BANG! He knee-capped himself, screaming for many long minutes in disbelief at how much pain he could possibly endure without losing consciousness, and only as he was close to death did he manage to mutter ‘YOLO’ into the camcorder that he had fortuitously dropped at just the right angle to capture his farewell grimace.
He leapt off the top turnbuckle and elbow-dropped the pavement, crunching into it beautifully, utterly failing to break it and instead devastating his own arm and, in truth, his life prospects. And for what? Nothing. Nothing at all, he realised as he lay there whimpering in total solitude, unconsoled even by birdsong.
Little Jamie was running around, Jayden was following him, Katie had just pooed in her nappy and now mother was calling for help from upstairs too, and if she was calling while the kids were going mad, that meant it was urgent. Now she saw smoke coming from the oven. Shit! She’d forgotten about their waffles. Oh, God. And it was raining. The washing had to be dry for this evening. Then her phone started ringing, and it was her boss. He never usually rang. Just as she was about to answer it, she heard a sharp rap on the front door and a face trying to poke through the letterbox. The bailiff! Oh, God. And he’d definitely seen her already. Her mum called again. She told Katie to just stay still for a moment. She thought of getting Jamie to bring in the washing but then almost laughed at the idea. She began to scurry upstairs. But then the smoke alarm went off, and it was piercingly loud. Suddenly, near the bottom of the stairs, she found herself losing control, and turd after turd plunged out of her arse, into and through her knickers and fell free to flop indecorously into the puddle of piss she had poured forth at the same time.
As he realised with dread that gravity was taking over, he tried to grasp at some kind of handhold, but couldn’t get any purchase and tumbled with a panicked yelp off the huge heap of binbags, expecting to hit the hard floor but instead landing in the total darkness on more bin bags, from which he fell onto more below, and still more, unable to see where they ended or prepare for the moment when he would meet something solid, which not even the bags contained, every one being stuffed full with a squelchy melange of beans, putrid chicken offcuts and amazingly heavily-laden nappies and tampons.
He followed through into his own jodhpurs, the warmth of the preceding gruntwind compounded by the hot solidity of his luscious excreta, and the fine, hand-woven beige cotton assuming a dark, almost worrying brown hue from the turd, which was pressed in thoroughly thanks to his sudden sitting motion and the subsequent hour of demented twerking as the radio blathered about an aeroplane ‘hitting the Pentagon’ (as if).
He bashed out the last few strokes and kaboom! There it went, spurting out energetically, some of the spooge flinging off to one side and a lot running over his hand and onto his tummy. He lay back again, let go and sighed. He began to feel that gorgeous drowsiness coming over him, and he closed his eyes with a smile and rolled contentedly onto his right and straight off the ledge, screaming in utter panic as he fell and now splattered into tiny pieces on the ground, thankfully missing all the passers-by but no doubt contaminating at least a few of them with droplets of hot cum.
He had been repeatedly told that ‘always be moving forward’ was the key tenet of freerunning, yet he found it increasingly difficult to do so as both his ankles shattered, he crumpled awkwardly between two buildings, his screams of agony were unheeded, and darkness fell.
She had decided that, while it might be Friday night and everyone was going out tonight, she was going to run a long bath, put cucumbers on her eyes, do a face pack and listen to her audiobook of Geoffrey Boycott Reads a Thousand Years of The Shipping Forecast (unedited version).
He came hard into the Christmas pudding! The sight of those boobs wreathed in tinsel was just too much – well, that and the sensation of his sturdy wand plunging in and out of the warm figs, apricots and orange rind.
He sprinted into the room and dove straight at the pile of presents, elbow dropping the biggest one and crashing into all the others, the tree falling onto him, the fairy lights tearing from the walls and then the TV and sound system toppling from the unit too, the last strains of Johnny Mathis descending into a warped gurgle before cutting out completely.