Free The Journey Prize Stories 22 by Various Page B

doing. Leo was shivering by the time he made it through the seventh wicket and lined up to hit the turning stake. He nailed the shot and the ball bounced off and rolled back towards the seventh wicket, as if he’d planned it that way.
    The second half of the game went by much faster. He’d stopped shivering and nothing bothered him at all. Someone could be watching, he thought, a stranger, or his mother or his Uncle Oscar or Ramon even, and he wouldn’t even notice. When he made it back through the second wicket, he realized that at some point he had stopped keeping track of his strokes. But when he hit the first stake again and ended the game, he knew he’d done pretty well, that he’d played some of the best croquet he’d ever played. The rain had almoststopped completely. He looked up at the sky and it was still grey, but not as dark as before, though it was almost evening. As he packed the wickets in the case he thought he should probably towel them off when he got home, so they wouldn’t rust, and dry his mallet so it wouldn’t warp, and he was glad that he had thought of this before it was too late.
    Now that he was finished playing he became aware again of how badly he needed to piss. He always needed to piss when he’d been out in the rain for a while, especially when he wasn’t wearing his raincoat and his clothes got wet. It was as if the rain seeped right through his skin and filled him up until it felt like he would burst. He knew he wouldn’t make it home before he pissed himself. He looked around the park and up and down the street and there was still no one around. He went over and stood between the two fir trees, which were only slightly taller than he was, their branches heavy and drooping with rain. When he unzipped his pants his underwear was soaking wet, and his dick was shrivelled from the damp and the cold. The piss felt warm as it flowed out of him and steam rose up from the wet grass. It felt like he was standing there pissing for a very long time, like it would never end.

DANIELLE EGAN

PUBLICITY
    H ere she comes. She’s barely a woman and could be mistaken for one of the tennis stars on my flight, what with the tracksuit and long blonde ponytail and running shoes that look like UFOs. But the eyes are a giveaway. She has the eyes of a handler. Already.
    â€œI’m Lana. Good to meet you!” She smiles with her mouth but doesn’t commit the eyes.
    â€œHello, Lana. Thanks for coming.” Probably didn’t have a choice, poor girl. After what’s happened, they might have sent someone older.
    â€œThe car’s right out front,” she says, going for my bag, which I give up too easily. She leads the way, generating a current that smells of soap. “How was the flight?”
    â€œTurbulent.” My body still feels poised to leap from its skin.
    â€œSorry.” As if she could have done anything about it.
    Her car resembles a large shiny bike helmet. It’s an effort to climb up and in.
    â€œGo,” she says, and the vehicle starts moving without making a sound.
    â€œWelcome back,” says a voice from the dashboard, sounding slightly wistful.
    The highway looks brand new, with partially finished off-ramps leading nowhere. I’m desperate to see the mountains, but huge electronic billboards line the route, hawking resorts, casinos, water parks – all branded The One & Only.
    â€œI haven’t been back here since 1985.”
    â€œThen you’ll notice a lot of changes!”
    At least the mountains will still be there, trailing off into the water. Those giant green blobs that appear when I conjure up my old life with Sarah, at the beginning.
    â€œSorry about that
E-Life
piece last night. We didn’t see it coming.”
    â€œNeither did I.” I should have seen it coming the moment I laid eyes on Sibby running on tiptoes into the Sulu Sea. I should have had the guts to look away, to take