Author: Alexander Fawn

It was arranged that the two men meet in one of the city’s less frequented cafes.
They both lived and worked in the city and were in their thirties. They had originally met, quite by chance, in a public library. They were both perusing book titles in the Unsolved Crimes section. They had become friends and occasionally caught up. Apart from them getting along, their backgrounds could not be more different. On the occasion of this café meeting, the inviter was a man with a shadowy past. His friend knew that he had worked for some government department, but was always reticent to talk about it. There always seemed to be something covert about him. On the other hand, the invitee, was an open book. He would think nothing of talking about his past in a frank and overt manner.
On the day they caught up, Covert was already there. He had secured a booth at the far end of the room. He rose and greeted his friend and they both sat down. After a brief update on how they were each doing, coffees were ordered. It wasn’t until the drinks had been delivered that Covert explained why he had asked the other to meet.

“I have an extraordinary favour to ask,” he said, dipping his hand in his pocket. He brought out a clenched fist. “It’s quite simple, really, but it does have a few caveats,” he said, smiling. He put his fist down on the table. “Open your palm,” he said with another smile.
Overt obliged and something small dropped into his hand. He was staring at it when the other closed his fingers over it, hiding it from sight. He looked up, confused. “Presumably, you’re going to tell me what I’m going to do with this?”
“Yes, I am.” Covert chuckled. “I’m relying on you.” He became serious and looked around. “For now, I want you to put it in your pocket.”
The other obliged.
“As I said, it’s a simple request, but an important one. I’d like you to take it home with you and secrete it somewhere in your house. In a place known only by you. At some future date, I will ask you to return it.” He sat back, studying his friend before going on. “As for the rules, you tell no one about it, not even your good lady.” He grimaced. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but it is vital that this remain strictly between us.”
The other shrugged. “My home, you say?”
‘Yes.”
“That’s important, why?”
“Because no one will look for it there.”
“This is not a joke, is it? You are serious about this.”
“Absolutely.”
Shortly after, they left.
This is all that is known about the day the two men met in one of the city’s less frequented cafes.

It has to be said that generally we are not welcome.
We certainly get a bad press. If we are not managed, and we can be managed, the results can be less than favourable. The fact is there are a hell of a lot of us and we’ve been around for a hell of a long time. Our saving grace is that some of us are here to do essential work. We just love replicating inside living cells. In fact, the cells of an organism is where those of my sort most like to be. It’s not just humans, we can do this with just about any living thing. When you think about it, it’s pretty exciting, us being sub-microscopic.

The truth is, if all of us suddenly disappeared overnight, humans would die out in a couple of days. So, when it comes right down to it, overall, viruses do more good than bad.
For goodness sake, just get on and manage us!

She heard from one of her workmates that he wasn’t well.
No one seemed to know what was wrong with him. She decided to give him a call when she got home. However, things got busy with the kids and coping because her husband was going to be late home. It was almost eleven when she remembered her friend and told her husband what people at work had said about him. They both agreed that it was too late to call. The next day in the warehouse, she asked if anyone had heard whether he was still poorly. She was told that he was more than poorly. Apparently, he was really sick and confined to bed. When lunchtime came she stood outside and rang his number. There was no reply.
That evening, knowing that he lived alone and was probably unable to get to a phone, she decided to call again, but if there was no answer, she’d send him an email. There was no reply so she fired up the computer. She immediately saw that the in box had a message with his name on the subject line. It was from his brother, saying that he would be staying with his brother for a few days until he was better. She immediately replied with a request to call in on the following day after work. The answer came back that his brother didn’t feel well enough for visitors just yet.
Two days later she heard that he had been admitted to hospital. She was scheduled to work a couple of hours overtime that evening, so she made arrangements with her husband to look after the children and she would visit him in hospital when her shift ended. Unfortunately, when she got there she was told that only immediate family could visit.
Several days after that, she heard that he had died. This sad news was followed up soon after with an invitation for the funeral, which she attended.

By the grave, she whispered, “I wish I had visited you when you were poorly.”

He lay there, observing.
The music was soft. He was peering through the partly opened door. It was a ballroom, dimly lit, with two figures dancing. He remembered the time, when very young, watching his parents dancing in the ballroom championships. They received some sort of prize; he doesn’t know what. People were clapping and they were taking a bow. They looked so happy. This was not there. This was not then. This was different. The dancers made no sound, they were barely touching the floor as they swept around the room. It seemed as though, while embraced and swirling in a faltering dance, neither was leading. As he looked on he realised that each was in a determined struggle to take the lead.
He pushed the door open further, it made a squeak. The music and the dancing stopped and the figures turned to look at him. Their faces revealed their identities; life and death. His eyes closed, shutting out the scene.

Other sounds came; beeps and drones, things clattering. Then, gentle voices. “That was close… Stabilising now… I’ll let you close… Thank you all.”
Life had taken the lead.

Crystals, snowflakes,
Sharp and bright,
All bathing
In a world of light.

Beams and rays,
Through shadows slice,
From lowly hovel,
To paradise.
–
It spreads and scatters,
Dances and glows.
It floods and glitters.
It warms and shows.
–
Great solar flares,
Ever spouting.
Gentle flames,
On candles sprouting.
–
Vast galaxies glowing,
Through the black,
While glow-worms,
In gloomy caves,
Shine back.
–
Creating day
From every night.
For all to bathe
In a world of light.

He left the final preparations until the night he would send his message.
It had been over a year since the shop owner had ripped him off. Hard earned cash just went up in smoke. The item was faulty. No warranty given. The shopkeeper almost laughed in his face. Most people would have regarded it as a minor incident, soon forgotten. The man currently stooped over, looking at the sequence of wiring through a lighted magnifying glass, didn’t see it that way. It had festered with him. As it was, a full twelve months had gone by. No one would see the connection.
He found what he needed on a website. It had taken some time to source and acquire the blocks of C-4 and detonators. Now, he was almost finished. “Blue to here, red to there,” he was whispering. So many things to remember. The instructions were clear enough. He just needed to take it one step at a time. He would make sure that nobody comes to any harm. He wasn’t a killer. No, he just wanted to put the guy out of business. Even if it’s only for a short time. He’d be happy with that.
He was setting the timer for one hour. Fifteen minutes to drive there. He knew where the best window was; no time at all placing it, then fifteen minutes back. With the timer set, he activated it.

Everyone in the street heard the explosion.
He’d never really got the hang of daylight saving.

As cosmic criminals went, she was up there with the best.
She had been on the run for a long time. Despite her careful planning and manoeuvring, she knew that the trackers had all manner of facilities at their disposal and they would eventually catch up with her. It came to pass that it was mid-morning when her door bell unexpectedly sounded, putting her on high alert. She went to the door and look through the peephole. He stood perfectly still, staring straight back. Black suit, tie and trilby hat; unashamedly looking the part. She opened the door and he entered with a grin. They both calmly made their way to the lounge, where he stood looking around before speaking.
“You must have known that it was just a matter of time,” he said, taking off his hat. “Ever since your criminal activities in the Andromeda galaxy, and your subsequent hideout on Pluto’s third moon, we’ve been tracking you.”
He fell into an armchair, making himself comfortable.
She sighed. “I am well aware of the advanced technology you have at your disposal.” She shrugged. “I’ll come quietly,” she whispered.
Before he could make a move to stop her, she opened the purse she was carrying and held up a small black device. “Hopefully, you won’t have come across one of these.”

His frown went to a look of slack-jawed disbelief, as she faded.
Just to repeat; she was up there with the best.

It had been a morning like any other at the station.

He looked at the platform’s clock. He was comfortable for time. In three minutes the city to city express would come through, followed five minutes later by his regular train. It seemed to be more crowded than usual with his platform packed with commuters all waiting for the same train. A number of passengers were standing a bit too close to the edge for his liking. Especially a small boy, who was deliberately jumping up and down at the very edge as a way of taunting his anxious mother. The first rumblings of the nonstop express were heard when the boy fell and his mother started to scream.
Pushing people aside and jumping down after him was the man’s immediate reaction. The boy had knocked himself out and lay across the rail when he scooped him up. The train was nearly on them and there was no time to make it back up. The man held the unconscious boy tightly close to him, as he crouched against the wall below the platform.
When the thunder of the express faded, the man lifted the boy to the waiting arms of his mother. The commotion that followed with people crowding round the mother and the boy while others were calling for an ambulance and giving medical advice at the same time. It was when a large woman pushed her way through the crowd loudly proclaiming to be a nurse that the rescuer managed to make his way further back along the face of the wall and almost completely unnoticed, quietly slip away. It was several minutes before people began asking if anyone saw were he went. Nobody could honestly say they did.
The man in question didn’t go in to the office that day, but called in to say that he had a cold. Not true, of course. However, what he did have was torn clothing, a number of severe scrapes and several nasty bruises. He realised that this meant that his cold was going to have to last a few days.
The incident went viral on the day, with lots of clips from people’s mobile phones being watched across social media platforms and the internet. He was positively uncomfortable with the exaggerated praise that was being heaped on the missing celebrity.
He winced at the thought of being caught up in the whole thing. He didn’t want cameras on him. He didn’t want to stand there holding the award or a medal, saying how humble he felt or how he didn’t see himself as a hero, or how he was sure anybody would have done what he did.
No, he didn’t want that.
Being humble really didn’t come into it and of course he was a hero. Also, he knew that not too many would have the courage to do what he did.
It was enough to know this… the rest he could avoid.

The school was always a leader when it came to new ideas.
The principal had read an article about a new method of categorising children. He called a meeting with the teachers and it was debated. He proposed that they create two separate areas within the school building. One was for those kids that were learning well and showing promise. The other was for those who were struggling. He suggested that the two areas be kept physically separate, with doors on either side of the school. The gifted children’s’ door would be white, while the other children’s would be black. All of this, he suggested, would need to take place without any consultation with the parents, as this would only slow things down.

The teachers deliberated on all aspects of the proposal for some time. Eventually, when everyone had expressed their personal views about the idea, the principal called for a vote. They all thought that it was a good idea and voted ‘yes’.
All of the discussed changes were put in place and the new system began to operate. As you can imagine, this caused a great deal of anger among the parents. The children themselves found this method of dividing them up unsettling and it inevitably brought about a lot of mischievous name-calling. The terms ‘smarty-pants’ and ‘dummies’ and a lot worse, were not uncommon. The only area within the school premises not subject to this version of apartheid was the playground.
It was there, on the third day, that things came to a head. Phones had been running hot throughout the local community and beyond. The parents and the relatives of those parents were very unhappy. Rivalry and protest were building from within the body of school children. A large angry crowd of adults were milling around in the playground when the bell sounded for morning break. The kids spilled out and the area was full. After a while, a chant started up with them calling on the principal to come out.
Otherwise…
The teachers deliberated on all aspects of the proposal for some time. Eventually, when everyone had expressed their personal views about the idea, the principal called for a vote. They all thought that it was a bad idea and voted ‘no’.

She and her mother had always had such long conversations.
From the time she was a small girl she had sat talking to her mum for long periods of time on a daily basis. They had always been perfectly comfortable with it. It came so naturally to them both. Later, when she was older, there were times when she needed to go away for short periods, mainly for her work. It was during these occasions that the telephone came into its own.

Then came the incident in the car. It started with a small disagreement and built up gradually to a point where they were yelling at each other. She was driving much too fast. It would have been the anger building. Fortunately, it happened when they were on a quiet stretch, but she had nearly run off the road. There were trees she could have hit. She braked heavily and came to a stop, with her hands trembling on the wheel. In fact, her whole body was shaking. It was then that she sat for a long time, taking stock. She turned the whole thing over in her mind. So many years she’d been doing this… but when did the recent conversations start?
She thought back and realised, it had started a couple of days after her mother’s funeral.