Friday, 13 November 2009

THE BALLAD OF THE KID by Paul D. Brazill

Paul returns with a belter...

The Ballad Of The Kid

The sun was melting the tar coloured night into morning as we reached the top of the hill. The Kid sat down against the windmill cradling the dying Dog in his arms. I looked out across the fields towards the beach where smoke rose from the burning car. Sirens screamed in the distance, melding with the sound of the seagulls.

The Kid was sobbing and whispering to Dog. I’d spent the last thirty minutes trying to convince him to leave Dog and come with me but it had been futile, like wading through molasses.

‘The police will be looking for us soon,’ I said. ‘You know what will happen if they catch us.’

The Kid nodded, sniffing. I’d never seen him cry before. Not when we killed The Statistics and not even when his parents were burned alive.

I flashed back to two years ago. The emergency services were attending a blaze at a tower block. I’d parked my car and gone to take a look, along with the other rubber neckers. The air was thick with smoke, panic and excitement. I took out my camera and snapped away.

Near me, beside a vandalised post box, looking like a chimney sweep and holding a can of petrol, was a lanky doe-eyed boy of about ten. Beside him was a black mongrel.

I took a bag of peanuts from my pocket and crouched down. The dog yelped and came up to me and started eating them.

‘Dog likes you,’ said The Kid. He stunk of smoke and petrol.

I knelt down and stroked the dog.

‘He doesn’t like everyone,’ The Kid said, his eyes drawn toward the burning building.

‘He doesn’t like me ma and da. They wanted to chuck him out in the rain.’

‘Where are your parents?’ I said, guessing the answer. The Kid nodded in the direction of the fire. Suddenly, a swarm of police arrived and I started to feel edgy.

‘I’ve got to go,’ I said. As I walked away Dog started barking.

‘Dog likes you,’ said The Kid.

And then I had a thought. This could be a great development opportunity for The Project.

‘Do you want to come with me?’ I asked.

‘And Dog?’ answered The Kid.

‘Of course,’ I said and I saw the traces of a smile.


I’d started The Project about a year after I was laid off and a couple of months after Bev did a runner. Those times are a bit murky but I think it all started one wan November morning when I was driving back from taking photos of a motorway pile up on the A142.

A tall red haired man was hitchhiking near a little chef.

I remember pulling over - the radio was playing that Pogues Christmas song- and I remember him getting in the car but I don’t remember killing him or chopping him up and putting him in bin bags. As I say, my memory is a swamp these days.

After that, it became a semi-regular thing and I even started recording the details of The Statistics, as I came to know them: hair, sex, age, race, etc.

With The Kid and Dog in tow it made collecting The Statistics even easier. People see a man with a kid and a cute dog and they automatically feel safe. Yes, The Project had been going swimmingly until today when a hippy woman took a screwdriver to me and Dog and scrambled out of the car.


The sun was like a gold doubloon, the sky was blue and I felt something I hadn’t felt for a long, long time-sadness. I had to get a move but The Kid just wanted to spend Dog’s last moments on earth with him.

‘Drink this,’ I said to The Kid and gave him the juice laced with sleeping pills that I kept for The Statistics.

I stroked Dog and headed down the other side of the hill to look for a car. I was draped in a dark cloak of gloom. I’d miss that dog.

Paul D. Brazill was born in Hartlepool, England and lives in Bydgoszcz, Poland.
He has had stories in A Twist Of Noir, Thrillers Killers n Chillers, Beat To A Pulp, Out of Ruins and other such classy joints. He can be found stalking Paul D. Brazill at


  1. Excellent. Beautifully visual yet matter of fact in the delivery of events.

    A great, complete tale, yet we expect there's more to come.

  2. I am reminded of Harlan Ellison's "A boy and his Dog". Not even close to being the same, yet similarities are blatant in execution and ending. Excellent stuff Paul.

  3. Dark and delicious stuff. A great piece of writing Paul.

  4. Paul, it's all been said above! Excellent stuff.
    Regards, David.

  5. What is there to say about this that hasn't already been said. Excellent? Brilliant? Chilling? You don't want to go on but you have to and then you're glad you did and then you're sorry you did... Yes. Perfection indeed.

  6. Meanie! Bowouuhahahahaha! You are one sick puppie. Well done.

  7. Paul, a stonker of a story. From the beginning paragraph you could imagine it. The middle of nowhere, a man, a kid and the dying dog. I'll use the words, I'm in awe, great job!

  8. And the moral of the story...never trust a hippy with a screwdriver.

    Very good Paul.

  9. What can you say bad about a man liked by a dog? Good one, Paul.

  10. Oh what an evil little tale! Great narrative style, Paul. Gives us just enough, then leaves a little to our imaginations to make it even more horrible.

  11. Strong voice. Story has a cool post-apocalyptic edge.

  12. Thanks very very much. You know they say never write a story that came to you in a dream? Well I dreamt that one.Well, 80% of it.

  13. I had cold chills. Another great one by the king of noir.