RAF PARKER

The Waste Removal Team

Was it a drunken mistake? A slip over the edge from above the red line? A regretful decision influenced unfairly by the sinking inflictions of the mind? Does it even matter, to me, to anyone?

Just one. A solitary singularity of a death.

Alone.

The break of dawn the break of bone. The only mark he left on the world, a crimson stain on the concrete.

Flowers.

“Our thoughts are with you. Rest In Peace.”

The Waste Removal Team.

Isla Comer

Macbeth at a Football Match

Scotland versus England, blues versus reds. The ref throws a coin, it flips and lands on heads.

So Captain Duncan was to start when the referee’s whistle blew: Scotland start and lose the ball before the first minute’s through.

Macbeth grunts, looks around and then he starts to run, but a hand stops him and a body says: “Look here, Son, I’d be glad to see Duncan go and you become the captain. Then we might stand a chance at finally getting the win.”

“What do you mean? Duncan’s right there. They’re giving him a cheer. Well, I guess if it was for the team my conscience would be clear?”

But the man was gone; subbed off, Macbeth supposed. He thought about it, and soon a devilish plan arose.

When the whistle blew for a corner, they were all looking the other way. He crept up behind Duncan’s leg, and then committed foul play.

“Aargh!” Duncan exclaimed, and heaved onto his back.

By now Macbeth was far away, laughing like a maniac.

Duncan was stretchered off and Macbeth appointed to lead. But his conscience wasn’t clear, it was still troubled by the deed.

As if by magic the strange man’s body appeared once again.

“No one will know,” assured the man, “the captaincy you’ll retain. Unless the English goalie, Bernie Wood, scores against our team!”

And with that the man disappeared just like a child’s daydream.

Macbeth looked around in confusion, and then with absolute depression. The English goalie had scored from a bad pass’s interception. Macbeth took the ball early, and kicked it like a missile.