By Ryan Colcombe
Ryan is interested in novel interpretations of 'classic' tales; choosing to subvert the expectations of the reader; playing with form and musicality—all whilst unearthing the precarious human condition.
He is a sixteen-year-old College dreamer with an endless appreciation of the world of words, a keen sports lover and student of Psychology. He always hits an emotional chord in his writing, often leaving the coda in crescendo.
You can find him on Instagram @_ryancolc_. TW: References to domestic violence
Baby, we're going outside
Her hand wrapped the bell once more,
Then she gave up and keyed the door,
A draft billowed into the room;
Gina found the house like a tomb.
Oh, groom are you there?
What’s with all the things everywhere?
The shoes they’re all sprawled, oh, the carpet’ll be spoiled,
Honey, you there? At least show me to a chair.
Well, isn’t that nice: you’re letting in more ice
Than your eyes would glare.
John, spare me your advice;
I don’t need help from men like mice
Because you weaselled away,
From an all-ways-buffet,
And you took something to stay,
You were eating me down,
And you used yourself like clay,
To the size of a small sorbet,
Oh, you really are so passé...
Well, what did you want?
Maybe some common ground,
Find it outside,
My, you’re so profound
Gina, will you make it a hurry
So you can get back to your flurry?
Darling, is that you?
(She was loitering around)
Come to mummy will you,
She’s as shocked as a statue,
Lucy, it’s okay! I’m here to collect,
She’s not a payday, even though your spending’s “elect”,
Doesn’t it help, how you overprotect?
John, why is she up so late? Her bed is at half-past eight,
She was helping daddy make cheesecake
I told you, “nothing past half-eight,”
Don’t you love to berate
I told you—
Spare me your candour—we went with daddy to the store.
Honey, could you fetch me a mug? It’d really make me sing,
What, now, she’s your tea-make-go-do-thing?
I’m training her up,
You’re both a sexist and a far right-wing,
How I’m glad we broke up,
Yes, you’re just a 5 year balls-up.
Well you’re free to go—fly little birdie
But you’d drop out the sky like a oven-roast turkey.
Darling, don’t boil the kettle! I’ve set up the settee—just you and me.
(The whistle starts singing its tune)
We can do what you want: turn on the big, big tree, and watch that movie... it was—
Elf on DVD. Ah, Gina, you’re grating like the kettle,
Excuse me, do you have something to settle?
Well, if you would go out the door
My migraine will not be a bore.
Fine, baby, we’re going outside!
No, she’ll be staying by my side,
It’s my turn with my daughter,
She’s no coin, you can’t split her into a quarter.
Or maybe you’d split her to steal the loan?
Don’t you touch her, Gina, leave her alone!
You want to have her all to yourself!
She likes being with me, don’t you little Elf?
Speaking for someone else?
I’ve had enough of all your talk,
Well, just because all you do is squawk,
I can’t stand you; my hate is amplified,
And mine is heavily implied,
Why don’t you step outside,
C’mon, baby, we’re going outside—
I said don’t leave with her,
Ow, stop it, is that the smell of liquour?
John, let go, what’s to settle?
Your ungrateful little devil,
I’ll scream and make a big scene,
Shush, I’ll snap you like a bean,
(the kettle boiled and a beeper went off)
Lucy, turn it off.
Baby, just run outside!
His hands wrapped the woman once more,
She was the present he’d been waiting for:
A thing he could make scream like a whore
Timed, perfectly, with the sound of an exploding glass door.