Concrete Tinder


The “Blue Lagoon” stood like a best friend waiting for Calvin.
“Usual Rab.” He groaned
“Right yeh are.” Replied the greasy man.

It was that time again for Calvin Tait to make the trip to his local chippy, his precious food supply. If it was to close he would waste away to less than what he already weighed, which was close to nothing. The greasy smell of the brown bag enticed Calvin to eat a few chips, a few more, a few more. All that remained was a brown paper bag with a puddle of vinegar mixed with salt at the bottom.
His stomach groaned for more food on the way back to the towering grey block of flats, yet for two reasons he did not return to the Blue Lagoon.  He had only £22.35 to last until the end of the week, so that meant only one chippy per day and he was feeling physically poor as well. His arteries were clogged with the fat from the countless fast food meals that his body had been forced to digest.

Panting, he began his ascent up the twelve flights of stairs purposely avoiding the lift that has been broken for years. There was a stench of urine and rubbish stained into the cold dull stone walls. The only colour on the close walls was the tags of graffiti by the many local gangs.  Calvin was not bothered by what he seen or smelled it did not affect him so why should he care?

His landing, even though it was on the sixth floor, was still victim to the smells and sights of the floors below. Wheezing, he struggled to aim the key into the keyhole as his hands were shaking from the fatigue of climbing the mountain of stairs.

Calvin felt a wave of relaxation pass over him as he entered his dim lit flat and a smell of spilt cider and fast food meals greeted him. He waded his way through the refuse to his poorly furnished living room and slumped into his germ ridden torn seat, the only seat in his house and it was found by the main door in front of the block of flats. He turned the T.V. on “Who Do You Think You Are?” was on, great, he thought to himself. A show which looks back into people’s family trees, if they did that for Calvin they would not have to look far, only Calvin in his family tree. Calvin was removed from his last tree by his parents. He always knew it would come to that. It was the sheer laziness of Calvin that prevented his parents for caring or loving him. Never has he had a job, never has he tried to better his life. Now he was stuck, stuck in a grey tower with no one to rescue him.

He slept in front of the T.V. that night as he commonly did. But he was woken prematurely by the smell of something new to the flat. It was a smell which filled his lungs with a burning sensation. He coughed and took in a fresh breath, but it too was filled with the new the smell. His eyes opened and they stung. The room was filled with smoke, a thick black blanket covering every empty space, which there was abundance of.  He couldn’t see much as the only light source was from the T.V. and that too was covered in the black blanket. There was a sound of distant sirens coming closer. The smoke rose from the floor pushing the oxygen out of the room. Calvin’s lungs felt empty and craving clean air. But all they got was smoke.

Scrambling from the torn chair he crawled to where he guessed the front door should be, he was much disorientated as he ended up in the neglected kitchen.  The floor felt like heated metal as it rubbed against his clothes and skin causing him to move quickly. He found his way to the front door clutching for the handle. It was roasting hot and burned the palm of his right hand causing him to draw it away.
Oxygen starved Calvin lay sprawled out contemplating his options: he could try and break the door down, he could scream for help (if he had the oxygen) or he could do what he was good at doing, which was nothing. He chose the latter. He lay counting the seconds, more brain cells dying each second. He felt number as they died and soon he would be joining them. He drew in the smoke as if it were fresh air at the seaside, he could feel and smell it, the smell of the sea and the sound of it lapping at the sandy shores of the beach. He was no longer in his poverty stricken flat but he was with his family at the seaside, finally they had accepted him and they greeted him with open arms.

By Kerr Lochhead