This was what I performed at Day of the Dead last week. Unusually for me, I recycled this one from the recent Gosport Steampunk Festival where it was performed to a small but select audience:
Jake the SteamPunk
I wouldn’t want it to get out but I’m not really a Steampunk. Don’t get me wrong, the dressing up is fun and I quite like the fantasy side of it. It’s just that - well, this is my story...
I met Jake on the Isle of Wight Ferry last year. He was on his way to the Pirate Festival and I was going to the revival event at Havenstreet, dressed in my smartest 1940s outfit, complete with hat and gloves and he, well he was dressed in a bizarre collection of Victorian frock-coat, leather waistcoat with chains looped all over it, a pair of what looked like biker boots, a top hat with goggles attached, and he carried a pistol! It was the pistol that did it for me. There was an instant attraction, that’s for sure. He stared at me with his one eye - the other was covered with a patch. It wasn’t obvious whether this was part of his costume or a functional necessity. Then he grinned, showing me his beautiful white teeth as he offered to buy me a drink in the bar.
The ferry was crowded and we were jostled together in the melee of people - pirates, Steampunks and Second World War re-enactors. Oh, and there were a few holiday makers on their way too, excited children and pissed-off parents, all wishing that they were already at their destination.
We parted when the ferry docked at Cowes, each totally out of synchronicity with the other’s destination but we did exchange phone numbers and over the next few months embarked on a steamy love affair. I won’t go into details here - let’s just say I was hooked on his pistol and he just loved my 1940s stockings and the lacy gloves.
It had all been going so well until he introduced me to his submarine. Not your run of the mill sub, oh no, it was something that he’d built in his garden shed. In fact, it was still in his garden shed when he introduced me, enticing me to slide in through the hatch to experience the true Steam-Punk adventure. He said it would be our own fantasy voyage to the bottom of the sea. I have to admit that I was concerned about getting a ladder - authentic 1940s stockings are not easy to find - and I wasn’t sure about being incarcerated in this contraption although the fantasy aspect of the voyage did appeal to me at the time.
It was cosy. We lay side by side, the buckles on his boots digging into my thighs as I wondered what would happen next. After all, there’s not a lot you can do without being able to move about much. That’s what I thought anyway and maybe with hindsight, it would have been better not to have tried.
The problem began when I got cramp. Well, you know what it’s like when you get cramp in bed? Your leg starts to jerk and you just have to sit up. Of course, there was no sitting up in the submarine and the fact that it was only built for one didn’t help. I did thrash about - and I made a lot of noise, quite a lot as it happens so I didn’t notice the gunshot. Nor did I notice that Jake had gone very quiet until the cramp died away and I could turn my attention back to him.
There was so little space in our cocoon that it was difficult even to turn on my side to look at him properly. His eyes were open but they seemed a little glazed. ‘Oh, dear,’ I thought.
I had a bit of a job but finally managed to wriggle out through the hatch and once out, I could see more clearly from above that he was not in a good state at all. In fact, I believe he was dead.
I’m still not sure why he was carrying a loaded pistol but that was what ‘did him in’ in the end. I was very fond of him and was reluctant to end our affair, so I gently closed the hatch of the submarine and left him there whilst I went away to think.
What could I do? He was dead, after all. He’d previously told me that he had no family as such, just an Aunt in South Africa that he hadn’t seen in years. So no-one would be likely to come round to visit. Apparently, none of his Steam Punk friends visited him. He had kept himself to himself, not encouraging close friendships. It did seem rather strange to me when he told me that, although now I realise that it was a bit of a Godsend because I could have him all to myself without any interference from anyone else.
The submarine, his tomb, was very warm and soon the whole shed was rather smelly. I decided to help things along a bit. Luckily, he had one of those ‘Wormeries’ or whatever they’re called, just outside of the shed and a few scoops of that, together with the worms into the hatch of the sub helped to speed up the natural process of decay. I left it alone after that, but the other day, when preparing for this event, I popped in for a quick look and lo and behold, there was Jake, grinning up at me, showing all of his lovely white teeth.
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