The latest story from one of our Puffin Short Story winners
Another of the winning stories in this year’s competition. The time, we have a runner-up in the 15-18 category: Ouroboros by Ross McLoughlin (17) from Tullamore in Co Offaly
Istare at my own blank face in the bathroom mirror. I’m light-headed. I feel like I’m about to throw up. ere’s blood rushing through my head so fast I can hear it. I clutch the sink and attempt to catch my bearings. What the hell am I doing in here? e reason escapes me, like a word on the tip of your tongue you just can’t spit out. I glance at my watch, 7pm. He should be here soon.
I stagger down the hallway of my home into the living room. I do a double take at the sight of eight beer cans on the co ee table. I pick one up, half-empty and lukewarm. I don’t drink, how the hell did these get here? Am I hungover, is that what this feeling is? Why would I drink eight cans of beer? I grab another of the cans, also lukewarm and half-empty. Even more confused, my thoughts are interrupted by an all too familiar knock on the door.
I breathe a sigh of relief, half jogging to answer the knocking. He’s here at long last.
I open the door and am greeted by a hearty, “Gordon, my man. Bring it in brother.” Chris pulls me in for a bear hug. “Jesus, you’ve lost weight, what’ve you been eating?” I manage to get out a, “Nice to see you too, Chris”, while my face is forcefully pressed against his chest.
“I brought refreshments.” I already know what that means. Even as a young man, Chris would always bring a huge bag of some sort of crisps and a six pack of Coke whenever he came over. Some things never change. “Yeah, yeah, just throw them in the fridge and come into the sitting room.” ere are much more pressing matters at hand than o -brand Doritos.
He must sense the urgency in my voice because I never heard the fridge open, he just appears in the doorway. “Gord, what’s up? You’re thin as a stick and…” He notices the eight cans of beer on the table. Without another word, he sits on the armchair opposite me. Once he’s settled I begin. “Chris, I think I’m losing my mind.”
He chews it over for a long moment. “How come?”
I take a deep breath and it all comes spilling out. “I stopped going to work, I couldn’t stand it, every day the exact same people buying the exact same things. At rst I thought it was just an everyday job kind-of-thing but then I realised the same man came looking for the same box of screws that always seemed to be out of stock. I’d tell him every day that he needed to come back next week but, lo and behold, there he’d be at 12:03 every single goddamn day.”
Chris leans back in his chair, contemplating the spiel I had just laid upon him. “I’m going to need some of those refreshments.” He leaves the room for a moment, enough time for me to kick myself. He thinks I’m insane, this is exactly what I was afraid of. He returns, a can of beer in his hand. “I’ve upgraded from Coke.” His words fall on deaf ears as I prepare to launch into a second burst of venting. But he holds up his other hand to stop me. “Ok, Gordon,
you need to slow down. Maybe it’s some… I don’t know, extreme case of déjà vu?” I blanch, the thought that this is all actually in my head is petrifying. “Chris… every time I call my mother we have the exact same conversation. She asks if I’m coming home for Dad’s anniversary, how work is going, and that’s it. She won’t listen to me, even when I beg her to stay on the phone. e line just goes dead.”
is gets his attention. My mum always had a so spot for Chris, never letting him leave our house without a cup of tea, a biscuit, and a chat. “I don’t know… that sounds like it could be Alzheimer’s or dementia or something, I don’t know if you’ve considered that but…”
e realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. I know exactly what he’s going to say. He’s going to say I’m under a lot of stress and maybe I should take a holiday. I realise the beer in his hand is the same brand as the eight cans on the table. How many times have I tried to explain this to him already? I push past Chris and sprint to the bathroom, I know I’m going to be sick. He puts down his half empty can on the table, already lukewarm, to run a er me. I lock the door behind me, ignoring his calls and pleas to come back out. How many times have I lived this day already? As Chris starts to break down the door, the world darkens and falls away and I’m falling. And falling. And falling. And… I stare at my own blank face in the bathroom mirror. I’m light-headed, I feel like I’m about to throw up. ere’s blood rushing through my head so fast I can hear it. I clutch the sink and attempt to catch my bearings. What the hell am I doing in here?
How many times have I lived this day already? As Chris starts to break down the door, the world darkens and falls away and I’m falling...