Moving Finger - Issue 3 - Brunel University

ITALIAN BLOB
Marvin Shaw lived in London near the Thames. He’d never had anyone he could call a
friend, but he was happy enough to live in his own little world. Existing on a diet of pasta
and pizza, he refused to speak in any language other than Italian, even though he’d never
visited the country. A couple of years back he tried to grow his hair to give himself what
he thought was a sexy Italian look, but due to his receding hairline, this was sadly
impossible. Usually dressed in black trousers and a loose white T-shirt, he sometimes
donned a flashy red jacket to give himself what he believed to be a bit of continental flair.
In reality, he looked like Jasper Carrott.
He had no job and didn’t take the dole, choosing instead to spend his days and nights
behind drawn curtains, except when he went down to the local Italian restaurant and, of
course, the day he took his yearly gondola ride up the Thames. Despite this, he had a topof-the-range
Ferrari and his house was enormous. There was much speculation over
Marvin’s mysterious benefactor: a rich parent with more money than sense; the Mafia; or
maybe - God forbid! – a lover?
Then, one summer, he vanished without trace. His house stood empty, his Ferrari
remained in the garage – though this wasn’t unusual in itself for Marvin never used it –
and all his belongings were left behind. The Thames was searched in an attempt to find
his body, but no luck. After a couple of weeks’ scouring, the police duly forgot about
Marvin and turned their minds to weightier matters. The mystery of his vast wealth was
never solved. Some believed he’d gone on permanent vacation to Italy where he could
feel more at home; others, with a more romantic – and delusional – view of the world,
reckoned he’d found a lover and moved away to spend his life with her. The majority,
however, couldn’t give a toss where Marvin had gone and simply carried on with their
lives.
Richard Wilson
KING HUGE
His name was King Huge and he was a hulking beast of a man. He had the type of
neck you could tie a belt around and shoulders that could carry the world. When he
walked, his muscular arms resembled two swaying tree trunks and his legs were as thick
as Nelson’s Column. He could hold children in the palms of his hands and balance cars
on his head. King Huge was huge.
His forehead jutted out abnormally, creating a dark shadow round his eyes. Below
these dark rings was a beautifully straight nose, which could have been sculpted by
Michelangelo himself. King’s nose was his joy and pride. It added a touch of class to his
otherwise thuggish face. The thick, healthy lips rarely parted. King didn’t need to talk.
His size said everything.
Alan Ismail
18