Author: Alexander Fawn

Nobody knew where the old man really came from.

He had lived alone in a small decaying cottage, out on the edge of the forest, for so long that it was never really questioned just how long he’d been there. He had appeared quietly one or two decades ago and was hardly ever seen. There were rumours of course. Lots of them. Some say he’d been a top heart surgeon in the capital city, with a fine home and a wife, but that was just hearsay. Others said he had a murky past that he didn’t want to share. Many said he was mad. Conjecture had been buzzing for years. The succession of lads on their bicycles that delivered his groceries and the like, out from the village, were often questioned as to his demeanour, but since the old fellow rarely spoke, nothing much was learned in this way. So, the locals had to be content with gossip.

One morning, a lad, like so many others over the years, peddled up to his front gate. He was unstrapping the box from the rear of his bike, when the old man appeared. This time, instead of waiting for the boy to carry his purchases to the front door, he came down the path to take them. He smiled and waved the boy to follow. It was the custom to pay for goods by way of cash in an envelope, along with the next order. This was usually done at the door step. This time he beckoned the youngster into the house and indicated a chair for him to sit on while he prepared money and list. The boy sat waiting patiently for a few minutes, in no way afraid, but curious about this new experience. The man returned, envelope in hand, and sat opposite.

He flapped it a couple of times, smiled, and said, “Tell me your name.”

The boy, taken aback by the question, reddened with sudden embarrassment.

“Your name?” he repeated.

But the boy just lowered his head. When he looked up he patted his mouth.

The old man said, “Yes, I thought so. You are unable to speak, I think.”

The other’s head bobbed.

With a great sigh the man sat back in his chair.

“Have you noticed,” he starts, “that the heartbeat has a double thump? Folks have tried to express these sounds with regular words, like ‘a lub and a dub’ for instance. Not easy.” He waved his hand and went on. “They are themselves most mysterious. It is all about the valves, you see? Such busy little things, thumping away day and night, until… well, no matter. More importantly, is what they hide; these double thumps.” He patted his chest. “To delve further, in there, tight-packed in between these sounds, sitting in that tiny space after the ‘lub’ and before the ‘dub’, there is an exquisite moment.” He leant forward. “Although very small, it eats away at time.” His old head shook slowly from side to side. “Ah! There are such hidden wonders that momentarily fleet within this hidden void,” he murmured, and fell silent for several long minutes.

The boy sat thinking, entranced at some of these ideas. Some of it understood, but not all of it. He decided that it didn’t matter. He was happy to just be there, listening.

The man’s old eyes widened, as though suddenly aware of where he was. He got to his feet and handed the new grocery order to the boy, who also stood. With a smile, he said, “I hope you enjoyed your visit here today?”

The boy nodded eagerly.

With a satisfied smile, he said, “Well then, I look forward to your next visit.”

As the bike rattled back along the narrow lane the boy turned and waved, and the old man, still lost in so many forgotten memories, waved back.

She didn’t like the nasty boy that lived a couple of blocks away.

He went to the same school, but in a different class, fortunately. She often saw him bullying the younger kids at playtime. After school one day she saw him kick a sleeping cat. It made her blood boil. She had often fantasised about being able to teach him a lesson, or better still, arranging for him to have an early departure from this world. Of course these ideas were just that; ideas. However, something occurred that allowed her to put a somewhat childish yet thoroughly satisfying plan into place. Those that attended drama class, and she was one of them, often got together in one of their homes after school, for a games night. Dressing for the part, they would play out a game, rather than just moving tokens around on a board.

Their next night was the game of Cluedo, with each of them dressing up to represent Reverend Green, Professor Plum, Miss Scarlett, and so on. As the group would be one short on the night, someone had invited the rotten kid to join in. Because the parent’s house chosen would be empty that evening, it was decided to use all of the rooms, with labels on the doors to represent those shown on the board game.

On the night, she had contrived to be cast as Mrs. White, the quiet and unassuming house servant, while the hateful boy was given the role of the unsuspecting Colonel Mustard. Mrs. White had further arranged to have the revolver, rope, candlestick, wrench, lead pipe and dagger gathered all together in the overhead cupboard in the kitchen. The next step would be to get Colonel Mustard to enter the kitchen.

Mrs. White would decide what to take from the cupboard when the time came.

He came hither to his chamber, manuscript short finished.

Sat he quietly, for one good final passing of it, to test the merit of such a tale. Marking this encounter and his true love of it. Almost letting pass some doubtful phrases as common sense would make no matter of. But hold! Surely, some strange malady had taken him here. ‘Twas though his mind should whirl obscenely. Hiding well within a scene. Common only to the unlikeness of his finished work, the bard thus with an abject shrewdness moved yet again, through all words contrived there. Looked he twice and thrice upon these most wretched marks. What manner of tongue could further speak thus? What twisted state of mind had there been present at the scratching of this? What perturbed spirit had hung so close for the making of it? There! Couched in scene five, Horatio to Hamlet.

Knowing sure that it ‘twere good to have it spoken, he did read the pernicious evil aloud.

“Oh! Come on, give us a break. You really don’t need to bring back the dead, just to state the bleeding obvious.”

With his pen he did quickly expel it. Minding that it return to damnation from whence it came.

In place of it, and far more properly said, he wrote the immortal line.

‘There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave to tell us this.’

They are all there, jumbled together, waiting for their time.

Each was a product of some incident, some random comment or an interesting news item. Of course, they were only partly formed. There is always something elusive about them, but at the same time any one of them could unexpectedly erupt when least expected. Their ability to come to the surface does not always happen at a time when they can be easily captured. It goes without saying that the advances in modern technology enables them to be caught when they do; ranging from electronic devices and back down the levels of sophistication to the humble pencil and paper.

Sometimes they lay dormant for decades. Where they are, they are safe. None of them are in a hurry to see the light of day. It seems that the few emerge from the many in their own good time.

No doubt that is why ideas for stories can be so elusive.

It moved to the screen and brought up the images of where it had last played its game.

The room it occupied was one of several that made up a very small proportion of the interior structure of the gigantic alien craft. Although it hovered silently within its cloak of invisibility a vast distance from the planet whose images were displayed on the screen, the player’s access to it was entirely open and available. Ever since the world in question had been allotted to the young alien, it had played with it whenever it liked. The gaming structure was complex, with the controls comprising of a large, curved control panel, which sat below a huge screen. It was covered with symbols and groups of coloured button-like sensors. Using a system made up of millions of tiny beams, not dissimilar from the strings used by a puppeteer, the player was able to manipulate events on the targeted world.

The craft itself was in place for reasons far greater and more expansive than anything the gamer played out on the distant planet. This world, like so many others that have been randomly set up around the cosmos, was created for the sole purpose of allowing young beings to manipulate them at will. Their role in the whole scheme of things was nothing more than to provide pleasure for the gamers. From the console it was able to rearrange weather patterns, create global warming, change shipping routes, manipulate world currencies, manifest plagues, bring about insurrections, all of this together with the ability to increase or decrease the intensity of those belief systems held by the planet’s inhabitants. This meant that the gamer could generate situations where wars could be played out between countries.

It just so happens, that this particular planet being toyed with, being the third planet out from a sun within this particular solar system, recently detected a vast number of unknown beams, splayed out across its surface. Unfortunately, the scientific community was in the process of making a world-wide statement to this effect when they all suddenly disappeared.

For those alien elders who relied on the system to prevent any mischief arising from bored youngsters, the knowledge that the program was not completely fail proof was always there. However, if the beams were detected by the planet’s inhabitants, and in order to protect their own hidden location, all beams were instantly retracted. Further, if prior to the removal of the beams, it is considered that the constant random manipulation performed by the game players has caused the planet to become politically unstable or economically unbalanced, it is vaporised.

Hopefully, in the case of the vulnerable planet in question, they’ll consider that this kind of intervention would be just a touch premature.

He had no idea where he was.

He had a vague recollection of lying in a bed. It may have been a hospital. He had been feeling really poorly and there were nurses and a doctor and… It came to him that he may have died. He felt completely fine now, sitting in this chair… in this waiting room… His head was spinning, though. He looked around. There were a couple of dozen others, all sitting patiently. All sorts, young and old, mostly old. A mix of ethnicities, but all sitting in a calm repose as though they knew exactly why they were there. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they were all like him, dazed and confused. He thought he’d get up and take a look around, but found he couldn’t. He looked down to see whether he was held by restraints of some kind, but he wasn’t. He took a deep breath and went back to waiting.

Not long after this, a large, double door at the far end of the room parted. The creature that came in was dressed in a white, long-sleeved, full-length smock from head to toe. It was hard to tell the gender, but it towered at around twelve feet high. It was thin and walked very slowly. He could see that it had a face, although strange, it was a face; eyes, nose, mouth. It moved to the centre of the room looking intently at some kind of clipboard. It gazed around at the room’s occupants before speaking. It sounded like a person whispering down a tunnel, there was a slight echo to it. The strange being was explaining that what they were each hearing was being heard in their own mother tongues. It asked if they understood. He nodded with the others. It went back to its clipboard.

It was slowly coming to him that this had to be some sort of ‘between lives’ place. This wasn’t heaven or hell, he thought. This was some alien setup. He found it incredibly difficult to imagine the purpose of having a room full of people like this; hard to imagine where it was all going. His thoughts were cut short when they were asked to stand up and follow their host.

With no difficulty at all, he got up. They all filed through into what was a long corridor, with rooms on either side. One by one, and in no apparent order, despite the fact that the alien was continually checking his board, they each entered a room. When it came to his turn it opened the door for him. Inside, a similar being stood waiting. Some flimsy paper thing was handed over and it left, closing the door gently. He looked around while the alien studied what he’d been given. It seemed to be nodding slightly, without any facial expression, presumably receiving a summary about the man that stood gazing around the room. The room was featureless, save for one enormous wheel that stood against the far wall. It looked just like the sort of thing he’d seen on TV game shows.

With its lips barely moving, the new creature explained that he was to spin the wheel to determine the sort of life he would return to. Despite the unbelievably ludicrous situation he found himself in, he felt a calm wave come over him as he went forward to take a closer look. It was huge, if anything it was higher than the thing that had followed him and now stood beside him. It looked down and began to explain. However, it was self-evident. There were numbers from one to a hundred in a normal sequence and pins that ran around its outer edge. A flap hung from the top that would bend with the passing of the pins. He stood thinking about how remarkably close it was, in style, to the standard wheels-of-fortune he’d seen before.

He became aware that the creature was most probably giving him time to think about it. Turning it over in his mind, he presumed that he could return as a member of any one of a number of races. He could return to a war torn country or somewhere nice and peaceful. He also considered that any single life expectancy, in general terms, could be very long or very short. It amazed him that with so many potential outcomes, these unknown life entities had managed to get these alternatives down to just one hundred.

He heard the entity make a gentle hiss, and a long, thin arm came up. Its slender finger pointing to a handle. It was high up on the right-hand side, no doubt for starting a clockwise spin of the wheel. He was instructed to pull down hard. Again, he was surprised at his unquestioning obedience as he took hold of the handle and with gusto got the massive thing turning. The rotation wasn’t fast, but it seemed like a very long time before the huge wheel stopped. He noted the number, the significance of which was entirely meaningless from his point of view.

He looked up into the peculiar face and waited. A few moments passed while the paper like material it was holding was studied. Twice it looked up at the number…

Despite the fact that the thing’s face was just about expressionless, he thought he detected just the hint of a smile…

It seemed as though the two of them had been talking for hours.

The boy’s unexpected visitor was showing a great deal of patience. He was saying, “I do realise that all of this must be hard for you to take in. I do not know why you were chosen specifically. That is something entirely outside of my conspectus, but you were chosen.”

The boy, sitting on the side of his bed, was equally patient. He sat listening in silence.

“My elders,” the visitor went on, “are fully aware that there is very little chance that anything I tell you, or any new ideas I bring with me, will have any substantial effect on the way your people move forward. My elders simply wish me to advise you that this is merely the sowing of a single seed.”

The boy, despite having never been the subject of an intelligence quotient test, was extremely bright. Others regarded him as a deep thinker. He said, “A lot of what you have told me is, let’s say, psychological. It’s more about how we think that has determined our historic path, rather than what we have done.”

The visitor smiled. “Exactly! I now see why you were chosen.”

“So far you have made a lot of references directed to the subject of celebrities. Why is this aspect of human nature so important?”

“Again, an astute observation. Yes, you have gone to the heart of it. Your kind has created the role of celebrity, which is now fully ingrained in your world culture. In fact, no nation or tribe is free from it.”

“OK. I see that, but what is wrong with a person having a celebrity status.”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. In all other advanced civilisations that my people know of, such a category does not exist. It is for this reason that we know that the concept of having no celebrities would be unfathomable to you.”

The boy thought about what had been said and the visitor, seeing this, waited. He asked, “Can you tell me what the problem is by having celebrities?”

“I can. It is that you have given them certain values, such as power, control and money, to name only a few. These values have been given to kings and queens, politicians, actors, business men and women, singers, dancers, comedians, composers, writers… the list is very long. It is long because your peopled have made it so. They are all mastered by values that we reject.”

“Are you saying that all people should be equal, or treated equal?”

“Yes, but in a way that you could not understand, after being so long on your present course of development. As I said… just sowing a seed.”

“So, you’re not actually here to change anything?”

“Not at all. We would have no way of doing that.”

“Well then, it will certainly make me stop and think about the value of celebrities.”

The visitor smiled broadly and bowed, and at this point two things happened in the same moment.

His visitor evaporated and his morning alarm sounded.

The young man had been watching a TV series about a notorious gangster’s life.

He wasn’t impressed with the way they tried to portray the life of Al Capone with such fear and dread; with all these historians coming on saying how wickedly bad he was. Come off it! He thought. He wasn’t that bad, and let’s face it, he’s long gone. Anyway, he would have nothing on Al the dentist. Waited an hour before I went in. Big notice saying mobiles had to be turned off. Nothing but women’s magazines on the table. When I finally got in, I felt the needle go in, it hurt, but I don’t think there was any painkiller in it. The next twenty minutes were painful beyond belief.

Then there’s that nasty traffic warden, his badge said he was an Al.  All I did was to pull over for a minute to find a music station on the radio. I might have been on a yellow line, but it was only for a minute. He slapped me with a fine. As for Al down at the pharmacy. He makes me wait one hell of a long time for prescriptions, deliberately. There’s no reason for it that I can see; he’s just mean.

Anyway, none of these come close to my old geography teacher. I’d rather face Al Capone than my old geography teacher… any day!

It seems rather odd,

To be weighing a pod.

–

To give a sharp prod,

Or to pray to a god.

–

To give a quick nod,

Or to walk with a plod.

–

To be a tightwad,

Or to go unshod.

–

To fold a tripod,

Or to join a new squad.

–

To shovel a sod,

Or to batter a cod.

–

To brandish a rod,

Or to ride roughshod.

–

To stand ramrod,

Or to be slipshod.

–

Then, weighing a pod,

Is not at all odd.

After such a long time he still misses her.

Everything was going well. They had been dating for over three years when it happened. Plans for marriage were well advanced. He thought they were a perfect couple. Then, he came along. He was something of a socialite with a wealthy family behind him. He never lacked for anything and could have just about anything he set his heart on. He had swept her off her feet. One minute they were sharing a flat together and the next she was with him in his luxury apartment located in the high end of town. That was nearly a year ago. He had never met the man who stole his fiancée away from him, but he’d seen pictures of him from time to time in the local paper, with her on his arm, of course.

At the time, he had murderous thoughts about the man, even going to the lengths of purchasing a small bottle of poison on the black market. It was guaranteed to give a massive heart attack that would leave no traces. He would never get the chance to use it, of course, but it made him feel good to fantasise all the same. This he kept beside the barista coffee machine that he operated on a daily basis. Not that the likes of him would ever stoop so low as to frequent the café he worked in. This modest café was definitely not the sort of place he’d use.

Then came the day when he was proven wrong. It was a little after opening time and the morning rush was on in the café when he walked in. He recognised him instantly; expensive suit, freshly cut hair and a swagger that he couldn’t hide if he wanted to. He was with a dodgy looking guy that was probably a gangster. They had no doubt chosen this as a venue to discuss business in a part of town where neither would be recognised. Keeping well out of sight behind his machine, just in case, he listened intently when the girl took their orders.

He reached for the bottle.