God is a Pink Kettle

I am sat on the work surface. I have tears and snot on my face but I’ve stopped crying now because I’m going to get a plaster on my knee. Mummy cleans the cut. It is stingy but I am brave. There is a lot of good red blood coming out. It is a proper sorely.

‘God only knows how you managed to fall over,’ Mummy says, shaking her head. She has very beautiful long blonde hair.

‘How does he know?’ I ask.

‘He’s everywhere,’ she says, wiping my knee with cotton wool.

‘Everywhere?’ I look around the kitchen.

‘Yes,’ Mummy says. She is not looking at me, she is looking at my knee through her insect glasses. She is working out how much plaster to cut from the roll; a good big strip.

‘Is he there?’ I point to our pink kettle.

She glances around. ‘I suppose so.’

Mummy sticks the plaster down. I feel safe; God is in the pink kettle.  

One theory of why my symbol for God is an old pink whistling kettle.

Flashish: Reaching Out

‘I suppose I’ve always been able to see spirits. They are just there.’

‘But can’t you just pretend they’re not? If you ignored them, I reckon you’d be allowed out. You seem pretty together, apart from the ghost thing. Pass us the pepper.’

‘There you go. Don’t you think I’ve tried that? They tend to get louder when I ignore them, or throw things around and do bad stuff.’

‘Yeah, that sounds like the voices in my head, they make me do bad things too.’

‘I don’t do bad things, the spirits do. Besides, I like having them around me, they’re generally good company.’

‘I hear you. With me, the drugs are working but to be honest I miss my voices. My head’s quite lonely with just me in it. Actually, that’s why I sat with you. I’m trying to make new friends.’

‘I don’t really go in for friends.’

‘Yeah, I expect you wouldn’t, with everyone thinking you’re nuts; talking to ghosts and that.’

‘I just don’t much go in for real people.’

‘They can be bastards, can’t they?’

‘Well, yes. They can be very cruel. And ignorant. Oh no, excuse me…’

‘Ow!! Why the hell did you do that?’

‘Sorry, I just needed to check. I thought for a moment you might not be alive.’

‘So you thought you’d stab me with your fork. You could have just asked.’

‘Oh yes, I didn’t think of that.’

‘I can see why you have no friends.’

‘The spirits are my friends, they’re around this table now. I can prove it. Shaytan, pass the salt to our new acquaintance.’

‘Bloody hell, that’s amazing. But you didn’t need to prove it to me, I believed you anyway. Look, I’ve been thinking, can you lend me one of your ghosts?’

‘I‘m not sure if it works like that.’

‘I’ll put them up, they can stay with me.’

‘You can’t just invite them for a cup of tea. They don’t come over and have sleepovers in my room.’

‘No, they can stay with me, in my head.’

‘Well, I know a few that might like that, but I’m not sure if it’s entirely ethical for me to make those sort of introductions.’

‘Go on, I’ve been so down since my voices disappeared.’

‘Well, urm, alright… Actually, the spirit here now that seems quite eager to try… I think… oh Gosh, I’m not sure… Hello? Shaytan? Are you okay?’

‘I’m more than okay now I’ve got control of this idiot’s body. Right, let’s bust out of this place and take over the world!’

Flash: Flight Risk

I don’t have any answers. They told me lots of stories but at the time I wasn’t really listening. I thought they were terrorists; they never mentioned a cause to me though. I think they were trying to educate me in their ways with all the story-telling. I was more interested in getting enough food to survive. They themselves didn’t seem to need much sustenance. Although I wasn’t concentrating on their fairy-tales it all seems so clear now. We weren’t on different sides, we were different species. That explains all the surgery too. This is why they operated on my ears. They weren’t disfiguring me; they wanted to make me like them.
   It doesn't feel like I’ve escaped. I'm actually more trapped now. I haven’t let anyone undress me yet, I don’t want the police to see my wings. I might need to use them.