- by Owen Morton
My name is Ben Rockeclect. I am a concrete block. I would like to tell you about my life. It's very interesting. You'll not regret listening to me. You might learn something. Like why I never use commas. There's no reason for that really. It's just I haven't felt the need to yet.
As a concrete block, you might think that my life would be uninteresting. Far from it! I have been to more places in my existence than you probably have in yours. And yet, among other concrete blocks, I am considered untravelled and uneducated in the way of the world, a mere sapling among the majestic oaks of the concrete world. But this is the story of my eventual progression to where I am now, and my hope for the future that I might become even more travelled than I currently am.
Chapter 1: My Formative Years:
Of my early years, I can remember little. I will assume that I had a mother and a father, for otherwise, how would I have been called into existence? I certainly do not believe the horror stories put about by concrete block children nowadays that we are not born, more created by that most strange of races, humanity. I do not believe this because it occurs to me that humanity could have no reason whatsoever to actually create us. What benefit would it bring to him?
My mother and father, however, clearly were either not of the nurturing mould, or they could simply not afford to care for me. Sadly, poverty is a problem affecting many concrete blocks nowadays. This stems from the fact that since the world became so human-oriented, there have been few job opportunities for us blocks, and those that do exist are managed by the human beings, who tend to organise us into work parties which they call buildings, but oddly enough, when we are in our parties, they do not appreciate us moving around. It took us some time to understand that this is what they objected to, but they cruelly punished us until we acceded to their demands. One day, the oppressed block will rise up against its human oppressors and throw off its chains. But that day has not yet come.
In the meantime, I shall merely say that my mother and father could not or would not care for me, and abandoned me. At least I was free, unlike the serfs in the buildings. But I was totally alone, and after some extensive wanderings, I found myself in a garden shed, where I stopped for the night to shelter from the rain. It was then that my adventure really began!
Chapter 2: Capture:
In the morning, I found that the door to the shed had been locked, and by a cruel twist of fate, I was now trapped. I tried hurling myself at the door and at the wall, in an attempt to smash them down to achieve my freedom, but they were too strong. There were no windows. I began to get the uncanny suspicion that the shed had been constructed for the very purpose of keeping concrete blocks like myself confined.
I decided to wait, since, of course, there was nothing else I could do. Perhaps an opportunity for escape would soon arise. Sure enough, a mere two hours later, a key turned in the lock of the door, and a man came in. He had a hard, cold face, and his eyes were deep but emotionless. As soon as he saw me, he turned back, and called to his companion.
"You were right, Harry," he said. "There was one here. After all this time, we've finally caught one."
I didn't like the sound of this. These men appeared to be criminals, engaged in the unlawful kidnapping and detaining of concrete blocks for their own nefarious purposes. I decided to speak up for myself, but I found that I could not speak. Horrified, I looked at the man, who was holding some sort of glowing device in his hand.
"We don't want you talking," he said. "We can't have you squealing to the police. We're going to have to shut you up once and for all."
He advanced over to me, holding the glowing thing in one hand and a small drill in another. The other man to whom he had been talking, who seemed to be called Harry, appeared silhouetted in the doorway, beyond which I could see bright sunshine and my lost freedom.
"This is an speech inhibitor," the man told me. "It works within two metres of any concrete blocks. It's my own invention. Ingenious, wouldn't you say?"
I wouldn't say, partly because it wasn't, but mostly because I couldn't say anything at all.
"We'll just have to implant it in you," the man said. "Don't worry, you'll heal."
And he drilled into me!
The pain cannot be described. Waves of agony with each fresh turn of the drill shot through me, and I couldn't even scream. Then I felt the man placing the inhibitor inside me, which was even worse, for it was a violation of myself. I was now and forever incapable of speaking.
"There," said the man. "You'll be fine now. We can use you for whatever we want, and you want be able to tell anyone."
Both men started snickering unpleasantly. But then I heard a sound, the sound of a door opening and closing, and a hard but fair voice shouting out, "Hey! You in there!"
Could my rescue be at hand? Evidently, my captors thought so, because they started up in alarm and dashed out of the garden shed, presumably with the intention of escaping and saving their own worthless hides. They clearly failed.
"You're under arrest!" the voice told them. "You are to be detained on charges of intent to capture concrete blocks and use them in bank raids."
Intent? I thought. That probably meant the police - whom I assumed this fellow to be - didn't know that these men had actually already captured a concrete block. This could be difficult, because I wanted to be rescued, but I couldn't alert the police to my presence. I couldn't speak, and after the drilling, I was too weak to move. So I merely lay there, in the corner of the shed, considering my options.
As the sound of my captors being led away in handcuffs faded, so did my chance of rescue.
Chapter 3: The Years In The Shed:
I stayed in the shed for seventeen years, in the corner, unobserved. A new family came to occupy the house, and if they ever saw me, they showed no sign of it. Perhaps they believed me to be just like the common block, which is not worth the time of day to either human or concrete block. But I was growing ever stronger. Wounds in a concrete block take a long time to heal, but the cruel marks made on me by the man with the drill were slowly fading.
Then, one day, when I was nearly recovered, I heard snatches of a conversation between the adults of the family. It seemed they wished to clear out the shed. This would be my chance! They would move me out. Once again I would feel the sun on my surface, the wind blowing seductively over my corners, the rain beat upon my edges. I longed for such sensations, any sensation other than that of being in a dark shed, covered in dust and unable to signify my plight to anyone.
The shed was emptied by the adult man, who seemed to be lugging everything round to the front of the house. But, when I was alone in the shed, there was an unusually long pause in between his departure and when I assumed he would return. I prayed to the Concrete God that he had not forgotten about me, and that he would come back to take me wherever he had taken everything else. But the adult man did not return.
Chapter 4: Convalescence:
Somebody else came in, however. A young man, exceptionally good looking, with bleached blond hair and blue eyes, dressed entirely in black, entered the shed. He saw me, and with an intense effort, hauled me round to the front of the house. Then, another conversation ensued, which I did not attend to because I was too busy familiarising myself with the sights and sounds of the outside world once again.
It was only when I was propped up against the wall of the garden, while all the rest of the things that had been in the shed were driven away in the human's car, that I began to wonder what was going on, and why I had been singled out to be left alone. Then it hit me: I was too heavy to fit in the human's car! They couldn't take me to the place where everything else was going (which was probably just as well, really, considering that it was more than likely the tip), and had decided not to put me back in the shed, but just leave me where I was.
This was not what I really wanted. Wonderful as it was to be out of the shed again, I was still immobilised from my drill wounds from seventeen years previously. I could not move nor speak, and was just as trapped outside here as I had been inside the shed, though here I was subject to any weather conditions that might arise. I began to long for the safety of my shed again.
But in the weeks that followed, the exceptionally good looking young man with bleached blond hair took care of me, as though I was his own son. He fed me, and he tended my wounds, so that I became fit and strong again.
Chapter 5: A New Beginning:
Then, one day, nearly a full month after my liberation from the shed, I was well enough to move. I walked all the way round the front garden, then collapsed, exhausted but proud, back into my starting position.
The next night, I left. Sad as I was to leave the exceptionally good looking young man with bleached blond hair, I had heard that he would soon be leaving to go to York anyway. So I knew that it was time for me to make my departure, before I outstayed my welcome and became a drain on the family's resources. So I dragged myself to East Midlands Airport, which was quite an achievement, considering my rather weakened state, and booked myself onto a flight for Spain.
And here I am now. Sitting on the beach, sipping a cocktail, I have my own villa to which I can retire at any need. I am happy, though I still cannot speak. When I recover my speech, I shall be truly joyful. Then I shall seek out the exceptionally good looking young man with bleached blond hair, and convey to him my heartfelt thanks. But until such a time may come, I am content to stay here, sipping cocktails on the beach. All I really need is a lady friend to make my life totally complete …