Andrew ShanahanS410: DEEP
The crew pulled on the thick, wet rope that clung to the side of the trawler. “Anything?” “Nothing!” Four faces peered into the black rising swells that pitched the boat up in the air. “Keep pulling.” “But…” “Keep pulling.” The captain stalked from the deck and the hands watched as his face reappeared in the murky window that overlooked the deck of the ship. He shouted something they couldn’t hear at them. Without a word they turned themselves back to the rope. The three hands’ eyes met as th...
Andrew ShanahanS410: BREATHE
Music plays. A calm, swell of chords that holds you steady. We begin. As you take a breath in, you close your eyes. You breathe out and your eyes want to open. Let them if it adds to your feeling of security. But as you breathe – in…out – you feel the need to open your eyes reduces. Your eyes are closed. Gradually, like the emergence of dawn, you start to become aware of the world inside your mind. It is a place of great beauty and a serene, epic grandeur. You are aware that you are sat comfo...
Andrew ShanahanS410: THOUGHTS
All the ideas and thoughts that coalesced in my brain between 19:41 and 19:51 A cosy ninja. Furry slippers. Marshmallows on the points of his shuriken. The Smiths on a camping holiday. The 100 Acres Wood implies the existence of a 100 acres wouldn’t. I bet The Fonz really struggled to buy batteries. What size would you like Mr Fonzarelli? Aaaaaaaaaaay. Floating, floating, floating, floating, floating, then not floating Tesla superchargers, Tesla superduperchargers, Tesla supercalifragilistice...
Former Guardian/Times journalist, now writing fiction full-time. Having fun playing with web3 publishing.
Andrew ShanahanS410: DEEP
The crew pulled on the thick, wet rope that clung to the side of the trawler. “Anything?” “Nothing!” Four faces peered into the black rising swells that pitched the boat up in the air. “Keep pulling.” “But…” “Keep pulling.” The captain stalked from the deck and the hands watched as his face reappeared in the murky window that overlooked the deck of the ship. He shouted something they couldn’t hear at them. Without a word they turned themselves back to the rope. The three hands’ eyes met as th...
Andrew ShanahanS410: BREATHE
Music plays. A calm, swell of chords that holds you steady. We begin. As you take a breath in, you close your eyes. You breathe out and your eyes want to open. Let them if it adds to your feeling of security. But as you breathe – in…out – you feel the need to open your eyes reduces. Your eyes are closed. Gradually, like the emergence of dawn, you start to become aware of the world inside your mind. It is a place of great beauty and a serene, epic grandeur. You are aware that you are sat comfo...
Andrew ShanahanS410: THOUGHTS
All the ideas and thoughts that coalesced in my brain between 19:41 and 19:51 A cosy ninja. Furry slippers. Marshmallows on the points of his shuriken. The Smiths on a camping holiday. The 100 Acres Wood implies the existence of a 100 acres wouldn’t. I bet The Fonz really struggled to buy batteries. What size would you like Mr Fonzarelli? Aaaaaaaaaaay. Floating, floating, floating, floating, floating, then not floating Tesla superchargers, Tesla superduperchargers, Tesla supercalifragilistice...
Former Guardian/Times journalist, now writing fiction full-time. Having fun playing with web3 publishing.
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MOAOW
My cat is stuck in a tree. It has been for two days now. It’s a spreading Scotts Pine, about 30 metres tall. The cat is just a normal black cat that drools.
The garden fence runs alongside the tree and there’s about three metres to the lowest branch from the fence. The cat often walks along that fence and I can guarantee it looks at that tree and thinks, “I bet I can get up there.” To be fair to the cat, it’s right – it can get up there. But running up a tree trunk to a thick branch is an entirely different proposition to sitting on that same branch and looking down three metres to a thin rickety fence. That’s the type of jump that you get wrong and you spend serious time in the cone of shame.
My children think I should rescue the cat. When they go into the garden the cat alerts them to his predicament with a loud MOAOW. He’s not usually the chatty-type, so it’s very noticeable. Especially as he doesn’t just say it once and allow you to digest his message. He repeats it:
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
“Shall we forget the barbecue and just cook inside?”
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
“Yes.”
The children think I should get a long ladder and put it up against the tree. My children think I should climb the ladder and coax the terrified little kitty over and gently scoop him up and tuck him softly but firmly under my arm and slide down the ladder, thus returning him to terra firma. My children are eejits.
I know that my cat is not stuck in a tree. I know this because I know my cat. For the sake of clarity let’s replay that previous paragraph and see what would happen in reality. I would get the long ladder. I would place it against the tree. I would climb the ladder. I would coax the terrified little kitty over. The terrified little kitty would not come over. The terrified little kitty would sit on the branch and look at me with an expression of victory on his face. He would know that he had won. For once it wasn’t him chasing the little red laser dot along the floor. It was me.
I haven’t rescued the cat because he’s an arsehole. Not me.
MOAOW.
MOAOW
My cat is stuck in a tree. It has been for two days now. It’s a spreading Scotts Pine, about 30 metres tall. The cat is just a normal black cat that drools.
The garden fence runs alongside the tree and there’s about three metres to the lowest branch from the fence. The cat often walks along that fence and I can guarantee it looks at that tree and thinks, “I bet I can get up there.” To be fair to the cat, it’s right – it can get up there. But running up a tree trunk to a thick branch is an entirely different proposition to sitting on that same branch and looking down three metres to a thin rickety fence. That’s the type of jump that you get wrong and you spend serious time in the cone of shame.
My children think I should rescue the cat. When they go into the garden the cat alerts them to his predicament with a loud MOAOW. He’s not usually the chatty-type, so it’s very noticeable. Especially as he doesn’t just say it once and allow you to digest his message. He repeats it:
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
“Shall we forget the barbecue and just cook inside?”
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
MOAOW
“Yes.”
The children think I should get a long ladder and put it up against the tree. My children think I should climb the ladder and coax the terrified little kitty over and gently scoop him up and tuck him softly but firmly under my arm and slide down the ladder, thus returning him to terra firma. My children are eejits.
I know that my cat is not stuck in a tree. I know this because I know my cat. For the sake of clarity let’s replay that previous paragraph and see what would happen in reality. I would get the long ladder. I would place it against the tree. I would climb the ladder. I would coax the terrified little kitty over. The terrified little kitty would not come over. The terrified little kitty would sit on the branch and look at me with an expression of victory on his face. He would know that he had won. For once it wasn’t him chasing the little red laser dot along the floor. It was me.
I haven’t rescued the cat because he’s an arsehole. Not me.
MOAOW.
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