It’ll burn on your skin. The problem is that you won’t put a whisper of sun cream on underneath; you’ll just slap the hard stick of face paint on under your eyes, faintly sweet like crayons, one long stripe, and you’ll think of the school fair, six years old at your favourite stand, begging to be made a tiger.
The rumours arrive on the dawn wind and by mid-afternoon the village ladies have landed in Leonora’s kitchen to disembowel the news.
When the alien lands in the layby [PLACE TO STOP TEMPORARILY AND DRINK AMBER LIQUID FROM THERMOS FLASK] on the A303 at Barton Stacey near the Travelodge, it climbs down the steps from its spaceship into gloomy light.
The pond cradles them in its mouth like teeth. The statues. Cracked and shattered. They’re reskinned and restitched with moss and algae.
and in those days I played chicken with life and roulette with oblivion. I ducked under the lowered crossing signals to race the oncoming train across the tracks, and when I reached the other side, I turned and saw a girl I knew from school jumping after me.