Samuel Best — Elvis

Fiction image

By Samuel Best

I slick my hair back, curl my lip, point my finger at the mirror like a gun. Pow, looking good. I sing out a low ‘uh-huh’ and turn my head. I smooth my sideburns, adjust my collar. In the next room, the CD player skips back to the first track and starts to play. I take a step back, singing softly along to the words, and study myself.

The suit fits better now it’s been let out a bit. That’s the good thing about Elvis; he got fat too. I swing my arm around in a wide circle, my fingers clipping the lightbulb at the top. The shoulders have a lot more room now, and the trousers don’t pinch. I do a couple of squats, feel the tension in my knees. Pop a piece of nicotine gum in.

There’s a knock on my door and a call of ‘Showtime!’. I swing the cape around my shoulders and tie a little knot at the front. My sunglasses are on the table, next to my drink, and I put them on as I drain the last drops from the glass. Deep breaths now. Forget the size of the crowd, forget that you need this paycheck, forget that you’re older now than Elvis ever was. Just remember the words, King.

Samuel Best is a Glasgow-based writer and also runs Octavius, a literary magazine for students studying in Scotland. Samuel is currently writing two novels based on different blends of Scottish national identity, violence and running away. He tweets at @spbbest and has more stories available here: