The Umbrella

The naked lightbulb in the centre of the room flickered into life, throwing an orange glow over the plain plaster walls and the concrete floor. In the middle of the room was a small white canvas on a battered wooden easel, a thin layer of dust covering the blank surface.

Footsteps echoed through a backstage corridor of the Seoul Memorial Park stadium, the sounds bouncing off the polished floor and trans-steel window, swelling and folding back on themselves to match the hall's contours.

I’ve never liked bikes. I inherited my sister’s as a child, and spent a long summer riding up and down our road until one of the other kids pointed out that it was a girl’s bicycle, which to a young boy was like hearing that the handlebars were laced with poison. I never rode it again, except for an experimental ride in the back garden, where I couldn’t be seen but kept tumbling into the pond.

The evening sun cast long shadows of rich amber across the park, and the heady, perfumed smell of late summer filled the air. But strewed across the well-kept grass were pieces of brown packaging, fluttering gently in the breeze. An empty envelope skittered into a flowerbed, and a scrap of white paper drifted along until it hit an upturned shoe. It strained for a moment against the polished black leather, then gave up and sank to the ground.

‘Did you want a drink, Charlie?’ The boy grabbed the bottle of cherryade from the middle of the table and poured, watching the bubbles build until a pink foam rose just above the the rim of the little plastic tumbler, then waiting for it to retreat before topping it off.

An incredible, eight-foot heap. It stood now tall, misshapen, and blinking stupidly, but it had started with just one mobile phone, cast down into the dirt like a firmly-planted flag. Word spread and more people came, and more devices were thrown down, and cheers were raised, for the people were taking back society.

A ruddy nose emerged in the gap between the curtains. Above, two beady eyes glared at the children who dared to play outside. Then there was a flash. Startled, the children looked towards the window, but it was empty. This would prove to be an unusual day for Andrew Shaw.