A Bargain Swap by Paul Morris

I’d never visited a castle before but we went, all of us, me and my big family to Culzean. I soon lost them and headed for the ramparts and there was the sea, angry with me, ramming the lower reaches of the walls below, dragged against its volition by a daytime, unseen moon. If you stood close to the edge there was no more castle, no more back there, no more me and my big family. There was out there.

And there was my purpose. As a boy, I never touched chocolate or sweets: instead I exchanged them for all manner of things. If you had two Mars bars and a Twix you were sought-after. Once the other kids had exhausted their stock of tooth massacre, they would sidle up to me and ask what I had in my pockets. I became the illicit owner of toy soldiers and cowboys-and-Indians that seemed too-melted in the manufacturing process, or the occasional kite, even sometimes an innocent-if-you-say-so peck on my quickly reddening cheeks from a girl whose sugar levels were out of control.

Today facing only the sea beyond Culzean, I held a toy parachutist in my hand, the best exchange so far by a million miles, a bargain swapped for a poke of scrap candy. I knew he was prepped for his virgin flight, folded parachute falling limply but correctly at his back. I had saved him for this and he was ready and I was ready: our moment. I barely paused and hurled him out there, sacrificing him to the turmoil of the wind and the inexplicable rage of the sea.

And he did not let me down. My guts rose to my throat as at first he plummeted but then the chute rose, flicker-flamed white and then opened. A joyous thermal took control and he floated off, so quickly, so perfectly that I wondered about the shortness of it. He was green but turned tiny-black as he punctuated the greyness - with enough white in it. Foul-mooded nature did not seem to affect him as he reduced himself to a dot and then absolutely nothing.

Me and my big family laid a tartan rug on the grass and it was invaded by picnic food, by bread and butter and ham and cheese and jam and marmalade and ginger (Cola and lemonade). We partook and, rightly so, there was a cathedral silence. Suddenly, he approached in the air behind us and I seemed to know he was coming. He landed near dead centre on the makeshift cloth table and lay there, green, too-melted, silk tangled around his stiff legs.

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