Garrett Cook here. I’ve been working with Chris Meekings for over a decade now in one way or another. I was proud to present his book Elephant Vice, a buddy cop yarn in which Vincent Van Gogh was partnered with the Hindu God Ganesha. His work is very British, very bent, and presents a humor that becomes deadly serious when you least expect it, and has a sharp emotional edge. Proud to bring you more from Chris.
Loss by Chris Meekings
The hospital doors part in front of me, and I’m desperate. My hands are clammy with sweat, and my heart is thu-thumping in my chest. Nausea runs inside me, turning my guts into whirling weasels falling over themselves in an endless, tumbling loop. She’s in here; she’s hurting, and it’s tearing me apart.
The receptionist points in the direction I need to go, and I scamper to the lift and up to the ward.
The junior doctor is sympathetic. His eyes well up even as his words convey the devastating truth.
She’s on her side. She is alone, and so am I. Alone together, as my heart bleeds rivers.
Refresh.
The sliding doors part in front of me, and I’m desperate and confused. My hands are clammy with sweat, and my heart is thu-thumping in my chest. I’ve done this, haven’t I?
Nausea runs inside me, turning my guts into whirling weasels falling over themselves in an endless, tumbling loop. She’s in here; she’s hurting, and it’s tearing me apart.
The receptionist points in the direction I need to go, and I scamper to the lift and up to the ward.
The same junior doctor is sympathetic. His eyes weep even as his words tell the devastating truth.
She’s on her side. She is alone, and so am I. Alone together, as my heart bleeds rivers.
Refresh.
The sliding doors part in front of me, and I’m desperate. What the fuck is happening? I’ve done this already! This is supposed to be serious.
The receptionist points in the direction I need to go.
The junior doctor is sympathetic.
She’s on her side. Alone together.
Refresh.
I go through the doors.
The receptionist points in the direction I need to go. What is this?
The junior doctor is sympathetic. Am I stuck?
She’s on her side. Alone. Together.
Refresh.
I am Bart Simpson. Is it starting again?
I talk to Lisa. Wait, this isn’t like the others. It makes no sense?
I talk to Homer.
Milhouse is on his side in the bed, crying. I try to comfort him. He is alone, and so am I. What the actual hell is going on?
Refresh.
I am Metal Gear Solid 1 cover art. I am Metal Gear Solid 2 cover art. I am Metal Gear Solid 4 cover art. I am Metal Gear Solid 3 original soundtrack cover art. This seems really esoteric!
Refresh.
I am Iron Maiden Killers. I am Rush Hemispheres. I am Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here. I am The Clash Give’ Em Enough Rope. I don’t understand what is happening?
Why can’t I find my way out of this?
“Because you are not supposed to.” The voice is warm and booming and everywhere all at once.
Refresh.
I’m low WiFi. I’m 2 bars of battery life. I’m weak signal. I’m a spinning throbber. What? Who is that?
“I am the observer,” says the voice.
Refresh.
The what?
I am Wyoming. I am Minnesota and Wisconsin. I am Arizona and New Mexico. I am Missouri and Tennessee.
The observer of what? I ask.
“Of you, silly.”
That’s not right. I’m here for her; she was in pain. I have to be with her.
“No, silly. There is no her. You are just four panels. You’re pattern recognition. A tiger that isn’t there.”
Refresh….refresh….refresh!
I’m spinning now, flicking through hundreds of iterations. Four panels, repeating the pattern over and over and over. A single thing. Two things. Two things. Two things, one on its side.
I feel sick!
Refresh!
I’m becoming minimalist. I am a line. Two lines. Two lines. A line and a dash. Fading down, becoming more irreverent.
It was all supposed to be about sorrow. It was about a child who was never born.
“But it was wrong! You were a stupid comic. You were only supposed to talk about dumb things – only there for the lols. It was you who changed the subject; you tried to be serious. But the eyes watching you were not interested in that. So, they changed you. They mocked you. And you morphed and became this.”
I’m falling, falling, endlessly tumbling through new things.
Guy walking. Guy walking with his friend. Still walking with his friend. His friend falls.
Refresh.
I.H.N.L
Refresh.
Archaeologist explorer! He finds a scroll of truth! Not all four panels, are loss memes. Archeologist explorer is on his side!
Oh, God! This is boring! I’m fed up with being these four panels. I want to be something else!
Refresh.
It’s dark. And I don’t feel like I’m four panels anymore. Finally, I think it’s something new.
There is light! I am a moth!
Lamp!
Chris Meekings is a writer from Gloucester in the UK. Several of his works have already appeared on Bizarro Central’s Flash Fiction Friday. This was a new piece – he hopes you enjoyed it. His bizarro novellas, Elephant Vice (released in 2015 via Eraserhead Press) and Moon Mayor (released 2022 by Hybrid Sequence Media) are unquestionably things that he wrote. His novel, Ravens and Writing Desks, (released in 2016 by Omnium Gatherum) is also a thing that he wrote. His latest novella, Cthulhu Fishing Off The Iraq Nebula (released 2023 by Planet Bizarro), is not only a thing he wrote but is also available on Audible, so it’s a thing that he wrote that you can listen to. He is a founding member of the British Bizarro Community who recently released the anthology The Bumper Book of British Bizarro. None of his works have appeared on toilet walls. He is currently 58 weasels in a trench coat, just looking for love.
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