About Benway

The Hole In The Road

The shadow on the wall, the silhouette outside the window. Crash, bang creak. Laying in the dark with a bad case of the night fears. Hot and cold flushes, sweating and shivers. He coughs and wretches, despairs and then pukes. Late night onion rings, greasy burgers, chips and five cans of cheap lager.
"I`ll never do that again." Not untill next week anyway. Antacid`s worst nightmare.
There`s a party next door again, the music turned up loud to cover the sound of them fucking under the table, and in their parents` bed. Turn the radio on, but it`s no good, the woman upstairs is enjoying her own company again. Her vibrator wipes out the radio signal. `BUZZZZZ, BUZZZZZ, ahhhhhhhh!`
He`s got the itches again, scratching all over his body. Something crawls up his leg, and he dives out of bed, turns on the lights and crushes yet another large black beatle as it scuttles across the sheets..
She wakes up, looking at him through sleep filled, bleary eyes.
"What are you doing dear?"
"Just train spotting. Go back to sleep."
The house could be crammed full of people, but at night, you suffer alone.

His guts hurt, feeling as though there were a nest of crabs in there, trying to gouge their way out with razor sharp claws. He considered swallowing a lobster pot to get some relief, then sat and thought for a minute.
He visualised swallowing a fish hook, on a line, waiting untill it was almost right through him, and then pulling on the line. If he pulled hard enough, all the intestines and stomach would turn inside-out, and come out of his mouth. Then he could clean them out and give them a good scrubbing, before shoving the whole lot back in again.
He was just about to go and find his fishing gear, when he fell asleep.

The alarm went off at seven o`clock. He leaned over and turned it off.
"Time for you to get up dear." he said.
"No it isn`t"
"What did you set the alarm for then?"
"Just for the pleasure of knowing I don`t have to get up, and can go right back to sleep again" she replied, and promptly did just that.
He was about to do the same when....
`UDUDUDUDUDUDUDUDUDUDUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!`
A pneumatic drill started up, right outside, almost shaking the room apart.
They both got up.

They stepped out of the front door together, and both narrowly missed falling down a deep hole in the pavement.
"What are you doing?" she asked a nearby workman.
The workman looked at the hole, looked at her, and then looked back at the hole again, trying to figure out why she couldn`t see for herself.
"Well... I`m digging a hole. What does it look like I`m doing?"
"Yes, but what are you digging for?" She couldn`t tell if the awful smell was coming from the hole, or the man digging it.
"To make a hole. What else do people dig for?"
"Okay... but what the hell is it for?" She was becoming quite exasperated.
The workman looked at her, partly confused, partly annoyed. "It`s a hole, isn`t it?"
Behind him, a workmate was making sandcastles with his shovel and a galvanised bucket.
They gave up and went back inside.

He sat in the room, paitiently painting the very tiniest of details on the tortured face in this, his latest masterpiece. This part of the picture required absolute dedication, one small slip, and the whole thing would be ruined.
He placed his finest brush, laden with paint, onto the canvas and......
"You mother-fucking, cock sucking, bastard, little shitter!!!!!!"
He was quite jolted by this sudden unexpected outburst, sliding the brush across the canvas, leaving a bright green stripe. Then racing into the other room to see what was going on, he exclaimed, "What on earth do you think you`re doing, hollering like that? My painting is totally ruined. And why do you have to use such crude language?"
"Christ! Don`t you get your knickers in a twist too. It`s this bloody computer of yours... it keeps beating me! I`m trying to get Sonic Boom, The Atomic Mouse across this bloody bridge, and these fucking mutant fish keep jumping up and biting my arse. It`s a bastartd, cunt, mother-fucking, arese-hole, arse-wipe, fuckwit, stupid, bastard game!"
"I think you already said that last one. I wish you wouldn`t repeat yourself, you start to sound like your mother."
"Shut up! I hate this game, and I hate you for making that last comment."
She threw the control pad on the floor, just like a spoiled brat, and stormed out of the room.
"I don`t want to play any more."
He scowled as he reached down to pick up the controller, and considered weather he should send her to bed, like the child she sometimes appeared to be. Sometimes, the age gap between them showed in ways he didn`t much like.
He heard her opening the front door. "Where are you going?" he called.
"To complain about those bloody road works." she yelled back, and then slammed the door as hard as she could.
Oh dear.