WILL SELF'S FACE

A Story by Charlie Skinner

‘It’s yer face!…It’s yer face!…screams some mad lassie at the guy she’s just been chucked out the boozer with. This is the middle of the afternoon and a commotion of this magnitude, even in Leith’s notorious scumpubland, tends to grab your full attention. In order to discern the offending features this face demands closer scrutiny so I stop, and it’s non other than Will Self himself

I didn’t know Will was in town and what the f**k’s he doing with a Leith hoor, steaming drunk, getting ejected from the worst dive on the street. What was his crime? Could it really be his face that had caused such an almighty row?

‘Will’,’ I shout over, ‘what’s going on man? don’t worry I’m here, you’ve obviously been mistreated, to hell with these b******s! they are scumsucking mutants and I promise they will rue the day they crossed us.’

He looks befuddled, his ratty eyes seem fixed in his head, staring down his long conk which he swivels round until he detects my location like the business end of a tank. He has trouble focussing, it is an odd moment of calm, even the fury of the hoor subsides, her tiny mind incapable of taking in the far from complex new turn of events. But Will, a man with a brain the size of a planet, even intoxicated to the level max, seems more than up to the task of processing the situation…AYE F****N RIGHT PAL HAUNDERS…he bellows over. This snaps the hoor out of it and she comes running towards me screaming her lungs out. I side step her no problem and trip her up, she goes flying. I think Will will be pleased, but no, he shouts something about, ‘that’s mah f****n burd.’ and as I approach he takes a wild swing at me. I subdue him and pin him to the wall.

‘Will, Will, what are you doing man, I’m your friend. I have always defended you. When they said you paid a young girl five hundred to shite in your mouth I said, bollocks, you’ve all been reading too much Welsh, these awful tales have rotted your minds. The man churns out nothing but purile pish. He’s dreadful. Read Will Self, Will is a real writer, he’s at the cutting edge of contemporary fiction, a master of his craft. But they weren’t the only ones Will, the cruel internet message-boarders were spreading their filth… “I f*****g hate Will Self,” they said, “he’s an arrogant, obnoxious, self important prick”…You b******s, I replied, you think you’re safe chapping out bile on your keyboards but be sure I will find you and I will execute terrible retribution for these scandalous lies. I tried my best Will but they proved elusive. But I tried, don’t you see, I TRIED.

He leans forward, here it is, the whispered thanks I deserve but he spits in my eyes with the ferocity of a venomous snake. The back of my head explodes with a searing pain as the hoor attempts to embed her stiletto into my skull. I grab Will Self’s face and thump his head against the stone wall, I spin round and bang the screeching harridan’s ear with a cupped hand forcing the trapped air right through till it perforates the drum. Maximum pain on impact. But my ordeal isn’t over. The pub clientele has spilled out into the street. Irvine Welsh readers to a man. They had heard me decrying their hero, here on his own turf and they look crazy enough to kill. It makes good sense to run.

I cross the Leith boundary and slip into the pub for a pint. I sit down on a bar stool and tell the barman…’you know when people say you should never meet your heroes, there’s a lot of truth in that.’

© 2013 Charlie Skinner

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SweetNutmeg

Wow. That packed a lot of punch. I admire brevity, and this one sure is brief in getting the idea across. I have a great feeling for your character in such a short space. He's kinda crazy, but obviously thinks he's sane. Unreliable narrators hold a special place in my heart and you did a very good job.