Is my muse here today?
You do not need her,
I hear you say.
But I need her come what may,
No stories form when she’s away.
–
Could you, would you, write one on a bus?
No, I couldn’t, too much fuss.
–
Could you write one in a canoe?
No, too much paddling would never do.
–
Could you write one at a fair?
No, I couldn’t stand the glare.
Could you write one on a plane?
No, the cost would be a drain.
–
Look, not on a bus or in a canoe.
Not at a fair or in a plane.
I need my muse back again!
Several centuries ago, an alchemist sat making a number of final adjustments.
The miniature globes on their thin stems, representing the Solar System, remained motionless as he carefully performs a final tweak here, another there. There was a complexity of connected cogs designed to drive the orrery; a small model that showed the relative positions of the planets and moons. This was something he had been working on for the better part of his entire lifetime. He carefully releases the minute counterweight and smiles with deep satisfaction as the entire configuration noiselessly begins to turn… backwards! After watching the array of interconnected movements for a while, and with the greatest of care, he attaches the back plate. Sitting back, he looks at what he knows is his ultimate work.
At long last, it was time to take it to the only people that would have any understanding of what he had created, his fellow members of the alchemists’ society. He slowly lifted, what was now a completely sealed item, and set it down onto a thick blanket. Wrapping all of the material around it, he slowly made his way out into the street. He was mindful of the delicate nature of what he was carrying.
Holding the bundle tight against his chest he began the short walk that would take him to the meeting place. He was certainly wise enough to realise that the sheer thrill he was experiencing had to be tempered. What he was about to do needed great care, lest all of his many years of hard work should undoubtedly come undone.
He knew only too well that the slightest disturbance of the device, now that it had been set in motion, could easily bring about an irreversible alteration to the current state and future performance of the Solar System!
As he approached the building, his foot caught on something and he fell over…
For the man, it was just another night full of dreams.
They were so regular, so insistent, that it became quite a normal occurrence to wake up with a head full of them still buzzing around. Dreams about power. Power over others. There were lots of people he didn’t like, several groups of them, in fact. People that he considered to be inferior. He had explained all this in his book. He could do much more than just write about it; so much more. Let’s face it, he wanted the top job. He knew he could make a difference. He could sweep the place clean. There had been a number of electoral victories of late. Maybe the time was right. Maybe his time was right.
In the bathroom, he stood giving extra attention to the small moustache beneath his nose.
He paused, looking at himself in the mirror.
“I have an idea,” he murmured.
She was terribly sorry about burning a large hole in his shirt.
The shirt in question was, without doubt, his favourite and the most precious item of clothing that he had ever owned. There had always been this element of clumsiness about her, as far as ironing, cooking, cleaning and so on were concerned. When these little accidents occurred, she would always follow up with the most profuse and heart-rending apologies. As a general rule, you could say that he had learnt to live with it. On this occasion however, despite telling her she was forgiven, something inside of him snapped. Knowing this, he decided to let a bit of time pass before dwelling on it too heavily. Three days later, she was still apologising, saying that she was sure that he hadn’t really forgiven her.
He saw that the time was right to convince her by providing her with a treat. He said he would give her a private showing of the latest rooftop landscaping project he had carried out for the owners of the new twenty-story tower in the city. She was certainly impressed with the idea. It would be the first time he’d given her a private tour of any of his work.
On the day, using the keys provided, they walked up a very grand set of marble steps and walked in through the main entrance. In the foyer, a huge space that she was very impressed with, he then gained access to the elevator and they rode up to the roof.
After several minutes of looking around at what he had created, she said how surprised she was and how lovely the whole landscape was. She said how it made her so proud of him and the work he does.
A few minutes later, he called to her from the front side of the building. “If you come over to this side and look down you get a good view of the fronts steps.”
She walked across and stood next to him.
He said, “You need to lean forward a bit, but be careful, none of the safety rails have been installed yet.”
He watched as she peered down.
It would only take the gentlest of nudges.
However… he just couldn’t do it.
The train pulled in as she reached the platform.
It was a cold night with a sharp wind that chilled her to the bones. People were stamping their feet to keep warm. The wind that blew through the station was becoming stronger. The carriages, as they slowed, showed warm brightly lit places with comfortable seats and windows that gave easy views out to the lights that twinkled in the night. It looked very inviting. As it stopped, it seemed to say ‘come on in, it is really cosy in here. As you can see, there are several empty carriages if you prefer a little privacy. I’ll give you a pleasant ride, honestly, I will!’
It was all too much, and quite sickening, she thought.
She turned away.
She would catch the bus.
They had an agreement that whoever goes first would do their best to come back.
However, when she became ill, all such thoughts were no longer on their minds. Their time was consumed with him caring for her over the final months. When she finally passed away, it was left to him to make all the necessary arrangements. When the funeral was over and all the consoling friends and relations left the house where he had put on a short reception, he was suddenly left alone. He would need to consider the future, a future without her. Meanwhile, she, as promised, was making a concerted effort to return. Eventually, she found a way.
It was late one evening, only a few days after the funeral, that she managed to visit their home, where she made her way to the bedroom, fully expecting him to be asleep. She wasn’t sure how she would make her presence known. She didn’t want to frighten or upset him. She decided that she would take whatever steps were appropriate, when the time came.
When she entered the bedroom, she discovered an empty, unmade bed. Despite this, she felt his presence. Without understanding how, she instantly found herself in the noisy, local pub where she discovered him fully drunk. He was standing with a group of pals singing bawdy pub songs.
It was her first and last visit.
She was busy in the kitchen.
She had always liked cooking. She read through the recipe one final time, then assembled all of the ingredients needed. Her friend had given her the recipe that she’d found on the dark web. There were two cups of not getting Covid, one cup of falling in love with the right person, half a cup of finding a well-paid job, half a cup of staying healthy, two tablespoons of fond memories, two tablespoons of being nice to people, one tablespoon of staying in touch with her parents, three teaspoons of late-night partying and half a teaspoon of regret. That should do it, she thought.
She would let it cool before putting it in the fridge.
She would consume it tomorrow, on her twenty-first birthday.
He and his brother were excited about the special picnic.
It was special because they would get to play with lots of other youngsters, all around their own age. There would be many different games going on, especially hide and seek, as well as a great spread of food. Mostly, they would be left to their own devices, playing in and out of the trees in the wood, without being watched by grownup people. This was how the day was spent, with them all having a great time by being free to run around shouting and playing as much as they liked. Of course, by day’s end they were all completely exhausted and were more than ready to be picked up by their parents.
At six o’clock, on the dot, all their mums and dads would arrive to take them home, where they would tuck them up in bed.
Had you been there at the time, you just might have heard the young bear ask his brother, “Does any of this remind you of a popular nursery song?”
Her favourite night was Friday.
He was out of the house. Every other working day, the brute would come back from the pub drunk and violent, but not on a Friday. On these nights, he’d be out until late, playing darts at the pub. There was always something both predictable and comforting in the knowledge that he would come home late, very late. He and his mates would play their game, then proceed to drink themselves silly until the place closed. He would then stagger home drunk and barely conscious. He would fumble and curse with his keys at the front door. She would let him in as a blast of cold night air swept in. She would stand well back as he scowled and clumsily climbed the stairs. Once in the bedroom, he would manage to climb into bed, fully-dressed, and pull up the covers.
There would be nothing said. No complaints or accusations, and never any of the usual brutality.
On this particular evening, she made sure the bedroom door was closed, before returning to the music that had been playing softly on the CD. Turning the volume up high, she returned to the foot of the stairs and waited for the screaming to start…
Although golden poison dart frogs live in the tropical rainforests of Central and South America, it’s amazing what can be purchased on the dark web!
The huge industrial plant on the edge of town had always been a mystery.
The purpose of the place was unknown. Although the locals would see unmarked trucks come and go several times a day, nobody seemed to know what they did there. Naturally, there were theories. Everyone had a different idea about what was going in and what was coming out. It seemed to be the case that even the town’s Mayor and Councillors knew no more than anyone else. Then, completely out of the blue, the trucks stopped. Nothing happened for a few days, apart from the increased speculation about the place, until the heavy machinery turned up. People passing by looked on in amazement at all the sudden activity going on, in what was obviously a demolition site.
There were two large excavators, a crane, several bulldozers, and a number of trucks. The place seemed to be crawling with workers in high-visibility jackets and safety helmets.
Over several days, all of the buildings were flattened, and all materials were removed from the site. The entrance road into the plant was ripped up and the whole area was regraded and levelled.
This was followed by a huge sign going up, saying ‘Land for Sale’.
All this, and the locals never did find out what had gone on there…