The two boys stood side by side. Only a few centimetres separated them. Without turning, Simon spoke to his younger brother, “Hey, Michael, did you hear about the girls that disappeared here thirty years ago?”

Each boy gazed at the brown water rippling beneath huge slabs of exposed stone. Green sludge, algae and sorry-looking plant-life decorated the edges of the large pool, where water met rock. The brothers’ eyes remained fixed on the water, as though hypnotised. In the diminishing orange light cast from a clear autumn sunset, a faded sign beside the nearby footpath stated: Denham Quarry.

“Disappeared?” Michael replied with a furrowing of his brow, “What? …

Remember those simpler times. Sitting on the bedroom floor, Lego strewn across the carpet, naked Action Man leaning against the Mega Drive. Two brothers gazing up at the 14 inch TV perched atop the chest of drawers. Neither of us able to get past Marble Zone for what feels like thousands of tries, and then finally, I make it. Unbelievable jubilation. You’d think it would prepare me for the feeling of completing Scrap Brain Zone, but it didn’t.

Ok, so maybe you don’t remember those times. Maybe you weren’t born. It’s also unlikely that anyone reading this shared a bedroom with me, apart from my brother (hi, Ste), however, you might conjure memories of at least one of the Sonic the Hedgehog games. Or maybe the TV show. …

An aeroplane slowly tore away at a strip of white in the sky, ripping between the blue either side. Somehow we’d got on to the topic of moths. “Like the one on my leg the other day,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“I was just lying on the park and I felt an itch on my leg. I reached round, thinking it’d be like an ant or something, and there was this big moth. Just chilling in the sun. Happy as anything.”

“Did it fly out yer wallet?” he replied, and we had a good laugh. …

Mum told us not to bother The Christmas Man. He wouldn’t leave his house all year, except for Christmas time — specifically, advent and the run up to Christmas. At the start of December, he’d cover his house with lights and even place glowing reindeer statues in his front garden. He’d actually wander around the estate during the festive season, smiling at people, though never talking to them.

The rest of the year, he remained inside. Through the gaps in the curtains we would sometimes see him, with his long hair and beard, wrapped in a blanket, watching TV, or playing video games. Usually pretty sedentary, except for the one time we saw him dancing. Other than that, we might glimpse him during his fortnightly delivery of groceries, and once in a while he’d get a parcel. That’s how I met him. Yesterday, the post-lady delivered a heavy parcel to our house by mistake. …

I recall looking over the fence at my neighbour’s washing line. At the clean clothes hanging up there, drying in the sun. Well, I presume they were clean anyway. The line stretched lengthways across the garden, like ours did back then, reaching from a hook screwed into the brickwork of the house all the way to a tree stump at the far end of the lawn. You could see this pretty clearly, with those old fence panels which separated our gardens being low and all. Anyway, I noticed the inverted slogan across one of the drying t-shirts: “PARTY ANIMAL”. I shook my head, and thought to myself how everyone is just trying to get by. A family’s clothes hung up there on the washing line, for all us neighbours to see. …

We were young and hot. Not a wisp of cloud above us. The usual cocktail of molecules, atmospheric junk, dust and general fluff which typically floated between us and the sun seemed absent, allowing solar rays to travel across space unfiltered; blasting the sand upon which lay our glistening bods. We pretty much had the entire beach to ourselves, just us and one old dude who was sunbathing across the bay, minding his own business, lobster-red.

We considered swimming to cool off. I noticed the lobster man get dressed and depart the beach, following the solitary narrow path through jungle which led up to the village. Alone at last. Toes dipped in water as clear as the air, Eryn removed her bikini top. …

Sarah’s heels smacked against the cobbled pavement with percussive pock sounds. Her conservative dress was smart, devoid of creases and the same colour as the sky that day: dark grey. Thick droplets of water descended from the clouds above, and the word “fuck” appeared in her mind; a clear image of the umbrella left beside her front door, conjured there too by her limbic system. Her pace quickened, and something about her walk caught the attention of a man in a hard hat across the traffic-filled-road. A wolf-whistle pierced her distracted thoughts, and she paused mid-step. She looked at the man, eyes narrowed, and then resumed her pace while simultaneously removing a notepad and pen from her black leather bag. Over the idling engines a co-worker could be heard, shouting at the whistler to get back to work. Sarah rounded a corner and stopped under the eaves of a stone building. A detailed description of the man entered the notepad: Probably five-foot seven or so, tanned complexion, beer belly (though slim otherwise), dense Mickey-Mouse hairline, dark hair and thick stubble, small nose, thick suckling lips, medium-sized eyes spaced considerably far apart, brown or dark green irises (difficult to discern at distance), yellow hard hat, blue overalls (oil stained). She might have gone into more detail, but the rain was getting heavier; she replaced her note taking apparatus and continued onward. The entry would later be fleshed out and added to her three-hundred-page dossier she named “The Misogyny Files”. …

The knife swept my forearm. Yellow blood dripped through the sliced skin. I’d forgotten. They didn’t make ours red. I hadn’t bled in years. “You’re an abomination” she said, foaming at the mouth, teeth and blade shining, reflecting fluorescent lights. Her son, Mark, stood behind her. He looked strange. I didn’t understand his reasoning for blaming me. “He did it,” the boy said. I realised no one would believe the housekeeper. The knife found my throat. Everything yellow. //SYS ERROR//

The corpse of the robot lay sprawled on the floor. A wet, yellow pool surrounded it, creeping outwards, teasing rivers into the grout between ceramic tiles. “What the hell happened?” said John. Exasperated, he crouched down beside the corpse and used two fingers to turn the head to the side. “Was this you, Lucy? …