Carpet Diem

by Justin Lee Anderson

he hated other people. Not any specific other people; just everyone who wasn’t him.

(why an Australian would want to live in Switzerland bewildered Simon, sometimes keeping him awake at night wondering what Switzerland might have that Australia lacked),

Fifteen years ago, the rest of Simon’s family had been killed in a tragic, pudding-related accident.

Simon had wondered whether it was psychologically significant that an Irish Catholic girl had turned out a lesbian after her entire family was blown to pieces the first time she touched a penis.

The doorbell didn’t work. Simon had had it disconnected ten years ago as a birthday present to himself. (He’d enjoyed awarding himself the ‘no-bell’ prize and briefly lamented having nobody with whom to share the joke.)

“Indeed. And then, fifteen years ago, you inherited it from your uncle and laid it in your living room.”

years. To do so, having given him all of an hour’s warning to dress and prepare himself, and without actually telling him where they were going, seemed to Simon not a little unfair. To help take his mind off it, Lily had nipples again.

“Because to those who have power and wealth, only information has value.”

was as if someone had melted his insides into a comfy mess, then poured him into a bath full of yum.

Despite having engaged a function of his brain he hadn’t previously been aware of – the ‘fuck it’ button – Simon was still desperately grasping for some form of perspective on everything.

Tossing and turning on a slab of stone, Bob knew his bed was still infinitely more comfortable than Calderon’s resting place – inside a supporting beam of one of Europe’s longest bridges.

“Those who help you are not always your friends; those who oppose you are not always your enemies.”

“Simon, assuming a woman is a prostitute is even worse than assuming she’s pregnant,” Faunt said, smiling in a way that Simon thought clearly suggested he was suppressing a laugh.

Dear God, she was fabulous. “What do you think of this then, boys? Got your tackle twitching?” Dear God, she was Harriet.

“My Lord, girlie, you’ve the heart of a lion and the mind of a harlot!”

Her voice was like a young Katherine Hepburn’s. She had a sensuous Southern drawl that made Simon think of hot summer nights, white cotton shirts, repressed homosexuality and insidious racism.

“Sorry,” Simon replied, hushed now, “but do you realise what’s about to happen?” The pair looked at each other blankly. “Pirates versus Ninjas!”