Author: Alexander Fawn

He was on night duty when he saw it coming.

The advanced radar system employed by the weather research institute was designed to provide high-quality weather, hydrological and climate data. However, the extremely wide, penetrating range of the radar’s equipment together with the latest software enabled it to pick up the advancing meteor where other systems couldn’t. So, the researcher sitting in front of the screen was seeing what everybody else wasn’t. At first he spent time thoroughly checking the equipment to make absolutely sure that what he was seeing was the real thing. To broadcast a warning of this magnitude, only to find out later that it was only a glitch, would see an end to his current employment if nothing else. Having convinced himself that the information was valid, he began to work out timelines. He’d always been good at doing timelines and he liked doing them.

The size and speed of the thing were far greater than any recordings ever previously made. Whereas the largest came in at around fifty to sixty tons, this one had to be between forty to forty-five times greater! The records show that these usually move through Earth’s orbital space at an average of around twenty kilometres a second, the object becoming even clearer on his screen was travelling at around one hundred and fifty kilometres a second! It became obvious that a direct collision with the planet would mean its total destruction. He checked his figures again. His postulated timeline to impact was around seven minutes. He sat back staring at his figures.

As it happens, the man who saw what was coming had always been a fairly insouciant sort of fellow. Whereas, the fact that he never got flustered had often annoyed people no end. It now served him in a practical way. He calmly considered his options. Should he first contact the institute’s director? Come to that, what about the world leaders? If he did, what could any of them do about it in the remaining minutes? Should he phone home? This would only send his family into a state of panic before they were annihilated. That would be unkind.

He thought about the six minutes now remaining… He considered the fact that within the building, one floor below, a state-of-the-art coffee machine had recently been installed. It was free for staff use. He had used it just the once, but it did manage to make a particularly fine Cappuccino coffee. He quickly worked out a timeline for this.

From the console to the stairs, the stairs obviously being functionally more reliable than the lift, he couldn’t afford to make mistakes. Yes, the stairs; down these, out and turn right, get to the vending machine, etc. He scribbled away before coming up with a three-minute timeline. With only five minutes left he considered that to enjoy the coffee properly in only two minutes was a bit of a stretch, but considering it would be the last one he’d ever drink, he’d go for it.

He made good time getting to the machine. He was pleased to see that it hadn’t run out of cups, or beans, or milk, or water, or had a failed water pump or heater, or had clogged delivery pipes… or power failure. These thoughts took seconds only. It all worked fine and he managed to drink it, albeit a touch hurriedly, when he heard the first mighty howl of wind, felt the sudden rise in temperature and saw the first widening cracks running up the walls.

He momentarily wondered about how long it would take for the planet’s debris to scatter through space to a point where the individual chunks would no longer be recognisable as coming from a planet. He didn’t have time for this…

She was out for her early morning walk when she found it.

It wasn’t much more than a kitten. She stood looking around, wondering where it might have come from. She knelt down to stroke it, it responded immediately to the affection. The old lady stood up and looked around again. It was a cold morning. She wasn’t sure whether she’d be doing the right thing, but on the other hand it would be good company for her. She picked it up and cradled it under her coat as she made her way home. As she went, she thought about how her life had not gone the way she had expected. No mister right, no family to care for. Too late for all that. Opening the door there was movement throughout the house. As usual, she was greeted by a great cacophony of meows. She smiled.

Truth was, she’s just the dotty old bird who lives in the house full of cats!

She came out of the convenience store carrying a small shopping bag.

She turned up the collar of her jacket against the cold night air. Evenings had been chilly of late, but her day job meant that this walk to the shops and back was the only way she could grab ongoing supplies. As she drew near the park a slight shudder rippled down her back. It was not well lit through there, but the shortcut took at least five minutes off her nightly walk. As she entered, she felt an eerie sense that she was being followed. On her way through, she stopped twice to check behind her… nothing. There was, she had to admit, a strange thrill at the thought that someone would actually follow her. She quickened her pace and made it to the street beyond. There was more light here, although the streets were almost empty. Again, at one point, she thought she heard footsteps some distance behind her, clattering on the hard surface of the pavement. She stopped abruptly and spun around. Nothing!

She moved on a little faster as the end of her street came into sight. She finally arrives at her front door and turns.

She beckons him forward out of the shadows and hands him a small envelope.

“Was that all right?” he asks.

“Just perfect. Same time tomorrow?”

He was always being asked why he did it.

It was hard for him to explain why. Those asking the question had no understanding of what it was like to do what he did. He supposed it was natural enough for people to ask the question.

He would try to explain that he didn’t do it to ingratiate himself with anybody. He wasn’t seeking any kind of celebrity status. Money had never been a motive, nor was he hoping for favours or special treatment. Neither was he hoping for any kind of recognition. He didn’t expect, or want, any praise for what he did.

For him, it had only ever been a personal and private activity.

He only did it because he really loved writing.

He strolls through the neighbourhood where he grew up.

Nothing much changes in this part of the town. Despite the chilly wind of the evening, he pauses and looks across the street at his old school. He takes a deep breath as he thinks about how lucky he is to have a loving wife and two children that make him so proud. He thinks about his business ventures and how well they have turned out. His accumulation of wealth have given him the freedom to choose his own path through life. He walks on, hands deep in pockets. Only two more blocks to his destination. He is going there because it has been a favourite spot for so many years.

He arrives and settles down by the front door. When the place closes, the clientele are usually generous. His hat lays before him. With this action of placing it, he has to let it all go. Consign it all to that special place where he can call on it when needed. These false memories of who he is, have so often enabled him to carry on; they fortify him.

Now, back in the real world… he waits.

The boy was standing at the bus stop when he saw him.

The man was standing talking to somebody on the other side of the street. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It couldn’t be him! It couldn’t possibly be the uncle that had been so cruel and nasty towards him since he was very small. The same man who had caused so much trouble for his parents, with his run-ins with the police and his cheating and lying. It can’t be him. It was three years ago that he went to the funeral. He had been only eight then, but old enough that he could remember the service. Remember how people were doing their best to show grief, when he felt sure that most of them were not at all sorry that he was gone.

He was horrified as he stood and watched the man saying goodbye to the other and then began making his way across the street towards where he stood, trembling.

His face, as he approached, began to change. Slowly at first, then more rapidly as he came closer. This was not him, not the man who had frightened him so much as a child. This was a stranger.

Sometimes evil leaves its own legacy.

As far as alien spy-craft goes, it can be interesting.

Although this particular entity has its doubts about whether humankind is actually worth infiltrating. Its masters seem to think so. Shambolic is the only word that comes anywhere close to describing the state that these lifeforms have got themselves into. From their very beginnings their development as a species has been nothing short of scattered. All broken up, no coming together to get anything organised. What are we learning from these people, anyway? Did body-hosting here ever provide useful intelligence? When it considers the fact that its own species is so much more advanced than anything it had seen on this planet, it does make it wonder.

What would its superiors think if they knew it considered that going to all this trouble of spending time, spying on humans by inhabiting bodies, was a complete waste of resources? It often wondered whether others that plied the same trade felt the way it did.

Ah! Well… it’s just a job, it supposes.

It probably feels this way because it considers its current mission to be especially boring.

Besides, it really hates being a dormouse!

As a single mother, she was happy with the way her life had unfolded.

Her daughter was sitting at the kitchen table, drawing. She had always loved drawing and her mother was often amazed at just how good she was. She certainly had talent. In fact, she was extremely bright for her age. In private moments, she had often wondered where she got it from. She came into the kitchen and looked over her shoulder. She pointed at one of the figures and asked, “Who’s that?”

Her daughter’s head went to one side. “I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s a man. I’m just not sure yet.” She said, and went back to her drawing.

It was quite a while later, when her mother was at a work surface preparing vegetables that her daughter suddenly piped up, quite unexpectedly.

“Mummy. I don’t have a Daddy, do I?”

“No. That’s right, dear, you don’t.”

“Why is that?”

“That’s because I found you, pet.”

“Did you? Did you really find me?”

“Yes, love,” she replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Still moving her crayon around, she asked, “Where? Where did you find me?”

“On a railway station, my love.”

“How did I get there?”

“I suppose somebody just left you there. It happens sometimes.”

“Do you know who it was that left me there?”

“No, sweet. I don’t know who it was.” At this point her eyes became wet, as she thought of him.

“Didn’t you ask somebody?”

“No, dear. I couldn’t, there was no one around.”

“Why?”

“It was late… and dark.”

“Was it cold?”

“No, pet, it was summer.” She took a deep breath, feeling as though she had just run a marathon. “I just need to check the washing,” she said, and went out into the back garden. Looking at the empty clothes line, she just hoped her bright little kid didn’t notice. She was so bright, so inquisitive. She blew her nose and went straight back in, this time standing behind her, she wrapped her arms around her.

“…and before you ask any more of your questions, I have to tell you that I really didn’t want to ask anybody anything. I just knew that I had found you, and that’s the way it was meant to be.”

Her daughter climbed down from her chair and gave her mother a hug.

Before she could say more, her daughter went back to her drawing.

She makes her way through the place as though she owns it.

She watches leaves and blades of grass as they twitch and writhe in the gentle breeze, sees rainbow-hued droplets hanging precariously in the bushes above. She takes in the muted colours of the garden, and the fragrance of the warming foliage, the air no longer densely humid. Droplets still hang in the air, slowly dissolving into emptiness with the rising of the sun. Its rays bringing slivers of colour, effervescent splashes made to her immediate world.

The long walk has left her limbs aching. The ground is poor here. Great cavernous chambers pit the place, some seeming to be so deep as to leave one unable to return to the surface. She is aware that some of her friends have been transported to places where vast sparkling oceans lap the shores. She reflects sadly on the notion that she may well never see such a thing for herself, nevertheless she pauses briefly to wonder at the complex constructions all around her. The wind suddenly whips dead leaves like a spinning top. How lucky she is to be privy to the joys of savouring the nectar of the gods.

She listens to the long dead echoes of past events. She seems transfixed in some ethereal moment as she sifts through treasured memories. She feels the world around her in a way so few of her kind do. She bathes for a while in an ethereal moment. From this pleasant state of repose she slips, as so often happens, helter-skelter into a state of overwhelming analysis. How much value does she add to those around her? Are her experiences really objective? How much free will does she really have? How real is the universe, as she knows it? She wonders why it has fallen to her to have such a window, a window to look through, to view that which others cannot, and to never share her unknowable pondering of ‘I think, therefore I am’.

Such is the life of this particular insect.

They couldn’t believe what he did.

The husband found him. He was sleeping rough in an abandoned shop front. He would walk across to the newsagent’s early each morning as soon as they opened, to buy a newspaper. That’s when he first spotted him, huddled under a thin blanket. He stopped and chatted with him a few times. He was homeless, around twenty and from a distant town. He had worked on and off, but he’d had health problems. He had no desire to go back to a broken home, where he wasn’t wanted. He said he preferred the life he was living rather than returning to that. Well, the upshot was, that for no reason he could ever explain, with his wife’s agreement, they took him in. The husband was retired and his wife only occasionally did a bit of charity work. They’d never had children and they had a spare room.

He settled in very well at first. He repeatedly told them how grateful he was. Initially, he kept very much to his room, only sitting and eating with them. As time went on he slowly blended into his new life and became part of their family. In turn, they looked on him as the son they never had. He made an effort to find work a number of times, but there was little around. They told him it didn’t matter. They said that they had enough to support them all as a family.

Everything was going well… that is, up to the point when they found out what he had done. They couldn’t believe it. He had voted for that multi-billionaire guy with the puffy hairdo!

When they threw him out, for old times’ sake, they gave him a thicker blanket.