Really glad to have discovered this. I don’t write things this surreal anymore.
It’s too early, too too early. I have just finished a late shift, I ache, I’m so tired, so so tired. And yet here I am on Monday morning waiting in queue at Building’s Edge. I feel my bed calling to me ‘Clarence, come and rest, Clarence Clarence’
I curl my toes inside my boots and bite my tongue to try to remain awake. I have a bag of teeth in one hand and a bag of coins in the other. The queue at Building’s Edge is packed with worried and weary people. I glance from face to face and they all have the same tired expression I do. then I see her. She is old and wild eyed, chuckling to herself, she looks like giant frosted cream cake with blue icing on top. A walking bake. I blink and rub my eyes just to make sure I’m not seeing things. to make sure I haven’t fallen asleep.
The old lady grins at me. ‘It can’t be’ I mutter to myself. The old lady seems magnificently drunk, swaying side to side, smiling as she giggles, belching and scratching as she makes her way.
I look around. Has no one else noticed? The Iron Lady has returned from the dead, our former Prime Minister is here. She has been reincarnated as a giant cake.
From behind me I hear a roar. A middle-aged man is charging towards Thatcher. He knocks her to the ground. Maggie lays ruined on the floor. She starts crying. The man stands over her and screams “You fucking bitch over, you fucking bitch you ruined this country” over and over again.
The Iron Lady is weeps, mascara running down her face, deep into her wrinkles. “I didn’t ruin it! IT was already broken” she says sadly.
I’ve seen enough. “Leave her alone” I shout.
“No I won’t. She closed the pits! She freed the banks to fuck us all, my family has lost everything, she ruined my family” the man says still full of righteous indignation.
“Thats no reason to smash her. She is a cake now” I reply. I had the man’s full attention. He looked like a miner. All dirty hands and hard muscles. If he hit me I’d go down.
Behind him the Thatcher Cake (Cake Thatcher?) was slowly reforming. I pointed at her. Thatcher had a steely look in her eye.
The man turned and started taking handfuls of Thatcher cake flesh and stuffing it into his mouth. I turned away. I was always squeamish when people were being devoured.