~ Derek ~
I've got a man in my loft, I like to call him Derek.
Derek is a big man and he crouches painfully in the tiny corners
of my loft. During the day he orders my junk alphabetically, and during
the night he stomps up and down above my bed. I know, I can hear him.
I lie on my bed and think of Derek, drinking from the hot water
tank, sleeping on the insulation foam, eating the dust and bugs to survive.
I've never actually seen Derek but I know he's up there, filling the
space with his pink bulky body and that sweet sweet smell of sweat I
smell whenever I poke my nose above the loft door.
But, I think to myself, but, what if, one day, Derek were to come
down from the loft to live in my flat with me? What then?
Well...
I'd sit him by the TV and feed him up on beefburgers, and pies and chips
and ham and mashpotato and fishfingers. I'd feed him up till he is huge,
too fat for the sofa. Then I'd squeeze him into the tiny space underneath
my bed, so I can hear him squeal whenever I go to sleep at night.
THE END.