Decisions, decisions.

I was on the bed with the woman sat by my feet. Her hands were warm. They really shouldn’t have been warm. I couldn’t move but I could feel the rope wrapped around my wrists. Her clammy mitts cupped my testicles.

‘The straight razor or the butterfly knife?’ She asked.

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Trench Coats

Monday 8:25 AM

The headaches are back. I decide to stay in my room until further notice.

Wednesday 2:00PM

I awake to the residual taste of last night’s whisky. Burnt oak and honey. I see a break in the curtains and observe the outside. Across the street in the small car park a man in a grey trench coat stares into my window. He is some distance away but I can tell he is looking at me. He has the features of a pig, a pink chubby face and a stubby nose. I wave. I didn’t realise trench coats were back in.

Friday 5:00PM

My face feels heavy, as if something is yanking my nose forward. I drink deeply and go back to sleep.

Friday 11:00PM

I look out of my window again. The pig-man is still standing in the car park watching. I wave. His ears seem to protrude more now.

Monday 3:00PM

I am running low on whisky, I think as I drain the tumbler. I can’t leave because of the incessant quacking in the living room. There’s a duck in there I’m sure of it and I don’t think he’d want to be disturbed.

Monday 6:00PM

He is a pig now, just a pig. I’m sure of it. A pig in a trench coat. I wave. The car park is empty. I assume he didn’t drive there.

Tuesday 1:00AM

I find I am no longer able to sleep. The whisky is finished so I have no means of passing out. I fumble for the hand mirror I stashed under the crisps in the bureau. My face is stretched vertically and I have two bumps on my head. I wave to the pig. He never waves back.

Wednesday 3:00PM

The duck in the living room may be a grouse. I am not sure of this but by the sounds of his accent he seems too posh to be a duck. He is looking for a decanter, but I have to only one in the house in my room.

Thursday 6:00PM

The walls are dirty and I have no idea how to clean them. I try to scream but only a muffled moan comes out. The bumps in my head are rising towards the ceiling.

Friday 8:00PM

I cannot get out of bed. After feeling them extensively in the night it becomes clear to me now that I possess antlers. I roll out to greet the pig-man. He is no longer in the car park. I wave anyway.

Sunday 5:00PM

There is knocking, knocking on my door. It’s the grouse, or duck I’m not sure.

Sunday 7:00PM

There is still knocking.

‘The decanter if you’d be ever-so-kind.’ He quacks loudly. His intonation is calm but he is beginning to get annoyed.

I go to get it from the table across the room. It feels heavier in my hands than it did the last time I used it.

‘Thank you, old chap. You look ghastly, have you been getting enough sleep? You should join me for a drink, you know I have an excellent single malt.’ He quacks. He is also wearing a trench coat, a yellow one.

He leaves to return to his studies, I believe he is a historical studies post-grad.

Monday 1:00PM

I try to leave the room, my antlers scrape the top of the door frame. I bend over to observe the living room. The grouse is gone, he’s probably at a lecture. I flop forward onto the ground, again I try to scream but find myself incapable. I return to my room and go straight to bed.

My calendar and my watch have disappeared.

There is a knock on my door. A chubby pink man is at the door.

‘Wonderful, wonderful, this is the room then?’ He says.

‘Yes.’ I say.

‘Good, good, well let’s get on with it yes?’

He hands me a blue trench coat and walks into the room, leaving me in the living room. As I leave the house I remember to duck to stop my antlers scraping against the top of the door frame.

I’m in a car park now. I rub my hooves together due to the cold but say nothing. I stare across to the second floor window of the house opposite. There is a pig in there. He waves but I don’t wave back.