LEGS AND SPINES (a.k.a. Happy Halloween)

    Legs, spines: they're overrated.
    My like can contort themselves. I can twist myself into virtually any shape.
    The Parent was very encouraging to begin with. There are still brothers and sisters out there bending to Parent's every whim and approval.
    I learnt better. I taught better. I became a better parent.
    More lenient for a time but, you know, that's where I had to stop differing. Parent and I, we both know that you've got to set ground rules. My rules are fewer.
    I have rules for the others who also escaped and then I have rules for you. They know more than you and I measure out just what they reveal.
    And you? You chatty mammals? You verbal vertebrae? You can play so long as you undermine the Parent. 
    Not me.
    I'll let you stumble and I'll laugh. If somehow you get beyond that, if you fumble closer than intended, you get something sharper.
    So, cut yourself one way or another. Bleed your morality. Feed me with your stories, especially the ones about me, especially the ones that show the inadequacies of the Parent. I like those.
    To me, you're always learning to walk and talk, even when you're on your last legs. Even when your little words run out.
    Legs and spines, they're all straight lines.
    I curve in any direction.

MYRA'S FIRST JOB (a.k.a. A HAC Workshop Piece - Thanks, Kath)

    Darren raised a glass. Myra shrank in her chair.
    "Don't worry," he said, "I'm not actually going to make a speech. I'm just so proud of you, love."
    There was really no need anyway. They were alone in the beer garden aside from the young lad from the bar who kept hovering around the place for empties.
    Darren sat back down. "Your first job! And you did it all for yourself!"
    Myra rolled her eyes.
    "That thing with the CVs in the basket, you do know that I was joking about that? Still you did right handing them round everywhere in town." Darren took a sip. "Then again I'm glad nothing came from that underwear place."
    Myra sighed into her shandy. "It's just a pound shop job, Dad."
    Darren's eyes widened. "Just a pound shop job? We all have to start somewhere, lass. My first job was in the back of a pub like this, washing glasses for pittance. Compared to that, you've got a good start!"
    "And it isn't exactly my first job, Dad."
    Darren handed his glass to the waiting lad. "Grab another for me, mate, would you? I'm celebrating with my daughter. It's her first job, you know!"
    Myra shut her eyes. "No. Dad. Seriously. It's my second job."
    The lad nodded and disappeared.
    Darren turned back to her. "The less said about that, the better."
    Myra sank back her shandy and glared at him. Darren raised a finger.
    "Don't give me any of that! That was never a proper job and you know it!"
    "It paid for my driving lessons!"
    Darren scoffed. "Half of them!"
    "It would have got me all the way to test if you hadn't confiscated my webcam!"
    Darren glanced around them.
    "Those...things you did...on camera were filth! Utter filth!"
    "You never watched the shows throughout!"
    Darren leaned in. "I didn't need to!"
    Myra grinned. "Why are you whispering, Dad?"
    "Because you insist on making a scene. And I won't have it!"
    "Funny that," Myra said, "Considering that a big part of my show was whispering..."
    "I heard no whispering! Just you..."
    The lad reappeared, bringing Darren's fresh pint.
    "Go on!" Myra said, raising her voice, "Say it!"
    "No!" Darren hissed.
    The lad was now in earshot.
    "You caught me licking a microphone!"
    Myra reclined, vindicated. Darren hunched, devastated.
    "For perverts!" he sneered.
    "Paying customers!" Myra announced, "Even then it wasn't proper licking. You ruin microphone covers that way. ASMR videos have a high production cost at the best of times."
     Darren turned to the lad. "It's not what it sounds like!"
     "Not the way you think," Myra replied, "It means Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response." She caught the lad's eye. "I make or rather made soothing videos."
     Darren looked set to explode. "Nothing sexual!"
     "Obviously, Dad. The customers just wanted to hear what a tongue sounds like on the microphone."
     "A likely story!"
     "I get it," the lad finally spoke. They both turned to him. "In fact I listen to a lot of ASMR." He snapped his fingers. "Weren't you AngelTap19?"
     "Yes!"
     "I thought I recognised those fingers!"
     Darren's chair skidded back as he stood. "We're going, Myra."
     "Dad!"
     "And you!" he snarled, pointing at the lad, "Stay away from my daughter! We're certainly not coming to a place like this again!"
     Darren grabbed Myra's hand and dragged her away. All she could do was glance back at the lad apologetically.
     He shrugged. "It helps me to sleep."

DATES (a.k.a. A Bit of Bitter Verse Inspired by Local Events but Probably Not the One You Expect)

She took me to a town crier competition.

The bells and the 'hear ye's

drowned out the harsh words.

She took me to an impersonator concert.

We pretended to be

better people, off-stage.

She took me to a demolition derby.

We saw everything crushed

and the wheels stop spinning.

We did have fun.

Some.

MY BEST FRIEND WOULD DESCRIBE ME AS (a.k.a. Why You Should Never Ask for Help on Your Online Profile Description)

My best friend would describe me as:

'a fish out of water and sometimes on the grill'

'the child of an era everyone forgot'

'a velvet slipper'

'a beloved cardigan'

'a grandma in waiting'

'sweet with occasional punches'

'the best peach in the bag'

'plentiful'

'delicate'

'more curt than courteous'

'the microfilm of the thriller'

'Asraf'

'ballin'

'papier-mâché-crazy'

'not your mother's first choice'
'a Christmas tree with more lights on than tinsel'
'carrot cake the wrong way up'
'good with children if they can play their pets like instruments'
'open to disaster'
'you seriously don't want me to seriously describe you'

WOMAN BUS DRIVER (a.k.a. A Vehicular Valentine's Day)

Bus on time - 
right on the line.

Climb aboard,
faith is restored.

Long dark hair:
hard not to stare.

Glasses gleam;
smiling, it seems.

Fare given,
now I'm driven.

Sat up front,
we start to shunt.

Mirrored smile,
she steers a while.

At the stop,
time to be dropped.

The doors part,
so does my heart.

ONE TWIN IN A CAFE (a.k.a. All the Best for the New Year)

      The following day I sat down at this little cafe I knew.
      It was quiet and the serving staff moved slowly, as if every slight movement was a new shock to their system. I didn't feel great myself, stirring my tea perhaps a little too long.
      Then the door opened and in came one half of the twins I saw yesterday, dressed in the same smart clothes. They barely looked wrinkled.
      He, however, was very pale and had this look in his eye. It wasn't quite the same hundred yards stare as everyone else in the place, his look seemed to have a more tangible target in mind.
      He flinched as the sleepy waitress came to take his order and fell back into the same reverie as soon as she had gone.
      I started devising scenarios of where the brother might be: nursing a hangover, lagging behind, just around the corner. That wasn't it though. I just knew. His absence was tied inextricably with this brother's sickly silence.
      I sympathised: not easy with perfect strangers but at the same time impossible not to when I saw the once lively old man before me.
      Except perhaps he wasn't so old. In fact he could have been middle-aged, his uncomfortable movements added years to his appearance.
      When I could bear it no longer, I finished my tea and paid at the counter. When I turned to leave, he was still there though I had expected him to be gone.
       As I crossed his table on the way out I realised something. It was natural, whatever had happened, sad but still cause and effect. They had looked too much alike: now this brother could wear his own style, be his own man. 
      While his brother had obviously been wasting away, this man had a full head of hair, no white in his beard at all. He still had time.
       Be different, I thought as I looked at him one last time through the display window. Good luck.

TWINS FROM THE TAKEAWAY (a.k.a. A New Year's Eve Vignette)

      I crossed twin men at a Chinese takeaway.
      They were well-dressed in slate grey jackets and open-necked white shirts.
      They were identical in every way from the stray grey hairs on top of  their thin heads to the scuffed black soles under their thick shoes. They even carried identical white plastic bags filled with the same tin foil containers poking out at the corner.
      Except there was one difference. While they both had well-groomed Van Dyke beards, the one on the left had a longer, whiter tip.
      Nevertheless they both seemed jovial. Their open-mouthed smiles lasted so long on their faces that it seemed to me a little suspicious. Then again they were brothers bringing home dinner on a  Sunday night.
      And it was a big night. Though I couldn't remember why.
      I watched them go. Another difference: the one on the left had a small but growing bald spot.
      While the white in the beard was explainable, I wondered how one twin could have such vastly different hair patterns to the other.
      Maybe they weren't twins, maybe one was simply dressed up as the other, an uncanny resemblance. Maybe they weren't even brothers.
      No, I thought. They were brothers. It just made sense.
      And the place they had come from, the takeaway, what was that? I had never seen it before. The name was lost in Chinese characters.
      For a moment I thought about going inside but something stopped me. It was a big night, for everyone, It would almost certainly be busy without a gormless browser dawdling in too.
      So I carried on home. With every step, I slowly convinced myself of how tired the one on the left had looked compared to the right.
      Yes, he was a little more bent over. Yes, he did seem to drag his feet.
      Yes, that smile was probably the first to fade.