Two lead characters’ first-account of a, partly fictional/partly based on true events, story in which mystery, gritty reality, comedy, romance and science-fiction, are the vehicles for a journey where the meaning of life, death and everything important in between, are the destination.

It’ll make more sense if you read it in order, though. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find Chaptisode 1 here: | Chaptisode 1: ‘Bloody Hell’ >


(Previously in Chaptisode 1:
As I brought closer the screen to my eye level, and pressed the start button on top of the device, my heart started pounding. There it was: ‘Don’t’.
“What the…” I could hardly mutter, and that’s when it startled me again, another beep. Another incoming message.)

‘Your credit balance is £0.54. You can top up by text…’

“What the… I have a bloody contract!” – I finally cried out as I kept pushing what was now clearly a non-existent button on top of not my smartphone. The phone looked oddly familiar, though. Bulky, like a brick…

My lips involuntarily twisted into a sour grimace at the thought of that word… ‘brick’. That had been one of my conversation openers for Audrey, like a decade ago, the night I knew I’d walk over anything and anyone to get to her.

“Ladrillo” – I think I let out.

She looked at me with surprise as I sat down at the little table she was occupying on her own. Logan, positioned at the bar, ready to ask for their drinks, wouldn’t take his eyes off her for more than one straight second, though. The whole place seemed to be scrutinizing us with laser beams, not just him. They could all go and fuck themselves as far as I was concerned. I honestly didn’t care. I just felt it in my gut, not just my balls, that I had to be with her, no matter what.

“But she’s Logan’s girlfriend, right? And what’s happening with Amanda? I thought you guys were talking about getting back together…” – Molly bit her lip… my saintly sister wasn’t a fan of Amanda but it was obvious she’d preferred me getting back with a cheating girlfriend than luring another girl into cheating on a friend. To be honest, that was a thought I wasn’t comfortable with either but deep down I knew that she only had to say one word, or give me a sure sign of any other kind, and I would screw those morals like a dog in heat.

“I know a word in Spanish” – My timid smile contradicted the resolve with which I had sat down 90 degrees to her. She disarmed me every time she looked at me with those big green eyes of hers. They knew how to use the liquid innocence of a placid lake to take one’s attention away from the ferocity of her dangerous curves, long enough to trust their owner as one could not trust oneself any longer.

‘What did you say it was? ‘Hola’? – She laughed coquettishly but there was genuine curiosity in her expression. I was a clown and she loved every bit of it. I just knew she did.

A knot formed in my throat, though… I felt a bit self-conscious. It didn’t matter that only a few minutes before there had been at least a couple of dozen girls screaming my name wanting a piece of me, as I strummed my guitar and sang into the mike the long-held vocals that I knew would melt them right away.

I had tunnel vision and at the end of it… there was only her. From the very first moment I saw her.

“La… la drillo. Br..bricks” – I stuttered. Good start, champion.

“Bricks?” – She looked at me between confused and amused.

My self-confidence would shrink or expand at an amazing speed under her spell. She toyed with it like a child squashes and stretches plasticine in preschool, completely unaware of all she could do with it.

“Yeah, because I worked in construction for a while, you know. This Spanish guy… there used to be a Spanish guy on one of the sites and he would ask me for them in his native language. Ladrillo, right?” – Well, that was incredibly boring, I thought to myself.

She laughed and the electric blue of her tiny dress seemed to shine in unison with her pearls and my suddenly lifted heart. Back then, I still had one.

“Oh, ok, now I get why you learned that odd word specifically” – she reassured me with her lips as much as she did with her eyes.

“Hey, Ewan, that’s Logan’s girl you’re chatting up, maaaate!” – Jimmy fucking-twat Jones shouted in all his drunken assholeness from his favorite place at the bar and the monkeys around him grunted, trying to mimic human laughter. It was like he was glued to that corner from where his freakishly small eyes seemed to pierce through everything and everyone, like a rat would dart a fast look around before focusing on the piece of cheese he was about to sink his teeth in. A rat surrounded by monkeys.

Audrey shot Logan a nervous glance. Her cheeks had reddened and the placid lake was now a sea in a cloudy day, waves forming as tension pulled the bridge between her auburn eyebrows and exotic aquiline nose. The bare skin of her ample bosom glistened as her breathing became agitated. My imagination trailed a warm river down that velvety cleavage… I had heard her moaning the night before, my room next to Logan’s, the irony of life… I could have sworn it was me she was with, that’s how much I could feel her, underneath my skin, but I opted to drown my hearing by covering my ears with the pillows, for I knew it would not take long for that mischievous fantasy to turn into rabid frustration. Like it did.

“What’s that guy saying? What’s ‘chatting up’? I’m yet to learn your slang… – she inquired visibly agitated.

Fucking Jones twat. There was no way she would carry on talking relaxed with me now. I stood up, rather abruptly.

“Err… it’s… nothing; they’re just drunk idiots… Well… I better go and get ready for my next set… You’re staying, yeah?”- No, I was the twat. That couldn’t sound more embarrassingly anxious if I’d tried.

“Oh… I’d love to. Well, I don’t know if Logan… Whatever he wants, but yeah, I want to stay. You sing really well, Ewan, and play great, too. Yeah…”- she rushed as she witnessed how my limbs were getting ready for a sprint.
The way she said my name with that thick accent of hers drove me absolutely crazy. She had me. She had me completely.

“The bitch…” – I murmured drily as I left the phone on the bedside table without looking and buried my head into the pillows once again. It was obvious I was dreaming. I had a phone exactly like the one I had just held in my hand around that time, when I met her. This was just another one of the ridiculously vivid dreams I had been having all night.

What can I say… there are some things one can’t let go of, even if a millennium has passed. The memory of Audrey whatever-the-fuck-her-surname-was was one of them. It’d been a mighty long time since I had dreamed of her, though.

Oh, god, my head… Literal bricks were in my head, threatening to pin it down to the ground by ripping through the bed.

“Hang on… I don’t get it… how can I feel so fucking hangover if I’m dreaming?” – I trailed in my dazed mind. – “Fuck this, wake up, wake up, wake up!”

I opened my eyes again and rose up as I could. This definitely was not my room. And yet… it was… I pinched my arm hard.

“Arrgh!” – Hell… I was awake, all right. I glanced around the room. It was my first room at the house I shared with Logan and Renzo, at 22.

The sound of saucepans crashing and the smell of tomatoes and onions cooking together coming up from the kitchen made me more aware of my surroundings.

I felt so confused… I could not have dreamed a whole decade of my life, that’s for sure, yet… this felt so real… this was fucking real. My striped bed sheets, the wooden head-bed Connor had helped me cut and carry from work, my old guitar in the corner of the room, exactly like I used to place it back then…

“Get up, walk this fucking nightmare off” – I advised myself in a clinical manner.

I walked towards the wardrobe and opened it. Yep, there they were… my old clothes…

My Nirvana sweater! Fuck… me. This really was a trip. Perhaps I should just relax and enjoy it…

I took a pair of jeans and the Nirvana sweater and dressed up slowly as I looked around and recognized more of my things from back the day and a torrent of thoughts and emotions flooded all the pounding cells of my brain. I was pretty sure I had not taken the pills the night before. Or had I? No, I was interrupted by that message and then fell asleep… I looked at my brick-phone which I had left on top of what I recognized too as the bedside table that Connor had helped me cut and sand into shape for my room back then. Back now. Perhaps I did take the pills and instead of dying peacefully I went fucking mental.

I became aware once again of the noise coming from downstairs… Someone cooking… Renzo, perhaps?

Or… Logan? It’s incredible how a rush of adrenaline helps one recover from a hangover. From any ailment, really, so, the question was, would this rush of pure adrenaline I was feeling right then help me snap out of this hallucination?

I inhaled deeply and slid the lock to open the door that led to the hall of the second floor in the two-storey house that I used to share with a guy that, ten years later, I still wanted to punch into oblivion. If this was a dream, and it had to be, despite how scarily real it all felt, even the musty smell of the battered carpet I never thought I would walk on again, this was perhaps my fucking chance to do just that and face no consequence.

Go to Chaptisode 4: ‘Of Birds and Bees’ >


UnBoxified – CHAPTISODE 2: 'The Ringers'
UnBoxified – CHAPTISODE 4: ‘Of Birds and Bees’