and each tattoo has a meaning and a particular significance for me.

But these days, everyone you know has tattoos. They’re the norm and tattooed face or not, they don’t make you stand out from the crowd any more.  So next, I got into spacers, creating huge holes in my ears first and then my cheeks.  I loved to see people’s reaction when I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out of the sides of my face.

But the weekend tattoo people started moving into ear spacers and so I ran ahead of the crowd and got my left eyeball tattooed.  Black ink injected under the eye’s thin, top layer, so that eye looked completely and soullessly black.  Along with this, I had elf ears and a bifurcated tongue created.  For a while, no one could touch me for weird individuality.

But nothing lasts forever and soon enough, I began to notice on the streets the occasional snake tongue and strangely coloured eyeball that meant I’d soon be jostling in the mainstream again.

When I saw the website company that said their body artists could expose your backbone if you wanted them to and you paid enough, I began gathering my money together.  Even by my standards, this was extreme.  The ultimate taboo – revealing to the outside what should be kept in.

After the operation, I woke up and groggily came round.  I moved slightly and felt along my back.  There, jutting out of the ripped vent of skin, was the corrugated, delicate bone of my spine.  At that point, a friendly looking nurse came towards my bed and said, “Hi, how’re you doing?  You’re looking good.  There’s something else you ought to know though.  We’ve thrown in another procedure for free.  Two for the price of one.”

 I looked down then and saw my heart, slimily and bloodily pumping on the outside of my chest; just by my pyjama pocket.  I began screaming instantly and very, very loudly.

Then I woke up again and it was all a dream.