the lino was beige the lino was sticky on an electric ring a deep fat-fryer swelled and foamed like a hellish sea the hundred-and-seventy degree oil lapped and licked at the edges and Baby Christophe dialled his play-phone and smoked his play-cigar and played with cigar-smoking figurines on the beige and sticky lino with his beads and tennis shoes and racket and pop-gun and Frey and Bentos pie as his mum

wheezed and used the once battery operated dildo from Gran Canaria that leaked battery acid into her dilapidated machinery but she carried on using it a when all was healed and yes, she was using it now in the next room whilst watching Morecambe and Wise on video and the oil lapped at the sides and ontothe hot ring and there were bright yellow flashes and smoke and Baby Christian played with his beads and bagpipe and armadillo and hamrack and his train on the beige and sticky lino with his compass and rectangle and the flashes got brighter and bigger and almost leapt away from the ring and hissed

and Baby Donald sat on the floor refilling his swollen pink army trucks and refilling his nappy with what had always been a reassuring presence throughout the torments and trials of childhood and his mum in the next room was employing the dildo that a year before had left her with battery acid burns inside and outside of her dilapidated machinery with fingers raw&stubby from nail-biting her white legs right up on the chair with her against all

odds as the flames of the fryer licked higher impressing one harsh black disc onto the ceiling and Baby Roger Makepiece shuffled about in circles and beat his fat ham-hands on the beige and dirty and sticky lino and the fryer now spitting hot oil and his mother in the next room with her legs right up with her on the chair against all odds was almost there and Baby Phil threw his rubber balls and one bounced along the top and bounced around a bit and knocked the fryer and ripples of frenzied oil sloshed over the rim and powerful charged and angry fireballs leapt and the napalm oil dripped down the dead washing machine and his mum in the next room legs right up on the chair with her against all odds revealing an arsehole like

the eye of an elephant in the sleepy Savannah sun and Baby Fergus climbed out of his walker and attempted to climb the drawers one at a time and chicken nuggets rolled down onto the floor the beige the sticky and dirty floor and he slid in the oil and the fryer was a bomb a fireball and he, Felix, careened and the fryer went with him and set him aflame and added and added and added to the big flames that licked him and leapt from his tiny frame and the flames fed on Baby Luciano till he was hotter than the sun and had lost his coordination his fingers had fused together and

how – he – screamed

and his soft baby bird hairs gone in an instant and Baby Roderick was unrecognisable lay on his back like a giant flaming beetle with skin blistering looking like something you could sink yer teeth into as his mum in the next room wiped her hands and the elephant’s eye blinked once for yes

and she thought she’d better check on Baby Jim.

el hurst 2012