Member-only story
Pathetic Fallacy
A short story inspired by the 2011 London Riots
‘Crackle? Fucking crackle?’
‘Yes, crackle. What’s the problem?’
‘The problem is, the word crackle does not appear in the fucking text!’
‘Of course it does, three witches on a moor, double double toil and trouble, crackle burn and cauldron bubble. Everyone knows that.’
‘It’s fire burn and cauldron bubble. Crackle burn? What the fuck’s a crackle? Fire crackles, fire burns, crackle does not fucking burn.’
Jack was sat on the edge of the stage, script on lap, head in hands. Every single rehearsal turned into this eventually as no one, it seemed, actually knew their lines. The stupid play in the stupid pokey town hall all seemed so trivial and quaint.
He had jumped at the chance to be director after all his years sacrificing so much time to help out and act in bit parts. Becoming director made him feel successful in a way, getting somewhere. Now the big picture was slowly creeping into his everyday life.
He was living at his parents’ house with a job he told himself was temporary and directing a bunch of genuine idiots in a hall with yellow curtains. Thick yellow curtains which looked identical to the ones that had hung in his old school hall and, for some reason…
