THE STORY OF BUBBLEBOY Written by Karl Mather This is the story of BubbleBoy who lived his life without much joy, who spent his life in fear and dread, that pointy things would strike him dead, who considered forks a nasty plot vicious pickers sent by God, and swore that every single knife was put on earth to take his life.

cruelly heaped on us by others, bitter scars that memory smothers, locked inside like parasites, they wait until the time is right, then burst out from their hiding place, spreading loathing and disgrace, until the heart can take no more, and slips away, behind closed doors.

And 'cause he really thought this crap, he spent his life in bubble wrap, head to toe, and side to side in plastic blisters, mummified. But not content to end it there he wrapped the sofa, and the chair, he wrapped the things around his home he wrapped the taps, he wrapped the phone, he bundled up each fragile glass, sheathed the blades that cut the grass, every threatening edge he found was swiftly and securely bound, he even swayed the trees out back, their claw like limbs a clear death trap.

And though his neighbours knew his plight, and claimed they worried day and night, they couldn't understand his troubles, they never probed beyond the bubbles, they never took him to a club, never met him down the pub, they drank and ate and shared a laugh, while he lurked, beyond the glass, terrified to show his face, he daren't not fill the empty place, and though he'd have loved to tag along, and do his best to join the throng, now he cowered in his home, and wished he wasn't so alone.

Thus protected, he dwelt in peace, until he slipped between the sheets, for when the darkness fell each night, it brought it's demons: sharp and spite, and BubbleBoy would squeal and scream, as prickly beasties stalked his dreams, and porky pines and hedgy hogs, that hide their needles in foul fogs, would slash and stab with steely knifes, and try to end his precious life.

Months went by and all that changed, was BubbleBoy got more deranged, his isolation more extreme, his chances slim to be redeemed, till dwindling stocks and empty cans, forced a violent change of plans, with thumping heart, and serious doubt, he slipped the chains and ventured out.

They say these fears have ancient seeds, buried deep in past misdeeds,

Once outside is went okay, nothing sharp got in his way, he reached the shops and brought provisions, it seemed to be a good decision,

but as he thought "I've been a fool, the outside world is not so cruel", he bumbled down a dead end street, and heard the sound of stalking feet, and cornered in a place like this, he turned to face his nemesis. flashing blades that ripped and tore, and stabbed the air from every pore, he heard the metal hiss and clean through, slice and dice his bubble suit, and there upon that killing floor BubbleBoy could hide no more, his plastic armour cut to shreds, his battered body left for dead, weak and feeble from deflation, he looked for death, but found salvation, shorn of walls that he'd erected, he touched the earth and felt connected, he felt and warmth and truth to tell and sunlight pierced his ripped up shell, he woke at last from in a daze, and saw the follow of his ways, then heard an angel from above "do you need help? do you need love?" and peering at this brave new world, he finally found his Bubble Girl. The moral of this story, is never give up hope, if someone bursts your bubble, mix up some more soap. By Karl Mather