The Watch

“A gift fro.”
“A gif.”
“A gift from heaven. Quit doing that!” Malcolm’s eyes were wide as he reached for the zipper on his back. “Crafted by God.”

Dangling the watch like a cat with a rat, Jack responded, “Heaven? So you’re talking about a cloud city, and a magic man who makes clocks? Probably a prototype developed by the CIA.”

“Yea,” I scoffed, “a billion-dollar prototype that happens to be at the bottom of the Atlantic. Hooray for homeland security! Your tax money at work.”

“Shut, the fuck, up!” he yelled back at me, muffled by his scuba mask, “maybe this is how the government is able to fool millions.”

Malcolm looked at me, rolling his eyes. “O jeez, here we go again.”

“The real question,” I asked, “is, why do we have this?”

“Luck.”
“Fate.”

Pausing for a second, the three of us started shouting.

“Maybe stop them from boarding the planes!”
“Invest in Apple!”
“Tell Dad we loved him.”

I laughed out loud, but began thinking. The things you could accomplish, the power, the possibilities…all running through my head as I looked at this little golden circle. Watching Jack and Malcolm I knew what was also flowing through their heads.

“Damnit” I whispered

Clenched in a fist, I hurled the abomination back to the ocean.

We heard a plop, the boat turned, and we went home.

By John Accarino

And then...

…it was actually the Germans who came up with the idea of dropping an elephant out of a Hercules transport plane at three thousand feet – well, the Germans or the Swiss: at the time both offices tried to take the credit, and the ensuing fallout over exactly which set of maverick geniuses were responsible for dreaming up the premise for the ultimate viral video caused bad blood and snide remarks during international conference calls between Basle, Berlin, Lausanne and Frankfurt for months. Executives who’d previously been best friends fell out, golf games and skiing weekends were called off, wives were forced to snub each other at Europe’s best spa resorts and hair salons. Middle managers found themselves picking sides and developing secret handshakes and code words and initiation ceremonies, sharing stories about savage briefcase fights in underground car parks, the deliberate keying of Porsches, the incredible day that two vice-presidents went so far as to arrange a duel over the matter, the centuries-old rivalry and suspicion between their two countries demanding that only the spilling of blood would be sufficient to repair the damage done to honour, order and the proper way of conducting business by this… this slander! These lies! Apparently they got so far as to meet one frosty morning in a field just outside Zurich, seconded by junior executives and with a company doctor on hand, their weapons of choice something sleek and aspirational by Heckler and Koch (the only solution for today’s business leader in a tight spot), the whole thing ready to be relayed via webcam direct to the company intranet and from there onwards to the offices in Japan, Argentina, Italy, Belgium, Finland, the UK and, of course, Switzerland and Germany, capturing Klaus (or Hans, or Uwe) back-to-back with Uwe (or Hans, or Klaus) in matching DKNY two button suits lit just right by the watery sunrise, both of them fortified by a shot of really quite impressive brandy, corporate pride and the best sex they’d had with their wives in years, fingers on triggers, nine in the clip and feeling more alive than they could ever remember feeling in their careers…

In the event it was only the last minute arrival from head office of a black company helicopter carrying two heads of HR, some huge bonuses and a written declaration of truce – the clatter of its rotors scattering a flock of surprised birds into the dawn sky – that prevented things from getting really out of hand. And of course six months later they were at it again, only this time each country was insisting that the whole elephant debacle had in fact been nothing whatsoever to do with them, and had been entirely the fevered brainchild of those crazed madmen, those slightly-less ruthlessly efficient savages from the other side of the Rhine. Because by then absolutely nobody wanted to take responsibility for what had turned out to be one of the most shameful – and frankly ridiculous – episodes in the company’s short history…

By Owen Booth

A Friendly Rendezvous

This post is a follow up by Mark Clarke to the popular Friendly Drinks story that he wrote for Shortfolio back in January this year...

Ok, so what now? The train is quite literally leaving the station. And so am I.

I've been thinking about this meeting for, like, the last five days now. I've been trying to decide what I want to say to him for five fucking days now and here I am, closing on these turnstiles, still as clueless as I was when...oh shit...where did I put that ticket?

Right, this is going to take a more thorough search than first thought so let's move out of this queue. Don't you sigh at me, you dick. How much of a hurry can you possibly be in that this six second delay to your day has put you out? Especially since you cruised up the escalators, you fat prick.

God I hate digging through this thing. How much of the crap in this handbag do I ever even use? Better safe than sorry I suppose. Oh, there it is. Right where I've never once put it before. That makes sense. I didn't even know it had that pocket.

Ok, take a breath, calm yourself, regain your composure. You're back on street level now and the pub's just round here - but I'll just take a seat here for a second. There's no rush. He's probably not even there yet and this is definitely not a scenario I want to approach without sufficient nicotine in my system.

Light, draw deep, exhale slowly...it's not helping even a little bit. How did I get myself into this situation? How do I always seem to get myself into this situation? I like him - that's not even the issue, of course I like him - but...but there's always that 'but'.

If only we could just go back, go back to when we just liked each other. Before...

'You got a light, sweetheart?'

'Uh, yeah, sure.'

This is as good a time as any to head on. I get my lighter back and head round the corner. There it is. Just head right in there now, suck it up.

It's not too busy, shouldn't be too hard to...there he is. And he's spotted me. No way out now. Do I want a way out? His eyes are wide and he actually gulped as he stood up to greet me. Good grief, who gulps nowadays outside of cartoons? God, he really can be adorable every now and then. I kiss him and step back, his voice cracks slightly;

'Hi' he warbles.

Ok, deep breath. Here goes.




By Mark Clarke