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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I’m lying on the massage table and it’s really cold. I think I might be trembling.
“How is it for you? Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, it’s great thank you,” I lie.
I look at the floor and wonder why they don’t hoover under the floor when it’s pretty clear that most of the people who come here are going to see under the table, given that they jam your head in the hole.
The masseur has one foot naked and the other is wearing a verruca sock, like you used to get bullied for at swimming lessons when you were a kid.
I want to say something about the sock. Can you express condolences for a verruca. Is there something I can say that would acknowledge the sock. Fuck it’s cold in here.
“Are you ok, you seem to be getting tenser?”
“No, that’s just me. I’m like a shoulder souffle, they bunch up but then they flop down and it’s lovely. Trust me, this is just my process.”
“Do you want me to turn up the heat?”
“No! No! It’s great, honestly.”
Do you know what’s better to look at than a verruca sock? Socks. Just normal socks. You could put that over the verruca sock and no one would ever know that you were wearing a verruca sock. He moves around to the side and I can hear the rubber squeak a little bit with each step.
This is definitely one of the most painful massages I’ve ever had. It feels like he’s just pinching me. I think I heard a rib snap. If he does that choppy-choppy thing on me then I’ll probably just be whittled into human kindling. Just a bunch of fingers left.
I’m not able to stop a cry of pain as he grasps entire clumps of flesh and muscle.
“Do you want me to go a bit softer?”
“No! This is lovely, absolutely spot on. It’s hard sometimes to find someone who will do it hard enough.”
“Do you want me to do it harder?”
“Not harder I wouldn’t say precisely. This is just about perfect. It’s heaven.”
“And the shoulders?”
“They’ll come down when they’re good and ready.”
The verruca sock disappears out of sight as he works on my calves and thighs. I can hear it squeaking though. I bite on the towel underneath me to stop my teeth from chattering together and watch as a tear falls from my eye and leaves a dark mark on the dusty floor.
“Lovely.”
I’m lying on the massage table and it’s really cold. I think I might be trembling.
“How is it for you? Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, it’s great thank you,” I lie.
I look at the floor and wonder why they don’t hoover under the floor when it’s pretty clear that most of the people who come here are going to see under the table, given that they jam your head in the hole.
The masseur has one foot naked and the other is wearing a verruca sock, like you used to get bullied for at swimming lessons when you were a kid.
I want to say something about the sock. Can you express condolences for a verruca. Is there something I can say that would acknowledge the sock. Fuck it’s cold in here.
“Are you ok, you seem to be getting tenser?”
“No, that’s just me. I’m like a shoulder souffle, they bunch up but then they flop down and it’s lovely. Trust me, this is just my process.”
“Do you want me to turn up the heat?”
“No! No! It’s great, honestly.”
Do you know what’s better to look at than a verruca sock? Socks. Just normal socks. You could put that over the verruca sock and no one would ever know that you were wearing a verruca sock. He moves around to the side and I can hear the rubber squeak a little bit with each step.
This is definitely one of the most painful massages I’ve ever had. It feels like he’s just pinching me. I think I heard a rib snap. If he does that choppy-choppy thing on me then I’ll probably just be whittled into human kindling. Just a bunch of fingers left.
I’m not able to stop a cry of pain as he grasps entire clumps of flesh and muscle.
“Do you want me to go a bit softer?”
“No! This is lovely, absolutely spot on. It’s hard sometimes to find someone who will do it hard enough.”
“Do you want me to do it harder?”
“Not harder I wouldn’t say precisely. This is just about perfect. It’s heaven.”
“And the shoulders?”
“They’ll come down when they’re good and ready.”
The verruca sock disappears out of sight as he works on my calves and thighs. I can hear it squeaking though. I bite on the towel underneath me to stop my teeth from chattering together and watch as a tear falls from my eye and leaves a dark mark on the dusty floor.
“Lovely.”
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