Exercises
“Alphabet Shirt”
“B-Shirt?” said Roger, stroking his paisley tie and raising a plucked eyebrow.
Yeah Man.” Said Danny. “Be whatever you want to be man.” He stretched his arms wide and spun slowly, displaying the other huge B on his back.
“You mean I spent ten grand on this?” said Roger, shaking his head.
“Yeah man. They’ll really sell.” Said Danny scratching his nose and sniffing.
“Everyone wants to be, everyone has to be, everyone longs to be…”
“What, what and what?” demanded Roger.
by Michele deBes
Siiimon Meynard ran into his partner’s office brandishing a paper napkin like a sword. “Naaarelle, I have it, I have it!” he cried. “The latest brilliant marketing ploy from Love Incorporated!”
Naarelle hastily shoved the latest isssue of New Idea in a draw and gave Siiimon her full attention. “Tell me all about you genius you” she gushed.
A bit flushed, his mauve suit a bit crinkled, Siiimon sat on the edge of Naarelle’s desk. “Well, love, you know how everyone knows about T-shirts”, he said, “well, love, this is an L-shirt! A LOVE-shirt! It’s shaped like an L, and it’s a Love shirt because it exposes the left breast so-”
“Brilliant!” cried Naarelle, getting to her feet so quickly that her chair flew backwards and into the window with it’s panoramic views of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House,”true genius Siiimon, you will revolutionise the concept of shirt wearing in the 21st century. It’s almost as good as your bowling St Peter idea.”
Siiimon, very suddenly, looked quite unhappy.
by Peter Gifford
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Renshaw had discovered the properties of the strange fibre while working on a breakfast cereal that went ‘whiz’ instead of ‘snap, crackle & pop’. During the complicated chemical process that hollowed out granules of puffed rice to just the right harmonic frequency, Renshaw noticed that an unusual by-product was being shed.
It turned out to be the X-Thread. His comprehensive tests revealed that this unusual fibre was not only transparent to natural light, but that it enhanced the ability of photons to pass right through anything else in close proximity. Renshaw immediately realised that by spinning this thread he could create an instant and inexpensive X-ray fabric. Medical technology would be revolutionised.
What he hadn’t expected was that a lot more interest would come from the fashion industry. And this is what found him here, in Paris, helping the designers of the infamous X-Shirt.
by Peter Miller
“Heat”
Casey had just enough energy to her water pistol, take aim and fire at Bernie’s bare chest.
“Don’t stop.” He moaned but her arm dropped down and the fine spray trickled over her feet again.
She watched as her skin dried in moments. Even in the shade of the veranda, the glare of the baking field beat against their bodies. The breeze only intensified the sensation of being cooked alive.
“Who’s turn to fill the pistols?” She asked.
by Michele deBes
We bought it on eBay. A little radiator, made in the 40s, an attractive little thing all bakelite and coils. We’d had a thing for the 40s, and bakelite, for about two months now, and nooks and crannies in the house were being filled by old fans, radios, Viewmasters and Mixmasters. I’d found the heater aand instantly needed to have it.
After a couple of well-timed sniper bids it was ours, andd arrived in the post within the week. We oohed and ahhed about our latest acquisition like seasoned collectors, which we weren’t, then found a place for it to sit and promptly forgot it about it.
The craze passed; we moved on to traveel memorabilia next, I think. But one night, it was winter, and cold, and the gas heater wasn’t working, so I took the old heater from it’s display corner andd plugged it in.
Heat rolled out from the little machine in waves. I was impressed, and so was my partner. before long the room was comfortably warm. We commented on how things were madde so much better in the old days. And the room kept getting warmer. In fact before long it was starting to get a little too warm, so I flipped the bakelite switch aand turned the heater off. Only, it didn’t turn off. It’s broken, said my partner, so I pulled the cord out of the wall socket. The heat kept pouring out. We looked at each other, confused. I saw a little trikle of sweat run down her forehead. For some reason, I reached forwardd to touch the casing of the heater, and snatcched my hand away, shocked at the intense heat of the thing.
“Can’t you … move it?” my partner said. I looked at her, and silently, looked back at the heater. Now it was glowing red hot, and the heat was beginning to beat against my face like blows. I moved away anything near it that was flammable, but already it was difficult to get anywhere close to the thing. I began to imagine strange things, like it burning a hole through the floorboards and dropping to the foundations of the house, or getting hotter and hotter until the entire neighbourhood, the city, was engulfed in searing flame and white hot heat.
by Peter Gifford
The slide down to the mouth of Kana Tua was marked by its rapidity and by the extraordinary increase in temperature over a relatively short distance. You don’t know heat until you’ve climbed into a volcano.
Kath looked at her wrist thermometer. 52 degrees and climbing visibly. They had about ten or fifteen minutes to get the probes in place, hook up the cables and call for the winches to pull them back out.
She could feel the soft black ash sliding away beneath her and hear the distant crackle of lava as it pushed through crannies in the rocks below.
The heat from molten rock is entirely its own beast, feral and overpowering, and dominating every sense. She moved in under the rock ledge and looked into the crevice that cut its way deep into Kana Tua. Into the heart of the Earth.
Max was already feeding out a probe and she unpacked hers and did the same.
The ground shuddered and she instinctively stepped back.
The blast of superheated air caught Max full in the face as it rippled up over the fissure. His faceplate and helmet turned instantly to liquid.
She stumbled back and thumbed the two-way.
“Get me out,” she screamed, and the winch tugged her cable and hauled her up the ashen slope.