Stare Into Space

Never Say Monday Again

Posted on | January 18, 2010 | 9 Comments


GERRY, a ruggedly handsome, goatee-sporting rake in his 30’s (just), strides purposefully into the dispatching chamber. He stands at the bottom of the murder platform and crosses his manly arms.


So, Monday... We meet again.

MONDAY, strapped to the murder platform and whimpering like a girl, looks up with tears in his annoying eyes.


What? Do you expect me to be fun?  Is that what you expect?


No, Monday.  I expect you to die.

Gerry nods hunkily to a technician who turns to a console and twiddles knobs. A laser COUGHS and SPLUTTERS, emitting a weak, stuttering beam of light before extinguishing completely.


Oh for fuck’s sake-

The laser suddenly leaps back into life.  Radiation gets all stimulated and emitted, amplifying light and heading straight for Monday’s crotch.  Monday looks worried – like some little bitch or something.

Gerry smiles an evil, yet charmingly attractive, smile. His muscular legs walk his buff torso up the exit ramp. He laughs as he goes.


If I fail to report, Tuesday will just take my place.

Gerry stops short. His attractive face scrunches (strikingly) with awful realisation.




Gerry Hayes

Gerry Hayes

I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.

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