Every now and then I will remember a line from one of my stories but won’t be able to remember which story it came from. You know the little magnifying glass on your desktop? Well that’s how I found this one again. One of the people that encouraged me to start a blog told me that I must post a blog a week. I did so without thinking; I have been thinking lately that prolific does not make a good writer. In fact it’s probably the opposite. Looking back over this I found grammatical mistakes and I also found that I hadn’t really explained it properly. The person that told me to publish lots was a woman so I am hardly surprised that I did what she said. Prolific does not make a good writer but I am better than most




Posted on June 9, 2015










I had someone help me to the Religion store to buy a new computer. Once there I realised that I didn’t have enough money in my account. The sales assistant told me that it was ok and that he would just take a pound of flesh to make up the difference. I pulled up my shirt and he shook his head. He said, no we’ll start with your cock and balls. A spasm shot through me and I twitched as I said the word no. I left the store in a rage and punched in the air as hard as I could. I accidently hit a pigeon flying past. I thought the pigeon would have moved but it stayed for the whole thing. It was on the ground and not moving. It was a very good punch. I looked down at it and thought it was dead. It didn’t move and I knew it was dead. I’d killed it. I had to bury it so I scooped it up and stuffed it into my pants. Fuck it, I realised. I have to buy a new computer so I turned and started to go back to the store. I got in a beautiful woman’s way and I almost tripped her over with my wheelchair. I looked her in the eye and profusely told her that I was sorry. She looked down at the bulge of the dead pigeon stuffed in my pants and smiled. A woman is happy with a beautiful lie. God did not fail. It has always been us. This is us here when we have no time


My phone beeped with a message so I picked it up. It told me a car was approaching so I went outside to wait. Two things in a day are normally too much for me and I had forgotten, I also had to go see a man about a dog. It’s getting cold and a chill ran down my spine as a man with a dog walked past. As I sat waiting a curvy woman walked up to me and asked me if I remembered her. I looked at her face but it didn’t ring any bells. I looked at her body and it rang four bells and I wished I did. She was flirting with me. She pulled out her card and I remembered her giving it to me before. The photo on the front of her card was sexy. She asked me if I ever danced? I shrugged my shoulders and thought about a model I know that came up and said to me recently that it was a good thing I can no longer stand because I used to dance like a “retard”. The woman on the card told me that dancing was very therapeutic. I shrugged my shoulders again and my right hand reached out and cupped her left bum cheek. I said, your bum is better than all that, and I squeezed it. She made a fist and slugged me in the eye

She’d told me that I had met her partner before. I asked, oh, but couldn’t remember? He drives you. He’s a dark man with black hair and brown eyes. I nodded and pretended to be interested. Her hand went to her hip as she smiled and told me that she actually preferred blonde men with blue eyes. She pulled one of her enormous breasts out of her bra with both hands and licked the nipple. What the? She was telling me about her partner and licking her tit. I still don’t know what it meant. I asked her if I could lick it too? She said, no my partner might see me, so I blew her a raspberry. She scooped up her breast and stuffed it back into her bra. There was nothing left to say so she left. I watched her bum jiggling sexily away from me and wondered what it tasted like. She stuck it out and I watched it move from side to side. A homosexual man was walking towards me. He looked and saw me watching her bum so he blew me a kiss then stuck his bum out and wiggled it from side to side too. I laughed as I spat on the pavement and gave him the finger

Since becoming disabled I have lost my sexual identity. I am no longer aware of how females see me. I asked a woman out last week who told me I had the wrong idea. I looked up and saw another beautiful woman walking towards me. She smiled at me like I had already fucked her. Who knows, perhaps I had? I smiled back at her then looked down and realised she was pushing a pram with a man alongside her. The man saw me smiling at her then put his arm around her back. I looked at the man and saw he had sculpted his eyebrows. That no longer means you’re gay but it doesn’t help assumptions. A woman pulled the hairs from my fingers one day. She dug her fingernails in and started yanking them out. I screamed at her to stop but she was already obsessed so I pulled my hand behind my back. She looked at the hair on my chest and started ripping out fistfuls. Women have been cultured by movies and the tv into believing that men should not have hair on their bodies. I want to be seen as a man. I told the woman who plucked me (no not fucked me, I wish) that it was a throwback to my genetic forbearer’s who needed extra hair for warmth. But you no longer need it, she said, you are wearing a shirt. A woman doesn’t know. We are men and we need the warmth

A car beeped at me as it slowed. It pulled into the driveway next to me and a man wearing a black suit, shirt tie and shoes got out. Are you an undertaker, I asked? No, he said, it’s me your driver you twit. Oh, I said as pushed my wheelchair to the passenger door. I took the wheels off the chair then he put it in the backseat; he started talking about his partner as he drove. You saw her today, he said as he nodded towards me. She’s a dancer. When I got there I found out that the man with the dog was actually two women and a man. There are lots of things that I understand but there are more things that I don’t. I sat down in front of their desk and they told me that there was no longer a dog. The woman told me that it caught rabies so they shot it. I asked, so what am I doing here then? She clicked her pen and looked down as she said, we will be asking all the questions today

My time was up so I could leave. They had removed a large portion of my soul. I felt like vomiting but knew my stomach was empty. I punched the clock and left. I hopped into the car and (he drove) back to Religion. The clerk smirked knowingly as I went back into the store. He pulled out a rusty blade with a plastic yellow handle. It looked like he used it for fishing. The clerk didn’t even pull my pants down. They just lunged at my groin and started to cut. They looked me in the eye and smiled as they were cutting. The clerk did not see the dead pigeon, they only saw a bulge in my groin. I now have a new computer still sitting in its box and the new version of Word for Mac still sitting in its box and I am still bleeding. I know why. I hide in the shells of these forgotten memories. The new scares me and again I know why. I take comfort in the past. This blood comes from inside me.




There is a dead pigeon in my pants that will never be able to forgive me,

she thought it was my truth but it was a lie. Our blood has mingled. I must

bury the dead pigeon.

I must bury the lie

to set it free




Andrew Stuart Buchanan

2 thoughts on “THE DEAD BULGE

    • thanks for commenting. remembering is kind of a double edged sword for me. having an acquired brain injury means that i don’t remember much unless i write it down. i’m working on a novel about the accident i had at work and i hardly remember any of it

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