Fieldwork

I first heard this story when it was read on stage at the launch of New Papers issue four. (Every time a new issue comes out they put on a show where the whole magazine is read, in order, from start to finish.) It’s funny and strange and I found it unexpectedly moving, and I hope you’ll find space for it at the end of your week. Our Friday posts are normally behind the paywall, but we’re trying something new for this one, so you can read the whole thing for free. If you enjoy the story, please give us £5 to help us keep the lights on, and keep delivering independent storytelling to your inbox.

The girls were outside, we were in the house, trying to remember why we loved the girls. There were two of them, two of us. And we were thinking.

Sitting on the floor, even though there were chairs around, drinking beer slowly because it was hot, very hot. So hot in fact the beer warmed up, and then what’s even the point?

You think of anything yet? I asked him. Yea, George said, George being my best friend. He said, I was thinking that when I’m with her, I don’t necessarily have to be with someone else. That's not a good reason, I said.

The house kept burning, a beam in fact crashed down sideways, Crash! but that was in the hallway. I think we should go, he said. Relax, I said, looking around, most of the structure still intact anyways. What about, I said, and George looked at me hopefully. What about, I said to buy some more time, but then he could see I had nothing. Well, he offered. After two years it does get repetitive. Them? I asked. No, I mean, life too, he said. Like generally speaking. He waved his arms around, watching these ugly pleated curtains to our left go ablaze. But what about specifically, I said. I don't know, he said. You start to wonder why you do the things you do, even breakfast. I wondered if his brain was feeling a little melty like mine.

What do you eat for breakfast? I asked. I don’t eat breakfast, he said, the chimney behind us starting to lose its bricks. I scooted over a little.

Like ever? I asked. He shook his head as his shoe caught fire. He stamped it a few times down hard on the wood. It went out.

We should probably, he said and took a deep breath, which was pretty incredible considering the way the flames made the air. Fine, I said.

Covered in smoke we came out into the garden, police everywhere. The girls were glad we weren’t dead yet. They dusted our hair a little, told us to get into their separate cars. Now. So long, I called. Till Sunday, he said.