Author: Alexander Fawn

All hail to those who find the love they need,

To those who dwell on good things,

To those who are humble in their greatness,

To those who can still wonder like a child,

To those who see where love springs.

–

All hail to those who lift others from the gutter.

To those who have no need for eternal youth,

To those who know that they don’t know,

To those who persist with little thanks,

To those who have learned to recognise truth.

–

All hail to those who stand up to be counted.

To those who care for another’s pain,

To those who seek no praise,

To those who are the builders of bridges,

To those who get up and start again.

–

All hail to those who are at one with their daydreams,

To those who show hope as a sign,

To those who tell their story with passion,

To those who in chaos go quietly,

And all hail to those who march to a drum not mine.

 

He was trying to figure out how the horrifying situation had come about.

There were several versions of how the whole thing had actually started and even less seemed to be known about how it would end. As far as anyone can tell, the first victim had the habit of coming out of her beach house and going for a brief paddle early each morning. This was something she always did before breakfast. Dressed only in jeans, cut off at the knees and her signature bright yellow top, she carried nothing and had bare feet. It was a short stroll through the palm trees and down to the beach. She took time out to do this special holiday every year at around the same time. After all, she felt that a television celebrity could do this, and she made sure she did. The island was secluded and her private shack, even more so. It was her time; her clothes, her food and drink, her choice of everything. Unfortunately, this changed radically on her third morning.

She was on her way to the beach when she heard something whistle passed her head, followed by a thud. The bullet struck the tree beside her. After several beats of shock, she looked around. The place was deserted. Naturally, with her nerves jangling, she returned to the house and reported the incident to the police. As requested, she drove into town and gave a statement. This seemed to be the start of it all.

She skipped her walk the following morning, but took off at sunrise the next day. On this occasion she heard something coming from a nearby sand dune before the muffled shot. This time she was slightly nicked on her lower arm. Painful, but not life threatening. The story goes that a second report was made and a statement given. Despite police advice to the contrary, she had several days left and continued with her well-earned break. Two days later she was discovered with a bullet entry in the centre of her forehead. The story goes on to say that as intriguing as the crime was, it would have stayed that way if it weren’t for the local small town journalist, now long dead himself, who wrote a piece for the paper that suggested that it was the neon yellow top that the woman wore that the killer had objected to. He went on to say that the first and second shots were intended to be warnings, and when these failed he finished her off.

It must have been the strange logic behind his theory that had people talking about it. Before long other major newspapers took up the story and were running lengthy articles about the case. It must have been at this point that the whole thing went worldwide. That’s when the killings started.

At first, newspaper reports were indicating that people who were wearing yellow, mainly those on holiday, were being shot. This started with just a trickle of reports, but it grew in numbers as the days went by. Gradually, the nature of these copycat killings moved away from holiday locations to include towns and cities, wherever people were wearing the colour. Worldwide sales of yellow clothing plummeted to a point where very few could be seen appearing in public wearing anything at all that was yellow. Around the world police authorities were overwhelmed with their caseloads. Only a small proportion of perpetrators were being brought to justice, while at the same time firearms sellers, dealers and manufacturers were kept busy.

It seems that around this time, those unhappy souls in the community that had been contemplating suicide saw the opportunity to be assisted in their quest without having to figure out a way of doing it themselves. Their simple aim was to provoke. This ugly phenomena had authorities even more conflicted regarding the nature of the crimes. In some cases the incidents were a matter of someone absentmindedly walking out with something yellow, even a tie, but the far greater number were cases of what was being called ‘unintended third-party-assisted suicides’.

In either case, whether the victim was just plain careless or playing the role of provocateur, in all those high-incident spots around the world, sound systems were being installed that could be used to sound a siren whenever there was a report of someone wearing yellow. These speaker systems blasted out a warning, and by international agreement, the tone of the siren was the same around the world. It became known, unsurprisingly, as the ‘yellow alert’.

However, a growing number of citizens around the world felt that the authorities weren’t doing enough. They all wanted their nation’s governments to come up with a way to put an end to the carnage. Through the internet’s messaging services, a common mantra was being developed where their aim was to end the madness and allow people to go safely in the streets again. To this end, a number of protest marches where held. Unfortunately, these events only increased the number of shootings with protesters being picked off, in some cases for displaying as little as a patterned cap with a hint of yellow on it.

Despite this loss of members, a greater resolve was being quietly generated to hold the largest international protest to be held in the capital cities of every country in the world, simultaneously. Planning for this event took several days, during which time, owing to the growing number of people being huddled over their phones and computers in order to keep up with the latest news about it, the number of killings dropped off. When the day came, huge crowds marched, triggering off yellow alerts around the planet.

In some strange way, the synchronised cacophony of these alert sirens set up global resonance that caused the whole planet to vibrate!

He had no way of knowing just how long it took for the accumulated sound of the sirens to morph its way to the sound of his alarm clock before his eyes snapped open.

Regardless, he was instantly aware that a jug of custard being left in the fridge too long, together with watching a lot of crime shows, can easily cause this sort of thing.

The ladies that were members of their local sewing club were in a tizz.

They were about to welcome a visitor to their little group in the small village of Lower Bogton. This was no ordinary visitor. This woman toured all over the world giving talks about the fashion industry. They had been given talks by dressmakers, outfitters and seamstresses in the past, but this lady was something else. Here was a woman who had designed and made top selling, fashionable clothes for women, internationally. To say she was a celebrity would be an understatement. Strictly speaking, the maximum class number was twenty-five, but the president had managed to sneak a dozen more chairs in at the back. Those who missed out would have to be content with waiting outside to witness the superstar arrive and leave.

The lady in question happened to be taking a short break in her current world tour to visit a cousin in a nearby city. When she received the unexpected and somewhat delightful invitation from the club, she made arrangements to arrive at a nearby town by train. Although more used to talking to large audiences in countries around the world, she thought the visit might be fun.

This was the case, before getting off the train in a nearby town, only to be given the message by a man on a bicycle that owing to the club’s budget restraints they were no longer able to provide the limousine out to the village, as promised. Stunned by this turn of events, the luminary had not sufficiently recovered enough to enquire about buses before the man took off on his bike. She was fuming!

Returning to the station, she was told that she could continue her journey by catching two busses. Owing to the fact that this involved a great deal of time waiting around, she finally arrived at the club’s premises, a small room above the village butcher’s shop, just a few minutes before she was due to give her talk.

At the appointed time, she entered the room and stood behind the table for a few moments, gazing at her audience. She said, “Well, ladies, here’s the thing…” At this, she took a thimble from her purse, put it on the table… and left.

Her ongoing schedule would contain no plans for a return visit.

He staggered into town carrying the rock.

When they saw the state he was in, locals took him to the local hospital. When he was admitted, he was still clutching the thing. He was in a bad way and died a short time later. Because it was an unexplained death, the police were called and the rock was taken in as evidence. The identity of the man was never determined, but the rock turned out to be a meteorite that had split into two on entry. This was what they thought at first, however, closer inspection revealed the fact that it was a meteorite that had a flat, highly polished surface. Nothing like this had ever been seen before. Using a magnifying glass, a series of strange hieroglyphics could be seen. Nobody understood what the symbols meant, so it was sent to the main forensic laboratory in the city.

From the time the stranger first appeared with the rock, to the time a team of expert cryptologists had been assembled from around the world to work on the artefact, over a week had passed. After an all-night session the inscription was deciphered. It turned out to be a message, an invitation. Within a couple of hours of this discovery the world press had the story. However, details of the message were not made public, in an attempt avoid the meeting being gate crashed by hordes of people. A selected group of eminent scientists, leading politicians and high-ranking military personnel was chosen to travel to the undisclosed site. The selection process was a difficult one, there being a number of disagreements about who should attend. As a result of this, there was little chance of organising the agreed upon group, and transporting them to the specified location on time.

The coordinates given in the inscription were for a neglected playing field, beside a derelict schoolhouse, just a few miles out of the town where it all began. When the three helicopters were finally scrambled and all of the chosen representatives were on board, they all took off, only to land at the site several minutes after the indicated time. When they arrived, they found a large, circular ring of burnt grass and another rock. This smaller piece was found with an inscription consisting of just two words, ‘You’re late’.

Apparently, embedded in the culture of the alien visitors, punctuality was extremely important.

She was an active woman in her late fifties with a happy disposition.

She was articulate and had an open, friendly manner. All things that would, under normal circumstances, attract a partner. For her, this was not the case. From early childhood she had suffered from Parry-Romberg syndrome. The symptom of this being her lopsided facial features. She, in her own way, had learned to live with it. She had long resigned herself to the goal of making the most of her life as a spinster. She had a part-time job in the city that she enjoyed and the volunteer work she did for the local charity shop she found rewarding.

It was her best friend, who also served in the shop that approached her with the idea. She said that a gentleman they had met on their travels was coming for a visit, and because she was so familiar with the city and would know all the right places to take such a person, and because he was blind, would she like to be his guide for the day. She was reticent at first, having never done such a thing, but the idea took hold as she realised it would be a kindness. The man himself was a retired public servant from Pakistan.

When the day came, they travelled in together by train and began to take in the sights. She had worked out an itinerary for the day. It was necessary to hold his hand and provide a running commentary on crossings and steps and other obstacles, which seemed to come to her quite naturally. Beyond this, she described their tour in great detail, giving full descriptions of everything she could see. They were obviously enjoying what was a unique experience for both of them. He was a polite and gracious man, with a soft warm hand, and with the holding of it she could feel something she had not felt before.

It was late afternoon. They were sitting on a park bench, and because city workers were making their way home, they decided to let the rush hour pass before returning to the train station. They spent the time telling each other about themselves. They were so engrossed in this that the time slipped away and she found herself describing the sunset. It was during this description that she realised for the first time that she was still holding his hand! Slightly embarrassed she asked if he minded.

That’s when they kissed.

The man living in apartment 19c knows all about clouds and silver linings.

Before this whole thing started, he had to go to a lot of trouble. Whenever he had visitors he would have to spend time clearing things away. This had to be done slowly and with a great deal of care, it was so easy to miss something. He always regarded it as an ordeal, but a necessary one. All of his special paraphernalia, his expensive accoutrements, they all had to be hidden. His precious book of spells, his summoning bell, his cards, staff, wands and talismans, they all had to be put out of sight. The trappings of satanic worship would not go down well with most folk. He had a small, lockable trunk in the laundry and that served its purpose well.

Then came the pandemic. The great isolator. Social distancing was going on everywhere. Visiting people was discouraged for the benefit of all. So, for a while at least, the rigmarole of going through this arduous activity was greatly reduced. His personal beliefs and his regular practice of devil worship left him with mixed feelings about the race to find a vaccine.

It was obvious that the man in the bed was not long for this world.

The dying man had, in his time, been very wealthy, but had managed to spend well until nearly all of his fortune was gone. His wife had already passed away, leaving only one son, who was now a young man in his early twenties. Several friends and relations were gathered around the bed. The manner house was a large, rambling building in extensive grounds. This in itself would constitute the bulk of any legacy. The son, it had to be said, had never made much of himself, living on a small allowance and doing very little. He was generally regarded as a wastrel.

The doctor in attendance shook his head and the visitors began mumbling, with some of the women sobbing and blowing their noses. The father’s withered hand came up and beckoned to the son. With more hand gestures he had him bend with his ear close to his lips. The old man whispered something… then, he let out one final breath.

As time went on the son never spoke of it. Others never asked about the nature of the old man’s last words, no doubt respecting the privacy of it. However, the son did move on in his life with great speed following the funeral. He bequeathed the property and the bulk of funds that remained to a local hospital, to be used for the rehabilitation of patients. Remaining in his humble bedsit, he began studying and giving his time as a volunteer to several worthy causes. Within a few short years he qualified as an accountant and set up a practice. This was followed by a series of business ventures that, not unlike his father, proved to be highly successful and created considerable personal wealth.

He married late and had two children, a boy and a girl. His business empire became vast, but with an ever growing element of giving to charities. This ongoing philanthropy, again not dissimilar to his father’s lifestyle, left less and less for his immediate family. When his wife died he became even more aware of how he had paralleled the life’s journey travelled by his father. It was for this reason that he began planning ahead, for some future date when he would relinquish his responsibilities and hand all business matters over to his son.

Eventually, he found himself well into old age, lying in bed in his family home. His two children were in attendance, along with friends and relations. The doctor, having visited earlier, had left saying that it was now only a matter of time.

The son, having only ever shown scant interest in the business affairs of his father, but knowing full well the story of how his grandfather had died, waited with some impatience and certainly a degree of excitement, for his father to call him over, which in due course he did.

Following the command to approach, he bent over his father and listened to what was whispered…

It happened as he was making his final orbit before re-entry.

It had been a long space mission. The ship was cruising nicely when he felt a sudden, violent bump. He shook his head, thinking that he may have passed out for a moment. He checked all his instruments and found nothing amiss. After docking at the spaceport, he climbed down from his craft feeling completely exhausted. A spaceport car was seconded to take him home. His driver wasn’t the regular one that transported astronauts out from the port complex, but he was friendly enough. His street was a welcome sight and the front driveway with the flowerbeds on either side were looking as good as ever. He was dropped off and allowed to make his way in on his own. Seven months in space was a long time to be away from his family. He could see movement at the windows and a tiny hand waving.

As he stepped through the front door a woman, not his wife, threw her arms around him. Instead of his young daughter running up to greet him, a small boy came up and grabbed him by the hand. As the strange child led him into the lounge, he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that his cat was not curled up on his favourite armchair, but a very large dog was stretched out on the rug.

Being, by reputation, the most level-headed astronaut in the space fleet, he decided the best thing to do was to get a really good night’s sleep and sort it all out in the morning.

The actual robbery inside the bank had gone well.

Each part of the plan had been followed meticulously with no hiccups. This was not the case however, with the getaway. The driver of the getaway car turned up late, leaving the three men carrying large bags of cash, standing around waiting for about thirty seconds. Whereas, under most circumstances, this short period would mean very little, that did not apply in this case. Keeping their hoods on, while passers bye stared at them suspiciously was really uncomfortable to say the least. In fact, when he did arrive apologising for the delay and explaining that he had slept in, they were so annoyed that later that day they agreed that they would no longer require his services.

As in all these cases, the saloon car, stolen of course, needed to be dealt with. Within their criminal fraternity they had a person who was expert in such matters. He was contacted with instructions concerning its disposal. He was told that the vehicle was currently hidden by being parked alongside several thousand other cars in a very large open car park. He was given the bay number along with details of how the keys were taped inside the rear bumper. The location of a piece of waste ground outside the city was given where he was required to thoroughly torch the vehicle, with express orders not to open the boot.

He woke knowing that he hadn’t slept well.

Despite it being weekend, normally giving them all a bit of family time away from work and study, that wasn’t going to happen. His wife was away for two days visiting her brother’s family, where his wife had just come out of hospital. To make matters worse, his son was away on a trip to a bird sanctuary that had been organised by the veterinary college where he was studying. The fact was, he just hated being on his own. He’d always been that way. This situation may well be the cause of such a restless night and his current raging headache. He rarely had headaches, but it was bad enough to get him out of bed, where he could have happily stayed for most of the day, and go looking for tablets.

He was raking through a jumble of containers looking for something. He found what he wanted at the back of the shelf. Although it had his son’s name scribbled across the label, it was obviously a pain killer. For headaches, it suggested taking one or two for the first four hours. He took two, and still in his pyjamas, wandered out into the back garden for a dose of fresh air. His head was feeling better, but he was feeling woozy. He made his way to the garden bench and sat waiting for it to wear off.

He was admiring the nearby flower bed when the colours began to shimmer. They grew brighter and brighter, then they seemed to burst into flames! He got up, not knowing what to do, and fell over. He was on his back now, looking up at a sky that was green with purple clouds that seemed to be scudding fast across the sky and occasionally rotating. None of this made any sense of course and he knew he should get back inside and lie down. Crawling on all fours seemed to be the safest way to move. It took an age to crawl in through the back door. He couldn’t confront the stairs, so he managed to make it to the lounge, where he curled up on the settee.

Several hours later, during the late afternoon, he became conscious. Wide awake now, but feeling nauseous, he made his way to the downstairs toilet, where he was violently sick. He went to bed early that night, skipping dinner. It wasn’t until the following day that he fully realised he’d discovered his son’s stash of party drugs.