Author: Alexander Fawn

The law was perfectly clear regarding the building of these devices.

In short, under federal explosives law it is illegal to engage in the business of manufacturing explosives without a license. The government’s explosives bill, targeted those who were involved in the manufacture, supply and use of improvised explosive devices states clearly that anyone found guilty of detonating a homemade explosive, such as this, without a lawful excuse, faces up to twenty years imprisonment.

It was for this reason that his work takes place in the shadows of the spacious and almost empty cellar beneath his grandfather’s old fashioned yet popular pie shop. The old man rarely went down there, and was happy for him to tinker with his laptop and play video games to his heart’s content. The only thing of value down there was the shop owner’s Blue Willow china collection, gathered over many years. These had been carefully wrapped and were kept in a locked cupboard for safekeeping. They were far too precious to have on display, and it had been emphasised that the cupboard was not to be disturbed in any way.

On this particular day, his grandparents were out for the afternoon. They were visiting a touring exhibition of precious porcelain, showing at a library in a nearby town. The bomb-maker saw this as his chance to settle down and finish his work. He regarded this particular construction to be his masterpiece. It needed to be built to strict specifications. It had to be powerful enough to completely destroy the upper floor of a government building.

He unlocked the large suitcase and perused his stock. It was packed with dozens of blocks of C-4. He considered carefully before removing five of them. These were placed and secured in a smaller case that would be used to transport the device. Once the detonators had been prepared, he set the timer to allow for a one hour delay.

At the very moment that the last two wires were connected, the glass display cabinets in the library rattled. His grandparents looked on with horror, as one or two precious items toppled off their plinths. When the room stopped shaking they peered at the delicate pieces, hoping that no damage had been done.

Meantime, back home, the quaint little shop dropped suddenly into the smouldering pit that had once housed the family’s prized porcelain collection.

His late grandson knew a lot about bomb making, but was obviously behind the times when it came to daylight saving.

The old lady looked forward to Sunday Mass.

She could no longer make it to the church. She was too frail for that. Her son used to take her, but it was too much of an imposition for her liking, so she stayed at home and watched it on the TV. It was a ritual she enjoyed. She would first take the bottle of wine from the box in the cupboard and place it on the low table that sat between her armchair and the television. This was followed by a packet of plain crackers from the larder. Then she would take down the lovely pewter chalice her dearly beloved and much missed husband had bought for her, just because she liked it so much. She would give it a wipe and place it next to the wine. At this point she would open the bottle to let the wine breathe for a while. The man from the farm told her that. Finally, she would switch the TV on and go to the channel that aired religious programmes and select the service. She did this a few minutes before it was due to start, giving herself time to make herself comfortable.

When the service began she sat devoutly, listening and watching the programme in silence. At the appropriate time, she climbed out of her chair and knelt beside the table. With the priest on the screen extending his arms and reciting, she took a single cracker and placed it on her tongue. She then took the bottle and tipped in a small quantity of wine. This she sipped. After a few long moments with her head bowed, she returned to her chair to watch the remainder of the service. As she did, she would take an occasional sip of the wine. It was truly delicious. She always found that the taste and the aroma of it became stronger with every sip. So much so that as the evening went on these grew larger and larger.

The wine was homemade. Her neighbouring farmer used peaches from his orchard. He was a nice man. All those years ago they had gone to the same local school together. He was proud of the quality of the wine he made, often telling her how you should use the yeast starter two days before starting the wine, together with getting the temperature spot on was the trick to getting a good fermentation. She never really understood any of this, but was happy to listen to how much pleasure he got out of it. For the price of a cup of tea and a brief chat he would hand deliver a box regularly. It was their little secret.

She never went to bed on those nights. The armchair was comfortable enough.

Yes, she really looked forward to Sunday Mass.

A flat glass panel with a coating behind,

Some with a scratch or a crack.

Only an image of what is there,

Silently looking back.

–

Reality is its only stock.

No metaphors are there at play.

Nothing is ever exorcised.

False distractions just fall away.

–

There is no enchantment to be found,

In the nature of its return.

Reflections exist for themselves alone.

No candles of prayer to burn.

–

There never is a portrait,

Visible in the glass.

No chaos lurks within it,

Just snatches of memories that pass.

–

It is never a captive picture.

Never a materialised gaze.

That which looms into view,

Never really stays.

–

It will not mock adornments,

Nor will it give back praise.

A reflection is all it ever depicts,

And broken at the end of its days.

The man sat in front of a large monitor, occasionally making notes on what he saw.

He was looking at the Luna surface. This was something he was expected to do for several hours every week. In truth, he was just plain bored. He didn’t share his feelings about how he felt with his colleagues. In this place, everybody around him was convinced that working in the NASA facility was the best thing since sliced bread! For him, he couldn’t understand how, after all that study and attaining degrees in three different areas of astronomical and scientific research, it had come down to this. His father had tried to talk him into taking on a partnership in his fruit packing business when he left school. But no, he wanted something more exciting. He wanted to be part of something that was ground-breaking. Packing fruit had never appealed more.

He had to admit that what he was seeing now was better than before. Then, he’d been looking at pictures that were taken during a moon landing. The last mission, apart from taking many samples, had set up a permanent camera on a high lamppost-like structure that gave a live feed of several square metres of surface where samples had been taken. The fact that he was looking at a small area of the moon in real-time was better than still photographs, but not a lot.

The image he was looking at was quite sharp and he could move the camera around on a universal joint, along with the ability to zoom in and out. He was in the process of measuring the dimensions of a range of small rocks when he came across a strange shape. Two things struck him about the thing. The first being that its shape, unlike the rocks, seemed to have some regularity about it and the second was the idea that it hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

Adjusting the image with the controls he had, he magnified the dark shape and brought it into focus. It looked to be round, with a faint pattern on it. He began to reason that it could be man-made and had been left behind by one of those that had gathered soil samples.

He was considering the possibility that it was a lid from a container or some sort of badge that had been dropped… when it moved!

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.