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"Pinch Punch, First Of The Mon…", John sent Alan crashing into the server rack, the great tower simultaneously wobbling dangerously and remaining completely unaffected. He blinked, trying to keep reality in focus.

"Horseplay is not allowed, Alan."

"Neither is assault, granddaddy." The man spat.

Alan was a phantasm, another fucking figment of his fucking fucked imagination. "Piss off…" John turned away.

A small hippopotamus hid behind a coil of wires, and he could taste yellow, some letters and numbers. R4118.

It tasted a bit like coconut.

Around him lay detritus from weeks of escape attempts.

Server racks torn apart, chairs destroyed, panelling torn, a nice tidy office reduced to little more than rubble, but at the same time whole and unaffected. A 2026 calendar lay ripped apart on the floor and hung neatly on a wall.

Everything felt alien, but familiar, like a cart wheel to a tire, one an evolution of the other.

A radio continued playing numbers only he could hear, and he shut his eyes, focusing on the quiet hum of the cooling fans. Calm, he needed calm, even if he was stuck in this purgatory.

"Get it under control, John. Tell me the numbers." Said Alan, straightening his RAF uniform.

"Numbers?" "You tune them out, just like you tune… me out." John ignored him.

Kneeling behind the server rack, he produced a pair of wirecutters and snipped a wire.

Part of the rack went dead. Alan cursed, and kicked out at him. No effect.

The radio played unabated, R4118, R4118, R4118, but louder now.

"Tell me and I will go away." But there was something in Alan's eyes, something urgent.

John stood and tried the door again. Locked… it was always locked.

R4118, R4118, R4118, deafeningly loud inside his mind. "It won't stop, John. I will have it."

He swiped ineffectually.

Through the window, he could see a young man asleep on a cot, but he never stirred. Just like the clock didn't change and hunger never came. Well, physical hunger… A different kind of famine was ravaging his mind not accustomed to unreality, a hunger solely of spirit.

John took one last look around the room before committing to the one act he had fought against for so damn long. The radio blared, R4118, R4118, R4118, static scrambling briefly, as his eyes glided across the room and then, R4118, please come home.

John blinked. He looked around again, eyes passing a power socket. R4118 we got you.

Alan looked up. "Don't you fucken dare…" His accent, posh since the first fucking day now sounded wrong.

"Maybe I do dare." John smirked, crawling to the socket and prying off the cover.

Alan grabbed at his ankles, his fingers phasing through the flesh.

The cover clattered and John jammed the wirecutters into the exposed wires, expecting pain to shoot through him and kill him.

He blinked and saw a propeller outside, a cockpit, and out front the airplane station. An American flag waving. He angled in his Hurricane for landing.

In his head, Alan cursed his name and progeny, a fledgling tinny sound that faded into non-existence.

Peace at last.

Sometimes you need to wake up and wonder who you ever really were. Aged parents, grown up kids and the thing that you thought made you “you”, can disappear quickly.

Alan mused, he was much given to musing these days. He looked at the posters on his walls. They told stories only he could hear, of times before the perimeter fences. They felt almost like they’d happened to someone else.

He had held on to his job because of what it made him to others and himself. he’d been called a “legend” six times at the team awayday yesterday.

Karl from ADP had introduced him to Danni and said she would be shadowing him this year, with a view to taking a larger role in the programming next.

Alan had been the sole artistic programmer for nearly 40 years, since starting the festival with Mazzy and Den, god rest. But ever since his little festival had got big and been swallowed by a company to do with Live Nation, he’d known a “reset” was coming. Now Karl described his future as a “well deserved rest”. Though of course the team would still be dipping into his “unbelievable knowledge pool”.

She was young but wasn’t everybody these days. Not knowing the difference between the names young people have for generations, he settled for “about 30”. She had those twiddly tattoos that weren’t “sleeves” anyway.

He’d stomped off to have a fag outside and was just sitting there, looking across the large empty square that had once been a bus station when someone behind him and pulled the loose flesh on his neck really hard and hit him across the shoulders with force.

“Ow” he cried, in genuine pain.

“Pinch, punch, first day of the month!!” guffawed Danni.

He decided to let it go in case he was accused of persecuting someone with ADHD.

“You looked so lost, I thought I’d surprise you” she laughed.

“I always look like this!” he replied still holding a hand over his still pulsing neck.

“Too many drugs back in the day?” she smiled, “Legend! Anyway, Have you heard of Hippopotamus? Atonal Psych-funk from Detroit? We’ve got to have them! They’re awesome.”

“I’ll check them out” he lied. The thought of listening to anything described this way already hurt his ears.

“And Workplace Canteen, gender-fluid-postpunk from the Faroe Islands! Or Airplane Station, who combine Afrobeat, Postrock and Nu-jazz to devastating effect! Surely you know them?”

Alan realised that he didn’t actually like music anymore.

“What have you booked so far?” continued Danni. Alan realised that she wasn’t going to let him just get on with it. Honestly, he had only booked Grandaddy (again) and the deadline was in three weeks. He was surprised to discover that he felt relieved and rescued by his assailant.

And so, with great effort, he pulled himself back into the present and made a nice speech to Danni about how it was her turn now. He said his metaphorical door was always open and not to waste this great opportunity that had given him so much pleasure. He did not think she would.

And now on the second day of the month, with the shock of the first behind him and his carefully maintained “legend” status counting for zilch in the outside world, Alan started to think about what he wanted to be when he grew up.

Anniversary

‘Pinch, punch, first of the month’

‘Ow, get off dad’

‘C’mon lazy bones, up you get. It’s holiday time!’

‘Is this the day we’re going to the airplane station daddy’ said Polly, wide awake after her sister’s loud complaint.

‘It’s called an airport smelly’ said Katey, still grumpy and rubbing her arm.

‘It doesn’t matter what it’s called, we’re going anyway. Up you get. We’ll have breakfast at the airplane station Pol.’

‘Airport’ shouted Katey, but it was too late, excited dad was halfway down the stairs. He would annoy her all day in this mood.

Grandaddy. Born on 1st June 1940. Met his end 1st June 2025. Strange symmetry everyone thought. Not as strange as the end itself though. Tipped out of a boat by a hippopotamus. Even that wasn’t as odd as it seemed. Katy had looked it up and over five hundred people are killed by hippos in Africa. Every year!

It was sad, But not as sad as it might have been because they had never seen Grandaddy. Except on Facetime. Even dad hadn’t seen him for years. He had gone weird and lived in the bush somewhere. He took people fishing, which was why he was in the boat.

Pol was crashing around checking her rucksack so Katy gave up and got out of bed.

They were going to the place where the hippo had tipped out Grandaddy. Exactly one year ago tomorrow. A funny kind of holiday Katy thought. She was pretty sure that mum thought so too, but she had gone along with it for dad. He wanted to go where it had happened and had chosen this day. He had promised that it would be fun as well as sad. They would see other animals but probably avoid hippos. Yeah, good idea thought Katy.

Everyone was very sleepy when they got to Port Elizabeth and it was still two hours drive into the bush. They all fell asleep in the car. Even dad, who must have been a bit nervous, Katy thought.

Eventually they were unpacking their things in what everyone called a lodge but was actually quite swanky.

‘I’ve asked Thabo to take me now. You can all get some sleep,’ said dad.

‘What? It’s after 11. Wouldn’t it be better to go tomorrow.’

‘But it was today.’

Mum looked so tired.

‘I’ll come with you dad.’

She said it quietly because Pol was asleep.

‘Thanks love, but you need some sleep.’

‘I’m fine. I want to. I can sleep anytime.’

She saw mum pull a face, but something was agreed.

In the jeep she wrapped herself in a blanket and nodded off. The next thing she knew her dad was nudging her and she was given a huge torch to carry.

Thabo was carrying a gun she noticed.

They only went a few yards and their torches were reflecting back off the water. Strange sounds were all around them. Birds and chirping insects mostly.

‘It was here sir.’

Dad didn’t say anything and Katy thought it best to be quiet. She moved her torch just a little bit and it reflected off something else. A pair of eyes out in the water.

‘Are you ok dad?’

He reached down and took her hand.

‘Thanks for coming with me Katy’