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If It’s In You

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It reeled through the space debris, past Saturn to crash land in Titan’s sea. With all the volition of primordial slime it crawled out and shook itself dry. After charming the locals it hastily made preparations for the return journey.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. Skimming over local ponds and rivers it landed in a picturesque hamlet. It marched into the mayor’s office and split his head in two with a Churchill bust. Arriving back two weeks later in a motorcade, I awoke to the sound of boots on gravel.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It didn’t flutter very far, only to the foot of the bed. It cried so hard through wounded eyes I took it back into my arms immediately.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It landed artfully in a gallery and claimed it was an installation; some junk about the divided self. Inside a week Saatchi or Saatchi was sniffing around its hinds. It rejected the cheque claiming it was all a joke. We fused back together in revulsion.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It landed comfortably on the fat heads of patients in a nearby waiting room. After a brief discussion with the doctor it strode out with a clean bill of health. In its paw it held a prescription for a galaxy of drugs. I made a trip to the chemist.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It landed gracefully in a publisher’s office. Within a year there was a new self – help movement gathering apace. A hardback copy of , ‘The Way,’ dropped through my letterbox. It was autographed with a print. It was dedicated to me.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It landed in a rented room. After dark it bombarded me with phone calls, texts and emails, demanding to know what was wrong with us. It threatened suicide or murder. I decided to give it another try.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It landed on a DJ’s shoulders in Concert Square. It hired a hall and threw a party in my honour. New New New Beat was hailed as the future of  music. It was just like the old days. We carried each other home.

 

I always knew I had it in me, so I cut it out and threw it away. It refused to land. As the blows rained down, a familiar voice cried, “ You’ve got the wrong man.” It was lost amongst the mauling yelps and howls. They quickly skipped the body. Just another tramp expired to the night. It padded unhurriedly away, flicked up its fur collar and headed for the nearest neon. It didn’t look back.