Toxic

Here he goes again. He hitches his waist band up over his rolls of flab, and does a hiccup that turns into a sour burp.

Probably shouldn't have had that last few pints.

He scratches his armpit, snatches up his bow, and stumbles out into the grey and gloomy street.

It's colder than it normally is at this time of year. Spring is taking her sweet time. No one is really in the mood for love. They're hardly in the mood for sex.

This isn't the romantic chill of midwinter. There's no snow, no dramatic storms. People aren't leaning into the skid with cute sweaters and sturdy mugs of hot chocolate. Fairy lights and mulled wine feel like they happened a very long time ago, in another life. One touched by magic, where frost crunches underfoot, and the chill brings a comely blush to smiling faces.

Do you remember when snowflakes clung to lashes, and people hurried indoors to roaring fires and hot soup?

Everyone is over it now. Waistlines are thickening under chunky jumpers. Cocoa is too bitter, and cream and marshmallows make it too cloying. Open fires cause endless mess. Every day feels like Tuesday, and every breath is a heavy sigh.

Our hero smirks. Undoubtedly his brother is having a tough time of it. His arrows fall short, or glance off and skitter away. There are no eyes meeting across crowds, not when every head is bent against chilly drizzle. It's actually a forest of brollies out there. Good luck hitting a target out there, bro, he thinks.

This is actually a busy season for our friend. He doesn't deal in love. He deals in low self-esteem, poor self image, and desperation. The seeds he plants when the tips of his flimsy arrows break off are jealousy, paranoia, and a tendency to self-medicate.

He pauses to examine his reflection in a gloomy shop window. He pushes dark red curls off his smooth, pale face, and squeezes a pimple on his chin. Then he lets himself get swept along by the crowd. He palms one of his little arrows and jabs a few passers by. It's quite fun really.

It doesn't matter if they're single or not. Mind you, his brother isn't always scrupulous about that either.

This one will row with her boyfriend because his gift wasn't thoughtful enough. That one will ignore his girlfriend in favour of hardcore pornography, and will feel icky afterwards. These two will start an affair out of boredom more than anything else. They hardly even like each other. They might end up married anyway. That arrow was particularly toxic.

After a busy day jabbing people with poison arrows, Mr. E. Ross goes home to his flat and enjoys a "Dine in For Two" meal from Marks and Spencers to himself. He picks his nose while he watches The Notebook, and goes to bed without showering.