Author: Alexander Fawn

He just knew this wasn’t going to be a good day; it was a talent he had.

At first, it seemed that everything was perfectly normal. He sat nervously on the bus going into work. It wasn’t until he was picking up his takeaway cappuccino from the kiosk that things took a nasty turn. He was suddenly aware of the noisy commotion outside. He stepped out into the street. There was pandemonium, with people screaming, running for their lives. Then, lo and behold, the four of them appeared at the top of the main street. The traffic had stopped with people abandoning their cars and making for the side streets and alleys as fast as they could. Four of them on horseback. People were being slaughtered! Some hacked down with a huge sword by this weird looking guy riding his horse bareback, other folk being used as targets for some nutter with a bow and arrow. Then, this extremely thin dude, only just supporting himself on his horse, and last this… this skeleton thing.

As he watched the carnage moving slowly towards him, he realised that he was looking at the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse; Conquest, War, Famine and Death. They were working their way down the high street, slaughtering everyone in sight.

“Oh! No!” he mumbled as he turned, regretting ever being cursed with such a talent. He ran just as fast as he could.

He just knew this wouldn’t be a good day.

Things kept showing up out of the blue.

It had been going on for several weeks now and she was fed up with it. She didn’t want to make a fuss, after all, appearances are everything!

It started with a small, red button. It was an odd looking thing. After a thorough check, she was sure it didn’t come from any piece of clothing she owned. Then, other things started to appear. She found small things at first, scattered all around the house, some of them in the oddest places ;bottle caps she’d never seen before, a babies rattle, an odd shoe, a glass flower vase, a magnifying glass with a handle, a plastic dustpan and brush, a small packet of wax candles, a wire coat hanger, an elastic hair tie, a purple T-shirt, a bottle of detergent, a man’s spotted tie, a garden glove, a tennis ball, a bicycle bell, a small handtowel, a cookery book, a handkerchief, a yellow scarf, a pair of glasses, a sci-fi magazine, a wooden bead necklace, an odd silver earring, a frog-shaped fridge magnet and a small plastic dinosaur. The tin of rice pudding she found in the kitchen cupboard really annoyed her. She would never buy that, she hated the stuff!

The morning she came across the roller skate in the laundry shook her up. She had almost trodden on it. What then? She could have really hurt herself! That would be a case of the frustratingly weird becoming really dangerous. Then, there was the sudden appearance of the ironing board, laying across the door, just outside the bathroom. She had to step over it. She found a temporary place for it near the back door. Finally, this whole thing became completely intolerable when she found the piano in the middle of the lounge, next to the coffee table.

It definitely was all about appearances.

She had no idea whether it would work, but out of sheer desperation, she moved…

Spending time by the sea,

In the middle of spring.

There to watch the rolling sea,

With its flotsam washing in.

–

To listen to the seagulls cry

As they swoop across the foam.

To walk the sands along the shore

And through the green dunes roam.

–

Ozone wafting with a briny air.

This is a place to be.

The freedom to briefly dwell

On the wonders that you see.

–

The frenzied splashing of the waves,

As they spill upon the beach.

Leaving random patterns in the sand,

Nature’s message shown in each.

As the swishing ripples sing their song,

As the heaving ocean hums a croon,

All a random melody of the enduring tides,

And all of it in tune.

–

It’s nature’s special antidote.

A medication provided free.

To wander aimlessly,

In a time of serenity.

–

Spending time by the sea,

While birds and waves both sing.

Let body and mind wander free,

In the middle of spring.

He handed in his essay, but not with any confidence.

He had enjoyed writing it, despite the fact that it was a real struggle. He knew he needed a seven out of ten to get a pass. The class had been given free range with their topics. It was a composition about the fiction episodes he had been currently watching at home in the evenings. He felt that his descriptions of the shows and his summing up could probably be found by reading viewers’ views on the internet. When all submissions had been marked, his work was returned with a mark of only five out of ten. His teacher made time to sit with him and talk about his mark. He had always liked her as a teacher, but was nervous about what she would say about the poor standard of his work.

Without making him feel at all bad about his low mark, she suggested that he try something more personal, more creative, maybe some description of people struggling with a problem. He was allowed to submit another.

This time he wrote about a schoolboy who was asked to write an essay, who wrote a piece and submitted it, but failed to get a pass mark, and how his teacher had made suggestions and allowed him to write another…

He got a ten.

The wizard that lived in the wooden shack in the woods was always happy to have children visit.

The kids in the village were likewise happy to call in on a casual basis. Sometimes to watch him do clever little magic tricks with his hands; other times to listen to his stories of how he had performed some form of enchantment in order to save the day. They loved listening to his stories, although they often wondered how true they were. In fact, considerations of this sort that went through their young minds, often included some element of doubt about whether he was really a wizard. After all, they would say to each other, the magic may just be sleight of hand, conjuring tricks, and his stories… heh! Anyone can make up stories, right?

The largest room in the old building was adorned with all sorts of strange objects. The boys and girls often asked about them and would be rewarded by a description of how they could be used to perform all sorts of magical charms. A popular item, probably because it was the one thing that he never handed around, was the glass jar that sat on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. It was quite small, made of clear glass with a black screw-on lid. It was about a quarter full of something that looked like powder.

Whenever he was asked about it, which was often, he would tell them that it contained a most precious element, fairy pollen. It was named this way because as a pollen it had been gathered from the wings of fairies. Fairies used this to enrich whatever they brush with their wings. He would tell them that this was similar to pollination, but instead of it being a fertilizing element for flowering plants, fairies use it for much greater magical purposes, such as healing sick or wounded animals, even bringing them back to life on occasion. Sometimes he would point to the jar and say that the lid was firmly screwed on and sealed fast with a spell that restricted its access. The wizard would go on to explain that it could only be opened by a person with good intentions.

Now, it just so happened that one of the boys from the village, one of the few that believed in the true powers of the wizard, had recently come home from school to learn that his much-loved dog had been run over by a car. His father had taken it home to be buried in their back garden. The boy was very upset about losing his life-long companion. As it was getting late, too dark to bury it straight away, it was decided that father and son would do it together in the morning.

Later that night, when his family was asleep, he climbed out of his bedroom window and made for the wizard’s house. There, he explained what had happened and pleaded with him to let him take a little of the pollen to take home. The wizard agreed to this on the condition that the matter would stay strictly between the two of them. He said that there were many disbelievers in the village and any knowledge of what they were doing would only complicate what was a harmonious existence. He said that people accepted miracles a lot easier than magic. The boy agreed and the wizard nodded. Then, reminding him of the spell that was placed on the lid, he took the jar down and handed it to him. Neither of them were in the least bit surprised when the lid came free. The wizard tipped a tiny amount into a small tin and carefully snapped the lid on.

When the boy got home he went straight to the shed where his dog was wrapped in old sheets. He pulled the coverings away and sprinkled the pollen along the dog’s body. After a minute or two, the dog’s front paws began twitching slightly. Seeing that the fairy pollen was going to do the job, he closed the shed door and returned to bed. He was very happy and laid thinking for some time about how, as agreed, he would see the dog coming to life as nothing more than a miracle.

Then, the barking started.

Generally speaking, the naval officer was not popular.

As a ship’s captain he seemed to be forever having to go before the tribunal. Most of the matters were quite trivial, but there was growing consensus that perhaps he just wasn’t the right man for the job. Despite the ever-growing number of petty charges, they always concluded with an acquittal. He regularly became frustrated with the situation, on the basis that being so often called upon to attend such things would often prevent him from sailing out to sea. It was out there, plying the wide expanse of the ocean that he really came into his own.

However, it wasn’t until he was several years into his retirement that he learnt the real reason for him being hauled up on so many minor charges.

Apparently, it came down to the fact that he was far too fond of continually calling out ‘Ahoy there!’

The shopping centre was busy with people.

She sat at the back of the café, sipping her coffee and daydreaming. She did that a lot. Her reverie was broken by someone calling out. He waved as he approached. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Unnerved by the stranger’s sudden appearance, she said, “Pardon?”

He was an old man, somewhere in his nineties, she thought. He eased himself into the chair opposite and squinted at her. “I reckoned you’d be here. I thought they’d never leave.”

“What?”

“Leave… I thought they’d, you know, never leave.”

“Who?”

“All of them! Lord there must have been at least a dozen of them, all jabbering away at once. These people keep coming to my house, I think they think I’m somebody else. You know how they go on.”

She gave a sardonic smile. “No, I don’t actually.”

“Of course you do. You were there when the old guy came in with the blueprints, weren’t you? Oh! Perhaps not. Well, I think they’re planning something. It’s bound to be something bad.”

She looked around in desperation. “Look,” she began, “I think…”

He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. His agitation was growing worse. “You know, they just kept talking. I thought they’d never leave. I don’t want any part of it. They wouldn’t let me in on what they’re doing… just kept on about how society was going down the drain. Do you have any idea what they are up to?”

She paused. “Well, I…”

“Thought not; anyway, I must let you get on. Just glad I caught up with you, to let you know. Remember, you really can’t trust them!”

“Sorry, I think you’ve got me muddled up with…”

“Bye for now. Take care.” He got slowly to his feet and disappeared among the crowd of shoppers.

A few weeks later, it was all over the news. The police had uncovered a plot. A group of terrorists had planned to blow up parliament. In the workplace, everyone was talking about it. It just went on all day.

That evening she sat watching the top story on the news. She turned the television off and sat for a few moments with conflicting thoughts. Then, she came to a decision.

She would say nothing.

She’d lost track of how many times she’d upgraded her computer.

It was a nightmare, she was always running out of space on her computer when she least expected it. Doing this wasn’t cheap, and she had the feeling the guy at the shop could see her coming. So, on this particular evening she turned to the internet for help. She looked at a number of sites before finding one that said she could have her computer free up space by getting rid of files she didn’t need, like temporary files. She did this. When it was finished, she looked in ‘settings’ at ‘storage’. She’d given the machine’s capacity an extra five percent. Not to be sneezed at, but not a real solution.

She researched a bit more and found she could individually compress her own files, the ones she had created. She gave this a go. It took an absolute age. So many files! She looked back at the storage; she’d gained another seven percent. She thought about it for a while before researching further. After a while of reading more information about compression, she found an article that explained how to actually compress absolutely all of the files on her computer. Even the ones she might have missed, she thought. This sounded more like it, so she carefully followed the instructions. When it was done she returned to the storage section and saw that a further ten percent had been freed up.

Feeling that she was on a winning streak, she kept looking and found yet another site that said she could compress her entire hard drive on her computer. Now, this was really something! She could do this by just following a few simple steps. This she did. When the process was complete she saw that an additional twelve percent had been gained. She was very pleased with what she’d accomplished and was ready to take a well-earned break when a strange looking advert popped up unexpectedly. It promoted a free trial of a new auto-compression program for people needing more working space on their computer. Although she had no idea how she had found this, and had a creepy feeling that it was part of the dark web, she opened it up to take a look.

It was a weird looking screen that had all sorts of strange hieroglyphics scattered around the borders. It said it was a program that used a newly discovered method of automating the compression process. It stated that the program had a remarkable feature of allowing a repeating compression mode to gain the best results. After giving this some careful thought, she clicked and started the program. It had run for a couple of minutes before she realised that she was watching the computer, shrink, or compress, or whatever. She looked on dumbstruck as the screen, keyboard, mouse and speakers all grew smaller and smaller. She considered stopping the program, but the keys on the keyboard were so tiny that she could barely read them. There was a soft pop and it was gone. All of it was gone!

She couldn’t believe her eyes and placed a shaking hand into the space where, moments before, the screen had been. There was another pop.

The chair she’d been sitting in swiveled slightly… and was empty.

The last words he remembered echoed over and over in his head.

By some inexplicable means he was familiar with them, but was unable to recall them. They were muffled. Maybe they were spoken immediately before what had happened to him. What had happened to him? Try as hard as he could, he had no memory of it. He only knew that he was laying, perfectly still, with his eyes closed. Could he move? He wasn’t sure. Did he want to try? There was a burning pain in his head. He moved his arm and felt the pain at the back of his head burn even more with an unbelievable intensity. He relaxed his arm and waited for the agony to subside.

He could hear voices; distant mutterings. With effort, he willed his eyes to open. He shut them immediately, squinting. The brightness of it, searing into his head, restarted the pain shooting through his skull. The voices grew louder and a rustling of something. Whatever covered him was being moved. Loud voices now. Very close.

“When was he admitted?”

“Let me see… ten-thirty this morning. We’re still waiting for x-rays.”

“I’ll be back this afternoon. I’ll look in on him then.”

“Thank you doctor.”

He heard them, but they made no sense. He drifted off into sleep.

Sometime later he woke and found there was less pain when he opened his eyes. He knew some time had passed because the glare of the lights had been replace by a dim glow. Despite the discomfort he slowly turned his head to see black through the gap in the blind. He peered around at the hospital ward’s surroundings. He managed to ease his arm out of the sheet and feel his head, with less discomfort than he felt earlier. He felt bandages. What had he done? Had he taken a fall or was he hit by something? It was so frustrating that he couldn’t remember. He realised that sooner or later a nurse was bound to come by, and he could ask.

However, within a few minutes of him lying awake, the need for this to happen became unnecessary. The whole thing gradually began to unfold. It all became clear as he remembered the last words spoken.

Those last words that now echoed over and over in his head.

His mum: “Please where your helmet.”

Him: “Mum! I don’t need one.”

She left her grumpy boyfriend sleeping, as usual.

Her job at the fruit cannery was pretty boring, although the people were nice. It didn’t pay well and she was never able to make extra money through the company’s productivity bonus scheme. On her meagre wages she was barely able to feed them both. She couldn’t remember the last time she bought a new piece of clothing. She avoided paying bus fares by walking the two miles to work and back each day. She’d lost touch with her parents for some time now and she had no real friends to speak of. For several months now she hadn’t been sleeping well. She felt she was coping with life, rather than living it.

When she got back, the place was empty. She found his note by the kettle. It read, ‘Sorry, babe. Found better digs. No hard feelings.’

In that moment a euphoric feeling swept over her as she realised that her whole world had just got one hell of a lot better!