Author: Alexander Fawn

They had enjoyed a wonderful evening out together.

It started with a show that they both enjoyed and spent time discussing it as they walked the few blocks across town. At one point, they had stopped to kiss briefly, before crossing the road. At the restaurant, after the meal and the wine, they had talked for such a long time, sharing their feelings and hopes for the future. They had laughed a lot and she didn’t want it to end, he knew it had to. It was very late when the taxi dropped them both at the end of her street. They deliberately walked slowly to make the most of the evening. They were both so happy.

He had planned it that way. He had brought things to the perfect moment for him to tell her that he was married.

It is a remote Macedonian village, nestled on the slopes of Mount Olympus.

The buildings are old and of simple construction. Yet, set as they are, amid the sweeping hills of green fir trees, it has its own beauty. It is very hot in Greece this time of year. It is a small community. Even the locals take the shade where they can.

In the little square, there is a young woman. She sits on an old wooden bench over cobble stones. She is lonely. She sobs quietly to herself. She knows in her heart that there is someone out there. A kindred spirit. A man that would fulfil all her dreams. She knows beyond any doubt that there is a soul-mate out there, somewhere, like her, waiting.

Her tears hiss gently as they land on the heated stones, and evaporate almost immediately. Although not readily noticed by the casual observer, tiny puffs of vapour float up from where the tears strike. They float steadily skyward.

Meanwhile, across an expanse of sea, in a small town on the Turkish coast, a young man sits on the back steps of his home, reading. He too feels some strange longing for a companionship not yet discovered. There are many houses in his town, between where he sits and the Aegean Sea, but he stares in that direction anyway. He so often gazes that way without knowing why.

Above, the grey clouds that have threatened, finally send down the light beginnings of what will be rain. He gathers up his books and stands. He lifts his face to the sky for the briefest of moments. He feels the cold spots that dapple his cheeks.

He was glad when his neighbour called in; he needed someone to talk to.

He was still shaken when they sat down.

“Are you OK? You don’t look too good,” asked the friend from across the street.

The man shook his head. “No, still getting over it, I suppose.”

The neighbour looked around, and said, “What’s happened?”

The other took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It happened last night,” he began, “I’d just settled down to watch the final part of a forty-episode series I’ve been watching, when I heard this peculiar humming noise coming from the back. Naturally, I got up and put the back light on. There was this saucer, smack in the middle of the back lawn.”

“Wow!”

“I know, it was quite a shock I can tell you. It wasn’t very big, but it filled the lawn. Anyway, after just standing, gawping at it for a couple of minutes, there was a hissing sound and a side panel that seemed to be hinged at the bottom, flapped open and dropped, forming a ramp. Moments later, this blue thing appeared.” He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “It came down the ramp and stood looking at me.” He massaged his face for a moment and went on. “It was pretty ugly, I suppose. It was half the size of a human, with extremely thin arms and legs. Its head and backside were huge compared with the rest of it. It was blue, like I said, from head to toe, and naked, except for a skimpy, blue loincloth.”

“Hell! What did it do?”

“It began flapping its arms around and pointing at the saucer, I could see it was in trouble. It pointed to the tool shed and we went in. It stood there making a sawing motion with its skinny arm. I opened the cupboard and took out a hacksaw. Its head nodded immediately. It took it with spindly fingers and went forward peering into the cupboard. Well, after a couple of minutes it had selected half a dozen tools it seemed to need. It had dropped them on the floor, so I grabbed the empty toolbox I use for taking stuff out on jobs, put the tools in and held it out. I was really surprised when it took it without any problem and promptly marched back to the ship with it. It was obviously a lot stronger than it looked. Anyway, it went up the ramp and disappeared inside.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing really, I just stood waiting for a few minutes.”

“Wow! You were probably in shock.”

“I suppose I was, but I had a bigger shock coming.”

“Go on.”

“After a bit, it came back out and began waving its little arms about, as though it was doing some sort of semaphore. I didn’t know what to do so I just gave it the thumbs up. Its head just went to one side, so I waved.”

The neighbour nodded. “Best thing, I suppose. What happened then?”

“Well, as it turned to leave, I suddenly remembered and called out, ‘What about my toolbox?’ At that point it stopped, leant forward with its hands on its knees, wobbled its huge rear end and passed wind! I was shocked, I can tell you. With that, it ran up the ramp, giggling. I think it was giggling…”

“And?”

“And? Nothing. The door slammed and the ship shot straight up at enormous speed, like a rat up a drainpipe!”

Within a tiny clearing,

Albeit quite unseen.

Surrounding trees wave their leaves,

Where a gentle breeze has been.

–

An untouched patch of swaying grass,

Dotted with rocks and stones.

Broken twigs and branches lay,

Amid the tiny bones.

A lone butterfly enters there,

With beating wings not heard.

It dances low above the ground,

Slow fluttering preferred.

–

In this moment it owns it all,

No threat or challenge to face.

It is master of this little world,

It surveys the spot with grace.

–

It moves on, not looking back

At the treasure left behind.

No lessons here are heeded,

Though they are sorely needed,

About the grasping of humankind.

The Chief Medical Officer was looking over the latest reports.

He was looking at data that had been gathered from around the country. From time to time the rules for controlling the spread of the disease were brought up to date, depending on where and how quickly the plague was spreading. He was astonished to read the findings of one of the country’s top experts who’d spent a lifetime researching contagious diseases. He was looking at the link found in the gathered data. He read through it all again before calling his assistant to his office.

When he arrived, the chief asked, “Have you seen this report?” holding it up.

“Yes. Fascinating stuff, eh?”

“I’ll say. Whoever would have believed it?”

“Well, it makes sense if you think about it.”

The chief went on. “It says here that there is a direct link between an individual’s attitude and their risk of being infected. They’ve done quite a lot of testing by the look of it and have narrowed it down to that part of the brain that determines the level of a person’s arrogance.”

“Yes. That’s as I understand it. So, this relates directly to the issues we’re finding with people not wearing masks. According to this it’s because they feel it’s beneath their dignity. They just can’t be bothered with that sort of thing.”

The chief said, “What do you suggest?”

“Well, nothing really. I mean, this should speed the whole process up a bit, shouldn’t it?”

The chief nodded and filed the report.

The two girls sit chatting together.

They often compare their individual lives, despite both living in the same neighbourhood.

One says, “Do you have a door attendant at your place?”

“No.”

“Thought not. We don’t have one either.”

“Why?”

“Oh! I don’t know. It would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“Suppose so.”

“Think about it. These guys, they’re usually guys, they’re ready to open the door for you. It’s really nice. They see you coming and they open the door and stand back. If somebody wants to go in they are there, waiting. In the cities, they wear fancy coats with gold stuff on the shoulders. They’re called a concierge there. Not that I’m saying that for us. Just somebody waiting there, you know?”

Her friend said, “You always were a dreamer. That ain’t going to happen.”

“No. You’re right, but it would be nice.” Her whiskers twitch into a smile.

Teams of suited astronauts were scattered across the planet.

The project itself was not unusual. Ever since space travel beyond the Solar System became possible, these forays from Earth, out onto other planets, were carried out as part of an ongoing search for any signs of life. Several ships would land, each one sending out a group of half-a-dozen scientific researchers to scour their allotted location. These exploratory phases of a planet’s surface were slow and time-consuming, with teams working relentlessly for several months at a time. Quite often teams would spread out and overlap with others. This had been the case when he, B5, working as a biological analyst for his team, met her, C3, the chemical specialist for her team. They had worked their way along their assigned grids to be close enough to chat for short periods over a number of days. It is fair to say that many of those employed in this kind of work found it boring, to say the least. These two were no different.

They met again. After a few pleasantries, he asked, “I guess we’re all pining for home in one way or another. What do you miss most, being out here?”

She fell silent for a beat or two. With a yearning in her voice, she said, “I really miss mother nature and all its beauty; the hills and valleys, the verdant pastures, the brightly coloured flowers and the sheer variety of shrubs and trees, the amazing contrast of weather systems and the oceans, with their…”

She went on like this for some time, describing it all in great detail, when she noticed through his helmet’s visor the top half of his head was shaking slowly from side to side.

She stopped talking and said, “What? You don’t agree?” She flapped her arms out. “Tell me. What do you miss?”

She could see his eyes squint a little, as he said, “Beef, cheese and bacon pies.”

Lord Harrington-Snodgrass met her while taking one of his little breaks.

He was having a Dickens of a job, finding his blue jade cufflinks. He just hoped she hadn’t been pawning stuff off again. Of course, he well knew that not everybody in the family liked the idea of him getting hitched to a short-order cook from Barcelona. He closed the drawer. That was the last place he could think of. If she were around he could ask. He moved to the window. She was probably grooming the horse again. She certainly loved that horse. He looked around the bedroom again. She was incredibly messy. She was not at all fond of cleaning. He reflected on the fact that, contrary to popular belief, she was no more amorous than any English rose. The house staff were kept busy with his new bride on board. He admired their stoicism. He absolutely needed his cufflinks, they went so well with his tie. He was speaking in the House this afternoon.

Again he gazed out of the window, this time chiding himself for his pejorative thoughts. After all, she could throw together a beef lasagne the like of which you could only find in paradise!

The man called at the address given, as arranged.

Even before he retired, he’d been doing party tricks for children for years. He knew lots of clever card tricks and he had a matchbox that could make a coin disappear. There was always blowing up balloons and making animals. The kids absolutely loved that. Anyway, he was intrigued by the tiny advert in the local paper saying that several bits of magical equipment were going for a song as the owner was trying to clear a room in his house. He rang the bell.

The owner came to the door beaming. “How’d you do, come in. It really is a case of first come, first served.” As he was lead the way to the back of the house the man kept talking. “I’ve finished with all this stuff; I have other interests now. You’ll find everything’s in perfect working order.”

He opened the door to what was probably a bedroom. He stood and pointed to the objects for sale. “In the corner there, that’s a cabinet for making people disappear. This piece of equipment here is a thought transmitting machine, and that large cubicle is a time portal.” He walked further into the room and lifting a sheet, he said, “This is a motorbike that levitates. As I said in the ad, it all has to go. That’s why I’m selling it off so cheap. I’m making room for a lodger, you see?”

The caller, although quite gobsmacked, managed to nod.

“Interested?” asked the seller.

“Well, um, yes.” He franticly took out his wallet and paid the man, saying he’d be back the next day with a truck.

He thanked him and left, knowing that his party tricks were about to move to a whole new level.

She sits on a low wall, looking out across the park.

It is her habit to come here and take in the scenes that play out. She loves writing about them, describing them, bringing the various activities to life, in the form of a poem. The woman has always made time for writing poetry. She uses a large notebook to capture what she has to say. She scribbles quickly to describe things as they come about; a dog chasing a ball, children struggling up the climbing apparatus, people stopping to admire the flower beds, mothers pushing prams and strollers, family members joining in with their various ideas about where to put things on the picnic rug. All such things are being faithfully preserved in her pages.

Sometimes it can be a café, looking out through a window, or a bench on a city street. She writes about the activities as they happen. She is the recorder. Interactions between people, movements of traffic. Capturing scenes from life; setting them down in lines of poetry that reflect the way she sees them. Mostly she comes here to the park, where she sits and watches.

She sometimes wonders why she so much prefers to sit writing poems about what other people are doing, rather than doing them herself. What does it mean that she plays little part in what she sees? Is it at all strange that she prefers to record such things rather than be a part of what unfolds in front of her?

These thoughts do not linger.

This is her role.