He lifts the ladder into place, its feet neatly on the towels, then leaves his head, comes back holding a broom. He looks up. If he dies, if Fajar comes home to find him splayed out, limbs all extra bends and head lolling off, it’ll just about serve her right.
He grabs the broom and starts to climb.
Three steps up, he thinks too hard about what he’s doing and freezes, can go neither up nor down, and now he’s stuck inside his own head, petrified and with plenty of time to reach for those metaphors. It takes a good ten minutes of soothing self-talk before he can ease himself back down.
Then there’s nothing else to do but leave the house.
The old school building is in fact Gary’s own school, converted to flats because there’s fewer kids nowadays. With all the leavings, business had slowed, so Gary talked Fajar into downsizing, emphasised how much fun it would be running around his old classrooms. But really it just feels like time’s collapsing in on itself.
Under the dome, Gary walks into town, towards Brendan’s, his and Fajar’s favourite tea shop. Somewhere he can work. He orders his usual, settles in, but the vibe’s off. Maybe it’s because the head’s unsettling him, even at a distance, or maybe it’s because Fajar’s not here. She’s the gregarious half of the duo, the one who’ll chat to Brendan, who’ll help create the convivial atmosphere Gary so enjoys.
Today, Brendan just nods to the empty seat across from Gary and shrugs.
“Work thing,” says Gary.
He tries to call her again but she doesn’t answer. Worse, now she’s hacked into his online accounts and changed all his profile pictures to the shouting head.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” says Gary, and then he has to apologise to Brendan, and then he leaves.
Kieran McCaffrey lives in the west of Scotland and writes stories and music and captions for the telly. His work has appeared in State Of Matter and has been shortlisted for the 2025 Cymera Prize. Find him at kieranm.bsky.social.
Copyright © 2025 Kieran McCaffrey