Was it a severed ear? Or was it all that was left of him?

A few days ago, asking himself that sort of question would have been, well, out of the question. A lot had happened since then, and Harry jabbed at the bloody, disembodied lobe with the toe of his shoe.

It could be Carl.

Only one of his ears was pierced.

Harry couldn’t remember which. And he was struggling to work out if this one on the floor was a left ear or a right ear. Short of picking it up and placing it to his head like some macabre jigsaw … he mimed doing it.

It was a right one.

And again, there was no way of telling, was it all that was left of him, or was Carl elsewhere, blood soaked, hair matted, gasping in pain?

Harry took a few steps further into the room. There was an odd metallic smell in the air. It was a familiar smell, but he couldn’t place it. Sort of iron like.

The lights were off, and silver moonlight was streaming in through the half open window. He could hear the lazy drone of late night traffic hundreds of feet below. He recognised this room, from a few days ago, but that’s all he remembered. Nothing was coming back to him. The black void in his memory was still there.

The last thing Harry remembered was the flash of blinding light as the machine exploded. Since then, it was like he had been fragmented through time. In different places all at once. Now in the hotel room, moments ago in a car screeching away from a fireball.

And it seemed like Carl had been fragmented too.


And there was his other ear.

Tucked under the couch, it’s single metal stud glinting in the silver moonlight, sitting in a pool of jet black ooze.

Harry knew it wasn’t black really. That’s just the way it looked in the light.

He also knew what had happened now.

The Telekinesis Revelation

Kelly sat in her room, on the foot of the bed, her legs dangling over the edge but not nearly reaching the soft carpet below. She had a graze on her knee, which was turning all sorts of fascinating colours now. Mum said it should have a plaster on it, but Kelly wanted to watch it heal.

It stung a bit.

Mum had left some cream on the dresser in the corner in case that happened.

Kelly really couldn’t be bothered to go over and get it though. She flailed her arms in the air, let out a grunt of annoyance, and flopped back onto the duvet. The mattress made her bounce a bit. And that made her knee twinge.

So she sat up, and stared at the cream.

And still couldn’t be bothered to go and get it.

Instead, she screwed up her eyes, and growled with an intense concentration that made her whole head vibrate, screaming in her mind at the top of her inner voice, commanding the cream come to her.

It disobeyed.

And stayed firmly put on the dresser.


Kelly sighed.

Gathered herself.

Lifted her hand into the air, and focused.

Focused on the cream.

Focused on her hand.

Focused on the gap in between.

And willed that gap to shrink.

The jar of cream lifted from the dressed, floated through the air, and dropped neatly onto the bed beside her.

She screamed with delight, kicking her feet in the air. Until her knee hurt again, and she stopped to put the cream on.

It didn’t really help.

But she was pleased as punch about her new found telekinetic abilities, and used it all afternoon. Summoning things to her. Making things hover. Making her toys perform duels in the air.

She enjoyed freaking her Mum out at tea too, when she made the sauce bottle squeeze itself all over her fish fingers.

What Kelly didn’t know was that it was me making it all happen.

I’d had an accident the day before, involving a particle accelerator, which had knocked me out of phase with the universe.

I could probably do something more noble with my new found invisibility, but there’s something about making my niece giggle that keeps me from moving on.

She might get bored of it in a few years.

Or she might go on to be some kind of superhero.

In the meantime, I am juggling peas.

What’s The Opposite Of Pierce Brosnan?

Do you know how hard it is to type Pierce Brosnan? Go on, try it. See if you can do it without typing Piecer Borasnan.

Anyway, on this week’s brand spanking new episode of setisoppO, the podcast where we work out the opposite of things that don’t have a natural opposite, we work out the opposite of table tennis, of Piernce Broasnan, and of EXACTLY 12 baked beans (brand not specified).


Enjoy, and if you could like it, share it, and review it, that would be lovely, thank you.