Author: Alexander Fawn

She had been unhappy with her life for some time.

She had been homeless for as long as she could remember. The only thing she had to look forward to was when she visited her friend. She was very fond of him. Whenever she went to see him he would see that she had something to eat. His place was comfortable and he was well off. The only problem he had was that some of his neighbours weren’t so nice.

This particular morning they were sitting in his back garden, watching the birds pecking at seed.

She said, “You’re having issues with some of your neighbours, right?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted.

“Well then, why don’t we just take off? You know, run away together!”

He was silent for a while. “No. I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He looked back at the house. “It’s the humans you see, I couldn’t leave them.” His whiskers twitched. “They need me.”

He’d always been nervous about doing live podcasts.

The doctor was reciting a piece that he’d written on the subject of cancer. It was a ten minute talk where he described the various kinds of cancer that the human body could be subject to. His talk included studies that had been carried out in countries around the world, and statistics related to the various types of cancer prevalent in numerous types of communities. Throughout the broadcast he continually made reference to the fact that smoking was a heavy contributor to the condition, with cautions about the use of tobacco. He was listing the percentages of recovery rates in patients, when listeners heard him cough and swear under his breath. This was followed by a loud clattering noise. There was a muffled silence before he resumed by apologising, with the explanation that his neighbour was having some heavy construction work carried out on his house. The remainder of his talk went without a hitch.

The fact that his cat had jumped up on his desk knocking his ashtray to the floor causing him to drop his cigarette only to see it burning a hole in his wife’s favourite rug, never came to light.

He was forgetting things far more than she was.

She said it would do no harm to at least discuss it with the doctor. Between them they had looked up the early signs of dementia. There were so many of them, but they worked their way through the list. After discounting a number of symptoms they made a note of what applied to him. Of course, there was the memory loss. This was the obvious one, along with occasionally not being able to come up with simple words, sometimes finding it hard to concentrate, now and again having difficulty simply doing everyday tasks, and at times just losing track of time and place. These were only vague signs, but they were still worrying. Having done this, he reluctantly agreed to make an appointment.

He chats with the doctor who suggests he gives him an assessment. He tells the doctor what date it is, recalls a couple recent news items, does some simple mathematics, names several objects, draws a clock showing a specified time, identifies a giraffe, remembers a set of words, and recites a group of numbers backwards.

His doctor is happy with his responses. He feels pretty pleased with himself as he leaves the surgery.

On the way home he pulls over, takes out the old map book and opens it. He shuts it again. That won’t help…

He can’t remember his address!

He left the office, aware that he was running late.

The young stock broker checked the time as he pulled his Porch 911 out of the underground carpark. He had arranged to meet his good friend at his local country club. His friend, a financial consultant, had flown in from New York during the day. Not being a member, the broker would have to sign him in. It was a cold night and he didn’t want his friend having to wait around for him. When he arrived the carpark was full and he had to park on a patch of spare ground beside the car park. He was running late. He didn’t lock it.

As it turned out, he was on time with seconds to spare. They went in and spent the evening catching up. When he returned to his car later that night, he discovered the fact that he’d left it unlocked for several hours… but it was still there! Shaking his head, he climbed in. He was about to start the car, when he saw the figure sitting in the back seat. He was fast asleep, slumped, with his head against the window. He sat thinking for a couple of minutes. He started the car and pulled onto the road very carefully. He spent the whole journey home driving with the utmost care and attention so that the stranger was not disturbed. When he got home, instead of parking the car in the garage he left it on the front drive, unlocked.

In the morning he went out to the car. It was empty. He smiled as he opened all the windows to give it an airing.

Privately, he had always envied hobos.

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!’