Man of Ruin_Episode One

by Oliver Franks

  I sat down, slumped, looked out over the field, the kids all playing footy, enjoying their Saturday mornings kicked out of bed by tyrannical fathers.

  “Good,” he said. “But I am getting you a drink. I nice big one. No arguments. This is James you’re talking to remember.”

  He stood up, put a hand on my shoulder, as if to keep me in my seat, and trotted off to the cafe.

  The bastard. I could have left. Should have left. But I didn’t. I just felt as if the universe was shitting on me, it had some kind of horrible plan for me. And at this point in time I had no answers, no strategy, nothing I could think of to do in response. Not even just to get up and get away from bloody James. Plus I was thirsty again. The bastard.

  “What do you want James?” I asked him after I’d taken my first sip of the Dr Peppers bottle he put in front of me.

  I put it down and realised it was one of those little round coffee tables that never balanced properly, always tottering with the least pressure or weight, wobbling and spilling your drink if you so much as placed a finger on it.

  He sat down and just grinned at me in that sickening way of his.

  “First things first, I want to see you in action.”

  “In action? You make it sound like I’m some kind of machine.”

  “Well…” he raised an eyebrow.

  “You already saw. Last night.”

  “Yeah but we were all pissed up. You know when I woke up this morning I thought it had all been a dream. But nothing like it could so crazy and so… vivid. I just kept replaying it my mind. It wouldn’t go away.”

  “Tell me about it…” I muttered.

  “But still I want to see again. Sober. Just to make sure I’ve got it right.”

  I sighed.

  “I don’t need to go right now,” I said.

  He laughed.

  “You will do soon. Come on, drink up. There’s a good little spot I’ve got in mind, just up there on the hill, a clearing in the trees.”

  Jesus, he really had been thinking things through. Not another bloody spot with trees. He was right, though, I would need to pee again soon. And the park was as good a place as any. There was no getting away from him just yet. He’d stick to me like a dog.

  *****

  So I decided that the best thing would be just to get it over with as soon as possible. The sooner he got what he wanted, the sooner I could ditch him. It was approaching late morning, so I was hungry too. I ordered a burger, some crisps and a big Mars bar. I scoffed it all and drank down the Dr. Peppers.

  Feeling better for eating, it was as if the whole thing had been timed to perfection. As soon as I finished the last bite I was primed and ready for my next urination.

  “Come on then James,” I said with a sigh, standing up.

  He looked up from his phone. “You ready?” he said, far too excited about the whole thing.

  “Yes I’m bloody ready, now are you coming or not?”

  I marched in the direction he had indicated. I could hear him scrambling to catch up.

  *****

  Up on the hill there was what I can only describe as a clump of trees disguised as a small wood. From elsewhere it gave the impression of being larger than it actually was, due to the way the trees were lined in rows. But once you got anywhere near it you saw it for what it was - a small collection of trees designed to give the park the impression of being a proper, country style park, which it most definitely wasn’t, situated right in the centre of Crawley as it was. I suppose they didn’t name it ‘Hope Park’ for nothing.

  Within this ‘wood’ there was a small clearing housing a large trunk which lay in the horizontal. When we got closer to it I saw that someone had sculpted the exposed, sandy coloured end into a series of detailed, gargoyle type faces wearing various expressions of joy, happiness and laughter.

  “Right Davey,” said James, “let’s see you get your piss all over that then.”

  “What?”

  “Go on, I want to see what happens. If I saw what I think I saw last night, then all those smiles will soon turn to frowns.”

  I was genuinely worried about James.

  “They won’t just turn to frowns…” I muttered.

  “Well go on then, what are you waiting for. I thought you were bursting?”

  I scratched my forehead and looked around, determined not to ruin someone’s beautiful artwork on purpose.

  “Look James, I’m not a flipping vandal alright. So far any damage caused has been purely accidental.”

  “Davey! Don’t be such a boring twat!”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’ve got a better idea though.”

  I had spotted the shine of water on the other side of the clump of trees. Ignoring James (and enjoying having this power over him) I strode over to it. It was a smallish pond, ten metres wide at best, and it was perfect, obscured by surrounding trees, even if they didn’t have any strength in numbers. Plus there was no one around at the moment. I unzipped.

  “Pissing into a pond’s not gonna show me anything!” whined James. He obviously had not been there this morning to see the toilet water pop and fizz. There was nothing normal about that!

  So I peed into that pond and low and behold, James was mighty impressed.

  “Jesus Christ, Davey!”

  He put a hand on his forehead like he was witnessing a miracle.

  As the pee hit the water there was an immediate and very strong and distinctive sound. More than a fizz, there was a whistle to it this time, like the sound a kettle makes when it’s boiling. Perhaps, I surmised, because of the sheer volume of water. But there was obviously something different about this water too, because this pond infused smoke had an eerie green swampy tinge to it, in addition to the usual whispy yellowness. Both of us caught a whiff of this and immediately started retching at the foul stench of it, like how I imagine the smell of putrid dog food or a Bolognese that’s been sitting in the sun for days. The greenish-whitish smoke rose thickly, obscuring everything that stood behind it, and James and I were pleased when I finished what turned out to be a fairly longish pee-sesh.

  “Right, happy now?” I zipped up and turned to James.

  His face was white, like the bedsheets of a nun. He was staring down at the pond.

  “Jesus Davey…” he muttered, his voice full of reverence.

  I turned and saw what had so impressed him. The water where I had peed now had a golden, oily layer to it, interlaced with thousands of tiny, fluffy, shiny little crystals reflecting light from the cloudy sky. More than that, there were a series of thin brown objects floating in amongst it like corks.

  With a weight in the bottom of my stomach, I realised that these were fish. Dead fish. Fish killed by the poisonous power of my urine. If we were drunk, it would have been funny, but in the sober light of an autumn day, it felt like the coming of the apocalypse.

  Chapter 5

  For what felt like ages I stood staring in horror at the litter of dead fishes floating before me. Their skins had been decimated, bones exposed, eyes popped, scales flaking off, turned a grimy brown. The smell was overpowering, a funk of burning and rotting flesh. It made me gag, but I was so shocked by what I had done I couldn’t even manage to puke. I was stuck to the spot, fascinated, terrified. Was this it? My future? Doomed to witness repeated destructions of my own making, again and again, simply by performing the most natural and unavoidable of bodily functions?

  “Davey,” I felt the slap of James’s hand on my shoulder. “This is amazing.”

  “What?” I said. “No it’s bloody well not.”

  He laughed to himself. “Don’t be so serious, it’s only fish.”

  I shook my head.

  “Look, Davey, I can see you’re upset, not thinking straight at all, and that’s understandable. But listen,” he leaned in close and whispered, “this could be your ticket, you know.”

  I ripped his hand from my shoulder and turned to face him square on.

  “What d’you mean?�
��

  The corner of his lips curled suggestively.

  “Well, you’ve got something special, you know,” he said. “Something no one else’s got. Just got to figure out how to use it to our advantage.”

  I wrinkled my nose, sceptical to say the least.

  “Oh Davey, you’re so naive! You could do whatever you wanted with this!”

  “All I want is to be able to take a piss without destroying something or hurting someone… or killing something.”

  “Come on now Davey, you could do a lot better than that. Just think about it. People would pay good money to see you mangle another climbing frame.”

  I heard the words but for a moment I couldn’t really believe he was saying them. Seeing his earnest face, no longer smug, genuinely trying to entice me, trying to sell me his big idea. I felt as if I should either collapse onto the ground in a ball of tears, or leg it as far as my legs could take me, Forest Gump style.

  “Jesus, you’re serious aren’t you?” I said, understanding why he had been so keen to get involved. “What, you want me to be some kind of freak show?”

  “Not a freak show Davey,” he protested. “Well, sort of, I guess. Just use your imagination would you!”

  I put my hands in my pockets, waiting to see what his imagination would come up with.

  “Alright,” he said, waving his arms, “how about Britain’s Got Talent?”

  “Oh yeah sure!” I laughed. “I’m sure everyone would love to see me take a pee on live TV!”

  “They wouldn’t have to see your—”

  “See my member? No they wouldn’t,‘cos I’d never bloody do that!”

  “Well, why not! You could make millions.”

  I laughed again, so dismissively it was bound to wind him up.

  “I never had you down as an idiot James, but who do you suppose is going to pay me millions to wee on stuff? Doesn’t sound like the most lucrative activity does it!”

  “You just need to be creative is all I’m saying!”

  We were both shouting and suddenly there came this moment. There we were, staring sternly at the other, breathing hard, almost ready to get physical.

  “OK, how about this then Davey,” he said, rehashing his hushed tone.

  I raised a hand to shut him down—

  “No,” he talked over me, “hear me out—”

  “Why don’t I just bloody leave right now,” I muttered to myself. “Find myself a desert island and piss into the sand—”

  “Robbery.”

  He said the word, just that single word. My mouth fell open. All I could do was look at him in disbelief.

  “I’m serious! With pee like that you could break into Fort Knox.”

  “For Christ’s sake, that’s it.”

  And I turned and walked away. I could sense his searing disappointment with me, but he didn’t follow, and I didn’t give a shit.

  *****

  By now the morning had grown into midday. The cloud-cover was thick and grey, and there was a strong chill in the wind. I trudged across the park, the grass crunchy and icy underfoot. The world was not what it once had been for me, not any more. This was a Saturday morning, I should have been pigging out at home in my flat, blasting my way through a PS4 session, or binging box-sets, or wanking, or doing whatever I fancied to relax on my weekend. I should have been thinking vaguely of the shower I was going to take at some undetermined point of my own choosing, of the meal I would have later that afternoon, maybe a burger, or a KFC, or both, then maybe a stroll to the pub, a few beers, or maybe go to the cinema. Or maybe both. Maybe all of that and more. Maybe some popcorn and a milkshake from that place I love where you can ask them to put anything the hell you like in there - Mars Bar, Snickers, Maltesers, one of each, four of each, it didn’t matter, in that place the customer was always right and this was the weekend, after a long week of work. I deserved to indulge.

  I thought vaguely of my parents and what they were doing over in Kent. Garden related, it would definitely be. I dismissed that thought as quickly as it had come, for I despised my parents and they hardly cared for me, especially since I had quit Uni, started talking “like someone from the estates”, broke up with Alice and buggered off here to Crawley. What would they think of my current predicament? Being that they, like my neighbours, were broadly representative of the UK’s Daily Mail reading population, I found it strangely warming to think that they would probably advocate having me put down. At the very least, I would make a great scare story and a lesson for all young people out there to eat your greens, get some exercise, settle down and vote Tory.

  My mind full of such nonsense, I reached the concrete path that laced around Hope Park. On the other side were parked cars, road, the town, the wider world that didn’t seem to have any place for me any more. At least, not the appropriate toilet facilities. What should I do? Where should I go? I had no clue at all.

  Spotting a bench nearby, I walked to it, vaguely hoping to figure something out.

  I plonked my behind down and shoved my hands into my pocket.

  So, now what?

  *****

  I considered my options.

  First point, really important, was to keep things simple. I needed to wee. I would always need to wee. Yet I couldn’t go around destroying toilets everywhere I went. Parks were an obvious option, yet one that was still fraught with danger. What if I was seen? What if I had another accident with a tree, or some other unforeseen difficulty should arise? What if, say, I peed on a spot where a Second World War bomb lay beneath? It sounded ridiculous, but it was possible.

  Nowhere was safe for me, nowhere where there were people and things. There were bad places, and less bad places. For now at least my life was going to have to be a constant selection of safe-to-pee spots. I would spend my days slinking from spot to spot, always one eye over my shoulder, always the fear that this pee could be my last. It was a sphincter of a fate but one I just had to get to grips with.

  Next question. Should I go home, back to the flat? I imagined the landlord and my neighbours waiting for me there. I knew I could pull off a lie or two but it seemed impossible to explain what had happened without a string of absolute whoppers, all of which would easily get found out. For one thing, I hadn’t been to Guildford, never had been, and had no friends there whatsoever. They’d soon discover there’d been no break-in or anything like that. The whole incident could probably pass as a great mystery, perhaps dismissed as some kind of ‘freak accident’, if it wasn’t for my neighbours. To them, it would be obvious that somehow, through some crazy, laddish stunt, I had caused the destruction of my toilet. I could hear them saying the words, “typical, he isn’t even man enough to admit it.”

  They’d be partly right, at least. Bottom line, nothing good would come from the mess I’d made of my toilet, and I could see no advantage to going back and facing things, aside from sleeping in my bed, and having access to my stuff. That was important. Really. I couldn’t just wander the streets.

  The more I thought about it, the more I grew angry. The whole thing was just one big pile of poo that had been dropped in my lap. Was I the doer of great wrong in all this? Of any wrong? Why did I have to struggle and suffer now? Was it my fault my wee had gone radioactive? Had I intentionally destroyed anything?