This week, actor Will Smith is the subject of a surreal short story.
“Whichever one you like!”
Will Smith slid a jar down the varnished breakfast bar towards me. It was full of beaks.
“What am I supposed to do with these? They’re all inferior. I need something special. For a special girl.” I slurred, a bellyful of breakfast whiskey churning interminably inside me.
I could taste bile at the back of my throat and the stench from last night‘s kebab box was making me retch. I necked more fiery brown liquid to douse the hiccups that rocked my body erratically. It was like something was trying to kick its way out of me from the inside.
Or perhaps I was so drunk the night before that I has become pregnant.
I needed to get my head straight, so I set about a bowl of porridge like it was a delicious pie. It mocked me with its heat.
“Listen, you’ll never make it to prom in that state.” said Will, following it up with a contemplative ‘Hah hah.’ which echoed around the converted chapel we shared.
“Stop holding out on me. I want to see where you keep the best beaks. The fancy toucan ones. These ones are just off of wrens. Which is bullshit, Wilf!” I yowled, feeling the tumultuous slap of partially digested oats against my diaphragm.
“Shhh, you’ll wake the baby.” he cooed.
“I really don’t like it when you refer to your penis as ‘the baby’”
“Whatever, I’m just trying to cheer you up. We’ve got just 12 hours until the biggest night of our lives and you’re sitting there criticising my beaks. It’s not dignified, man.” said Will, lacing his Converse pumps unnecessarily close to my face. The fug of his masculine scent made my head swim.
I, a salmon, fighting upstream. He, the stream itself. The woods. The world.
No, not this again. I stuck a greasy chopstick down into one of my leg casts to battle an itch that was spidering its way up my old man’s thigh.
“Look, if you want a pristine beak, I can get you one. I know you want to impress Emma Stone. And she isn’t short of suitors. Just be ready by the time I‘m back, you scoundrel.”
Will unfurled his wings and launched himself with all his strength straight into the closed skylight.
I took his corpse to the vet.
By veteran actor Tommy Lee Jones
RIP Will Smith. Who was a bird.