David Peace - 1983

You put them flat on the table.

The room stinks of burnt skin -

Yours .

Moustache sweeps the ash and tobacco off the table.

‘Another?’ says Sandy.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ says Moustache. He takes a second JPS from the packet. He lights the cigarette. He stares at you. He leans forward. He begins again to dangle the cigarette over your hand.

You stand up: ‘What do you want?’

‘Sit down,’ says Sandy.

‘Tell me what you want!’

‘Sit down.’

You sit down.

Moustache and Sandy stand up.

‘Stand up,’ says Sandy.

You stand up.

‘Eyes front.’

You stare straight ahead.

‘Don’t move.’

You don’t move.

Moustache and Sandy put the three chairs and the table to the side. Maurice opens the door. They step outside into the corridor.

You can hear screaming -

Laughter -

Dogs barking .

They close the door.

You stand in the centre of the room. You stare at the white wall. You are naked. You want a piss. You listen to the screaming. You listen to the laughter. You listen to the barking. You do not move. You close your eyes.

You have dreams -

And in your dreams -

In your dreams, you have fears -

But all your fears in all your dreams -

Are islands lost in tears -

The room white .

The door opens again. Moustache and Sandy come back in.

Maurice does not.

Moustache and Sandy walk around you in silence.

They smell of drink and curry. They smell of sweat.

They bring the chairs and the table back to the centre of the room.

Moustache puts a chair behind you. He says: ‘Sit down.’

You sit down opposite Sandy.

Moustache picks up the blanket from the floor. He puts it over your shoulders.

Sandy lights a cigarette. He says: ‘Put your palms flat on the desk.’

‘Please tell me what you want.’

‘Just put your palms flat.’

You put your palms flat on the desk.

Moustache walks about behind you.

Sandy puts a brown paper package on the table. He opens it. He takes out a pistol. He lays it down on the table. He smiles at you.

Moustache stops walking about. He stands behind you.

‘Eyes front,’ says Sandy.

You stare straight ahead.

Sandy jumps up. Sandy pins your wrists down.

Moustache grabs the blanket. Moustache twists it around your face.

You fall forward off the chair. You cough. You choke. You are unable to breathe. You hit the edge of the table -

Crack .

Sandy holds down your wrists.

Moustache twists the blanket around your face.

You kneel on the floor. You cough. You choke. You are unable to breathe.

Sandy lets go of your wrists.

You spin round in the blanket into the wall -

Crack .

Moustache throws off the blanket. He picks you up by your hair. He stands you against the wall.

‘Turn around, eyes front.’

You turn around.

Sandy has the pistol in his right hand.

Moustache has some bullets. He is throwing them up. He is catching them.

‘Maurice says the cunt wants to die,’ whispers Moustache. ‘So just make it look like he topped himself.’

Sandy holds the pistol with both hands at arm’s length. He points the gun at the side of your head.

You close your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Sandy pulls the trigger -

Click .

Nothing happens.

‘Fuck,’ says Sandy.

He turns away. He fiddles with the pistol.

You have pissed yourself.

‘I’ve fixed it,’ says Sandy. ‘It’ll be all right this time.’

He points the pistol again.

You close your eyes.

Sandy pulls the trigger -

Bang .

You think you are dead.

You open your eyes. You see the pistol. You see shreds of black material coming out of the barrel. You watch them float down to the floor.

Moustache and Sandy are staring at you.

You shout: ‘What do you want?’

Moustache steps forward. Moustache kicks you in the balls.

You fall to the floor.

‘What do you want?’

‘Stand up.’

You stand up.

‘On your toes,’ says Moustache.

‘Please tell me?’

Moustache steps forward again. Moustache kicks you in the balls again.

You fall to the floor.

He whispers: ‘Man had his balls removed after being kicked by the Leeds SPG.’

Sandy walks over. Sandy kicks you in the chest. Sandy kicks you in the stomach. Sandy handcuffs your hands behind your back. Sandy pushes your face into the floor -

Into your own piss.

‘Do you like dogs, Johnny?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Do you like dogs?’

‘What do you fucking want?’

‘I don’t think you do, do you?’

The door opens.

A uniformed policeman comes in with an Alsatian on a lead.

Moustache sits astride your back. Moustache pulls your face up by your hair.

The dog is staring at you, panting -

Tongue out.

Moustache shouts: ‘Get him! Get him!’

The dog is growling. The dog is barking. The dog is straining on its leash.

‘Careful,’ says Sandy to the uniform.

Moustache pushes your head forward -

‘He’s starving,’ he says. ‘Just like little Hazel was.’

You struggle.

The dog is getting nearer -

‘Just like little Hazel.’

You try to get loose.

Moustache pushes your face in closer -

‘Starving.’

You cry.

The dog is a foot away.

‘Alone in that room.’

You see its gums. You see its teeth. You smell its breath. You feel its breath.

‘Starving.’

The dog growling. The dog barking. The dog straining on its leash.

‘Starving to death alone in that room.’

You shit yourself.

‘Fucking knew, didn’t you?’

The dog is inches from your face.

‘Did nothing.’

Everything going black -

‘Nothing!’

Going black -

‘Tell me what I’ve done.’

‘Again!’

‘Please -’

‘Please what?’

Black -

‘Please tell me what I’ve done.’

‘Again!’

‘Please tell me what I’ve done!’

‘Clever boy,’ he says -

Everything black now.

You fall backwards, handcuffed upon a tiny plastic chair -

Through the floor of the cell, through the walls of the Station -

Through the earth and through the oceans -

Through the atmosphere into outer space -

To the gulfs between the stars -

Always away from the dog -

Away from this place -

This rotten , un-fresh linoleum place;

Light years distant, Jobson still standing at your side -

The dog gone.

You have dreams -

And in your dreams -

In your dreams, you see things -

But all these things in all your dreams -

Are big black raven things -

The room blue .

You open your eyes.

Maurice Jobson is staring back at you.

You are still in the room with white lights and no windows.

But you are dressed in your own clothes again.

Maurice Jobson takes off his glasses. He rubs his eyes.

‘I didn’t do it,’ you say.

‘Not guilty?’ he smiles.

‘Not guilty.’

He puts his thick lenses and black frames back on. ‘We’re all guilty, John.’

You shake your head. ‘Not me.’

He nods. ‘We all are.’

You close your eyes.

When you open them again, he is still staring at you -

Still waiting.

‘Will you make it right?’ he asks.

You nod -

‘Yes, sir,’ you say. ‘I will.’

You have dreams -

And in your dreams -