by Kelso, Chris
—I’m not Mary.
—No?
—No, surely that’s obvious?
—Well aye, I did think it a bit strange to be honest…
—I have absorbed Mary though.
—Absorbed her aye?
—Aye. Like a sponge, that’s my deal.
—So… er, if you’re not Mary then who are ye? Christ, you’re not her husband are you??
—No, but I did absorb him too. Mary offered him up without much of a fight.
—I see…
—I’m what you commonly refer to as The Mainstream…
—The Mainstream?
—Yes. You’ve heard of me before. I’m the most vile and repugnant beast to stalk the earth and here I am, face to face with one of my detractors!
—I thought the Black Dog was the most vile and repugnant beast to stalk the earth?
—We share prey, he gets the humans in the grease-trap cities and I get his leftovers.
—Isn’t it supposed to be the other way about? Aren’t the dogs supposed to feed from the scraps?
Bobby grinned then cowered.
—He was right about you.
—Eh?
—The Dog said you were completely fucked.
—Naw, you see, I’m not actually anti-mainstream. My web of deceit is actually about as mainstream as you can get, I’m just a wannabe…
—The fact you want to be something means you exist outside the parameters of the mainstream.
—No!
—No? Then why am I having such a hard time absorbing you?
—I honestly don’t know. I’m a blue-collar kinda guy, all my talk of being an artist is just lies, I promise!
—You’re a lot of things Bobby. You’re pathetic, a liar, a user, but you’re NOT mainstream. You’re not vicious enough to be part of it all.
—So, what’d you want with me?
—I came here for old Mary. In exchange for conventional family life she offered up her essence. She owed me.
—And I owe you now, is that it?
—No, on the contrary, you don’t owe me anything.
—Then I can go?
—No.
Bobby stood still as a nightmarish swirl of steam circled about him.
—Believe it or not my lust and greed is greater even than yours. It’s people like you and I who run the show Bobby. I came to absorb Mary but I’ve come to talk with you…
—I don’t see what I can offer you Mr. Mainstream. I’m into art. I’ve got no skills of any value. You can’t make an artist mainstream.
—I don’t want you to become mainstream, I told you already I can’t absorb you. You don’t belong inside me, not right now. My entire function is to consume human beings, destroy their brains with reality television and twist their hearts with unobtainable images of Hollywood romance. I need to feed and fuck and then I keep reproducing.
—So what do you want?
—I want you to be part of me, but first you have to do something.
—Part of the mainstream? Are you kidding, I spent my whole life trying to avoid you!
—You know I exist because of you Bobby?
—Pah!
—If you do this one act, this single gesture, I can absorb you. I know you really want this, a chance to belong to something, to fit in instead of lying and fucking your way through life. I get them all in the end Bobby.
—What do you mean you get them all in the end?
—I get them all, all the best directors, all the best actors, musicians and writers. They all submit to me eventually. Now…
The creature advanced on Bobby with its semi-erect nose. Bobby kneeled and licked his lips. The Mainstream prepared for the moist O of Bobby’s mouth. Bobby closed his eyes and bared his teeth.
—Never underestimate the true intentions of the mainstream…
~
Outside children are playing in a park, happy screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs, too young to even realise they’re truly happy and that this is the best it will ever get. There’s a white boxer dog bounding after a Frisbee but it’s become suddenly confused by the dissonant, wailing infants and the scratching din of lawnmowers and passing by albumen-coloured ice-cream trucks. A sudden shadow is cast over the world…
The astronaut fidgets,
Juggling genitals that had been crammed mercilessly into a hard protective spacesuit
It was always a challenge trying to see beyond the glare of your helmet
But the planet was there
You were sure
For a moment, in the dead hush of beyond,
you floated…
Like a helium balloon long escaped from the captivity of a small child’s birthday party
And saw that the planet was there
You floated…
And then, the lightest tug of Umbilical tether from the maintenance crew,
The same crew who manned a sub-orbital craft, told you it was time to come back on board now
But why would you want to go back?
In outer space, a human beings inner space detonates
Shrinks then dies
Having been overwhelmed by a new sense of who and what you are, and why and how you came to be there
The astronaut conquered his itch
You picked a star
Decided you would swim towards it
And in severing the line that secured you to the human craft you would be free
The astronaut is a dust of pepper
Sprinkled over infinities midnight luncheon
It’s to know this that makes you cut the chord
To slash away this awful truth
Because what you realised
While floating…
Is that all that makes you feel truly human
And, indeed, insignificant
Is being surrounded by other human beings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . .
YOU
JUST
CAN’T
WIN
Other Works by the Author
Novellas
A Message from the Slave State
Moosejaw Frontier
Transmatic
Short Story Collections
Schadenfreude
Novels
The Dissolving Zinc Theatre
Magazines (with Garrett Cook)
Imperial Youth Review issue 1
Imperial Youth Review issue 2
Comics
The New Animal Liberation Front
Anthologies
Caledonia Dreamin’— Strange Fiction of Scottish Descent (ed. With Hal Duncan)
Terror Scribes (ed. With Adam Lowe)