Author: Alexander Fawn

”I’ve made up my mind,” said Williams, looking up from his desk.

“Oh, yes?” grunted the man across the room.

“Yes, I have finally decided to leave.”

“Leave? Leave Pritchard’s? Come on; you’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I am not kidding. I have thought it all out most carefully. I am leaving!”

Dawson let the papers drop back into the file drawer. “My God! You’re serious!” he stammered, and dragging a chair to the desk, sat opposite the other. “Why in God’s name would you…?”

“Dawson! How many times must I ask you not to take the name of the Lord…?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry Mr Williams. You were saying?”

“Hm. Indeed I was. I was saying that all this,” he gazed slowly around the office, almost sadly, “all this is about to become a memory; nothing more!”

“But your watch Mr Williams, what about your watch? Only eighteen months away. Only four people have ever received gold watches from Pritchards!”

“I know lad, I know,” sighed Williams, “Margaret will certainly be upset about that.”

“You mean she doesn’t know?”

The older man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, no. Not exactly.” He forgot some of his superiority. “I haven’t as yet broached the subject with my wife. These things have to be thought out carefully before any real commitments are made. You’d do well to remember that, Dawson!”

“Yes, sir.” Replied the clerk, looking a little down at the mouth. “You are actually going to leave then, sir. I mean, this office, this desk?”

“Cheer up lad,” encouraged the manager with a grin, “things aren’t so bad you know. Why! With a good word from me the company may look past your lack of years and give you the office. Think of it Dawson! This time next month you could be running the whole show!”

It was Dawson’s turn to shuffle in his chair. His hand swept down his face, as though removing some unwanted emotion.

“What will you do?” He asked.

“Oh. I don’t know,” said Williams, lounging in his chair, “probably do a bit of fishing. Never really caught up with my fishing, you know.” He looked almost lovingly at Dawson. “Ever fish?”

Dawson shook his head.

“Great sport.” the old man crowed. “Nothing quite like it for relaxing after a hard week at the…” he realised what he had nearly said. He reddened a little, and added, “That’s all behind me now.”

The older man leaned towards his colleague in the gesture that foreshadowed a confidence.

“We do have a little put by. Don’t really have to wait till I’m almost dead to enjoy it.”

“To be quite frank with you,” said the younger man, also leaning forward slightly, “I don’t think I’d care to stay if you went, sir.”

The old man looked deeply into Dawson’s moist eyes. He made another decision. He straightened.

“Look, Dawson, you’re not to take too much notice of me, you know. I have these fancies from time to time.”

The other man brightened.

“After all,” he continued, “an old man is quite entitled… for goodness sake! Where’s last month’s receipt file? I asked for it fifteen minutes ago!”

Crisis over, Dawson glowed.

Erica opened one eye and gazed at the ringing telephone with venomous loathing. She was the sort of person who believed that ringing telephones were the cause of half the troubles in the world.

“Communication is the root of all evil,” she thought to herself, as she tried to ignore the vile instrument. But closing her eyes again brought no relief. It continued to ring. Not for the first time, she wished that the phone company would turn off all phones at midnight.

One arm snaked out from beneath the bedclothes, clicked on the bedside light and picked up the phone. “It had better not be you again,” she hissed into the phone. Her sister Janice had been having some sort of man trouble again, and for the best part of a month she had been incessantly calling for sympathy and advice.

She half-twisted in the bed and propped herself up on her arm. Her hair had tumbled over her face, obscuring her view as she tried to look at the time on the bedside clock.

“Oh honey, did I wake you up? Thank God you’re there.” came the slurred voice, evidently that of a man who was feeling the effects of much too much drink. It wasn’t Janice. She didn’t recognise the man’s voice. He sounded pathetic, and very drunk. She was waking up now.

Erica had always had a devilish streak in her. She was the sort of woman who, even in the wee small hours, could still muster a sense of humour. This guy sounded interesting. He had obviously misdialled. Erica just loved practical jokes. She could keep a straight face under the most difficult circumstances, when she was having someone on.

“Do you know what time it is?” she rasped into the mouthpiece, holding back any trace of humour in her voice. “Why the hell do you call me in the middle of the night? What’s the matter with you?” She smirked as she waited for the man’s reply.

“Did I wake you up? Did I wake you up, honey? Aw Hell! I’m sorry. I kept on telling myself not to call. I kept on telling myself not to call you at this time, in the middle of the night. Are you mad? Did I make you angry?”

She squinted again at the bedside clock and was able to make out the time; 2:30am. She removed the phone from her ear, cupped the mouthpiece and managed a soft giggle; then, with a deep breath she put the phone back to her ear. His voice was still droning out at her.

“… did I? Are you awake? Did I disturb you? I’m sorry honey. Really!. You don’t know how bad this makes me feel.”

She cut in on him, “Look. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

There was a pause in the conversation for a moment.

Then he spoke again. “I woke you up, didn’t I? And now you’re annoyed. Now you’re annoyed. I knew you would be. I told myself not to phone. I knew you would be annoyed. Now I’ve got you all upset. Aw hell! I’m sorry honey.”

“Don’t you honey me! Not at 2:30 in the bloody morning. I’m hanging up on you.” She lifted bedding to her mouth to muffle a laugh.

“No. No. Don’t hang up, honey. I just called to say I was sorry about last night. Hell! I’m so sorry. I mean, I didn’t mean to hurt you, honestly I didn’t. I just wanted to see if you were alright. Are you still mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad with you. You phone me at this time in the morning to tell me this? Listen, I’m going to hang up. I mean it.” Erica reached out and grabbed the pack of cigarettes. She was really enjoying this and wanted to make the most of it.

“How are things with you baby? Are you OK?” he slurred.

Erica took a puff at her cigarette and blew smoke silently across the room. She took the grin off her face and said “Listen you pathetic drunk. I’m OK. I just need to get back to sleep. Now I’m going to hang up.”

“I’m so sorry for what happened.” He went on. “I thought you were dead… I was convinced you were dead.”

Erica pulled the phone out in front of her and frowned at it. This was getting a little weird. But of course drunks can go on about all sorts of strange stuff without knowing what they are saying. She decided to hang in there.

“No, I’m not dead, just dead tired. Now will you get off the line or do I have to call the police?”

The caller fell silent. “No! Baby, don’t do that! No need for that. But you are mad aren’t you?”

“Yes! Of course I’m mad at you, you freak. Now get off the line.” Erica was surprised at the sharpness in her voice. Was she overplaying her part? She relaxed with the man’s reply.

“Yes. You told me I’m a freak. You did, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for a reply. ”Thank God your OK. I’m sure I saw blood. Perhaps I didn’t. I thought I saw blood on the poker, lots of it. Perhaps I just wanted to see your head split open with blood oozing out… you know, because of what you said… because I was so mad with you”. He paused. “But I’m not mad now. I hope you’re not mad with me. Are you mad with me, baby?”

Erica felt that the whole thing was taking on a new aspect; and it was one she didn’t really care for. She had had her fun but wasn’t enjoying the game now.

Her voice was now genuinely serious. “Now look, OK, whoever you are, I will certainly call the police if you ring back, and I am definitely going to hang this phone up right now”.

“Whoever I am? Oh baby. What did that bump on the head do to you? Whoever I am?”

Erica was confused. “That’s it! I’m hanging up now!”

“OK! OK! Goodnight Janice.”

Erica heard the phone click. As she began to think about her sister Janice, the room filled with an eerie silence.

The one thing that you could say about him was that he was unlucky.

He’d been plagued with bad luck all his life. Things would go smoothly for a while, then right out of the blue, he would do something that sent him straight back into the hard life. Despite all the warnings his mother had given him through the years, sooner or later he would fall foul of some superstition or other.

He had broken mirrors, stepped on cracks, put shoes on tables, spilt salt, crossed paths with black cats, opened umbrellas indoors, got out of bed the wrong side and walked under ladders. If there was anything a person could do that would bring bad luck, he did it!

But today… today could be different.

He woke from an incredibly vivid dream that stayed with him well into the morning. It had shown him that things could change. Over and over the image of a horse named Chancer, carrying a number five, continually came back to him. A check of the paper told him that there really was a horse with that name running today, at odds of five to one.

After scraping together as much cash as possible he went down to the betting office, laid his bet and sat watching the race being televised.

It came fifth.

If the lack of beauty in modern buildings

Engenders a sense of abhorrence,

These feelings are made far more intense

When spending time in Florence.

The medieval bridge of Ponte Vecchio,

With its structure, centuries old.

Il Duomo, with so many steps,

And piazzas, where statues stand bold.

The Uffizi Gallery’s majesty, crowded with works of art.

The endless steps of the Campanile Tower,

With a clanging bell to boot.

The Gallery Academia flowing with treasures;

With statues and gardens en route.

Towers, fountains, columns and domes,

Under a sky of peacock blue.

Monuments, bridges, and countless streets,

With the Arno flowing through.

Such beautiful buildings everywhere,

All standing since centuries past.

Their imposing splendor proudly displayed;

These structures were built to last.

The Medici’s once held great sway in this place,

With a dynasty of three hundred years.

At a time, while viewing the state of things,

A desire for renewal appears.

Those wonderful renaissance years.

Resulting in vast museums, overflowing with Florentine art.

Inspired? No doubt whatsoever;

By the likes of da Vinci, Botticelli and Dante,

Well… they changed the world forever!

He was a nice and completely normal kid, that is, before he started reading the book.

The boy he played with was interested in a book about phobias. He had found it on his grandfather’s bookshelf. It was catching! They read it together over a period of several months. When his friend’s family moved away his friend left him the book, as he seemed to have become obsessed with it. The book had a strange effect on him, although he didn’t know it at first.

He had arachnophobia, the fear of spiders, but there again, he’d always had that. No, it started with Butch, a dog in the neighbourhood he had been very friendly with. As the dog approached wagging his tail the hairs went up on the boy’s neck. This had to be cynophobia, the fear of dogs.

As the days passed he found he was eating less, finally he virtually stopped eating. He referred to the book. It was Cibophobia, the fear of food. He was becoming quite thin, while regularly checking himself in the mirror, that is until catoptrophobia set in; the fear of mirrors.

It was around this time that his parents became concerned. They tried to find out what was happening with their son. This didn’t work out too well since he had developed both Androphobia, the fear of men, and gynophobia, the fear of women. They had wanted him to see a doctor but he knew that wasn’t going to happen, the book explained that he was suffering from Iatrophobia, the fear of doctors.

Life for him became worse as nyctophobia, the fear of darkness, anthropophobia the fear of people and somniphobia the fear of sleep, all took him over. He found that he couldn’t even play games on his mobile as he had developed a morbid fear of technology, technophobia.

Eventually he saw it coming, creeping up on him slowly but surely.

It was panophobia – the fear of everything!

Tom was looking up into a blue sky singing softly to himself as he walked back from the local railway station.

Despite his present mood, it hadn’t been a good year for Tom. He and Lorraine had been going out for the best part of a year. It seemed that the more time they spent together the more he realised that they had very little in common. They had different tastes in music, food, sport; and even their ideas of what a good movie was differed greatly. Yet they had stayed together.

None of these personal differences seemed to bother her. She was quite happy to ignore it all. Tom wasn’t.

It all came to a head for him when he met Claire-Lea. She was everything he wanted in a partner. They shared the same views about almost every topic that came up. They felt absolutely natural together. But of course, this new friendship had only made Tom’s situation worse. He wanted desperately to tell his girlfriend that someone had come into his life that he would really prefer to be with, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell her. And so it dragged on. Until a week ago that is.

They had planned to go with others to a bowling alley but Lorraine had called to say something had come up, and could they just meet at the coffee house instead.

As they sat down at the table that evening he knew something was wrong. She started by apologising for what she was about to tell him; she told him how bad she felt. The fact of the matter was she had been offered a better job several towns away. A girl she had been to school with was already there and had a nice little flat that she could move straight into. The rent was cheap and it was incredibly close to the office. It was all too perfect to pass up. She had already accepted. She hadn’t known how to tell him.

Tom hid his real feelings of relief, but said that he understood what an opportunity it was. Looking suitably sad, he walked her home. At her door he had agreed to be at the station to see her off on the following weekend.

He was looking up into a blue sky, softly singing to himself…

“I can see Claire-Lea now Lorraine has gone…”

The young man had been walking for days, wending his way through endless aisles of household consumables. Food, cosmetics, utensils and bric-a-brac; all stacked neatly on never-ending shelves.

He had lost all track of time, with only fluorescent lighting covering a vast ceiling and no sign of any windows. In fact – no walls! Just the occasional pillar, displaying pictures of the very latest products.

He knew where he was. Instruments on board his ship had told him that the planet below was only fifty kilometres in diameter, with no life forms present.

It was one of several commodity planets being constructed in the sector by the galaxy.

He had been studying the ships’ readings when his crystal-powered space drive went into meltdown. With the help of on-board charts he had managed to locate the planet’s crown and put down without too much trouble.

The crown was a circular area, the only part of the planet not covered by a roof, and about one kilometre in diameter. It was a great launching and landing pad that, when the shopping planet was finished, would be used by space shuttles to ferry shoppers in and out.

He had made his way in through the nearest of the fifty entrances to the complex.

Knowing there was a good chance of finding the components required to carry out temporary repairs, he had started this marathon journey without hesitation. He desperately needed an overall plan of the planet’s layout; showing the various sections and what they contain.

But as time went by he realised that the one thing that an unfinished super market doesn’t have is signage!

The racks, shelves, occasional seats and waste bins were all in place. There were drinking fountains, toilets, changing rooms, and of course, countless tonnes of non-perishable product already packed neatly along most of the aisles – but no signs. He desperately needed some sort of clue as to where on the planet they had put the electrical components.

In order not to lose track of his ship he had decided to walk in a straight line. This would bring him back to the crown eventually. He had figured the circumference was something over one hundred and fifty kilometres.

He had managed quite nicely on the food and drink that was available to him, used the waste bins, toilets and washrooms, and slept reasonably well on the bench seats.

He sat down on one of these, exhausted, and began calculating in his head. He could only estimate the days, walking speed and distance; but even a conservative estimate told him he had been around the planet at least once. This meant he had not maintained his bearings and had passed the crown!

A sick feeling swept over him as he layed down and stared up at the ceiling. He was lost. Lost in a very large shop. A shop with no signs. He fell asleep.

As he slept he dreamt he was lying on a soft mattress, with the smell of disinfectant and the chattering of voices close by.

“I don’t know what happened,” a woman was saying. “One minute he was looking at the model space ships over there and the next thing he was stretched out on this rug”.

The voice was familiar, yet not fully recognisable – it went on.

“He didn’t get much sleep last night and he played two games of rugby yesterday,” His mother went on “He hates walking round these places… do you think he’ll be alright?”

His eyes opened with a start as he recognised his mother’s voice. He stared blankly at his surroundings. His mother wasn’t there, nor was the complex.

He was on his craft watching the warning light flash above his head. The ship was in trouble and he knew he had to land. The planet below was only fifty kilometres in diameter. No life forms were detected but it looked a good place to put down while he worked on the problem. The craft came to rest on the planet’s crown.

This was one of the new commodity planets. As he stepped out onto solid ground, the place felt strangely familiar. He shrugged the feeling off and made his way to the nearest entrance…

The old man sat quietly with his dog.

There was an icy, gale-force wind battering the outside of the little cabin. The place was isolated, with little chance of getting out now that the freeze had set in. The old man summoned up his strength to poke at the last remaining log in the grate, in an attempt to create more heat. His dog lay across his feet, shivering. They’d had no food for several days.

He looked down. “Sorry old boy. I wish I had food to give you. The money’s all gone I’m afraid. But we gave Dolly the best send-off that money could buy.” He made an effort to bend forward and stroke the dog’s head. “Lord love us, you’re cold aren’t you boy? Well, like I said, the funeral wiped us out, but I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted less for her.”

He dabbed his eyes with his sleeves. “No. You loved her too, didn’t you old fella?” The dog sniffled and closed his eyes. When the embers had died, there was just a candle stub burning. He watched it for a while until it guttered and went out. In the darkness he fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes the room was filled with sunshine and he felt warm. The dog jumped up and padded to the cabin door that stood open. The old man got up and said “Look here fella. Can you believe it? We slept through winter, right through to summer.”

Just then, he heard a familiar voice laugh and say “Hello boy, where’s your master?”

He cried “Dolly! Is that really you?” He ran to the door and found her sitting on the front step stroking the dog. He went to her as she got up and they stood hugging for a while.

“Come on.” She said.

“Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

They walked away with the dog trotting behind them.

Several weeks later, after the thaw, a policeman stood looking down at the two bodies. His partner came in. “The wood pile’s gone. He must have used the last of it. There’s no food anywhere. I reckon the old guy and the dog just froze to death.”

The first policeman shook his head slowly and said “Well, I like to think they’re in a better place now.”

Have you ever stopped to think,

Imagine if you can,

How much work went into

The crafting of a man?.

–

All that blood and sinew,

With all those twiddly bits.

With nerve-ends sparking in the brain

And the notions it transmits.

–

Chambers that continually beat;

Sacks that keep filling with air.

Orbs that take in the world we’re in;

Slowly growing hair.

–

All those hinged connections

With lubricant, just enough.

The strength of bone and tendon;

Quite apart from the mental stuff.

–

Why, there are teeth and feet, chests and ears;

There are groins, temples and eyes.

Elbows, arteries, cuticles and glands,

Navels, pupils and thighs.

–

There are backs and loins, throats and spines;

There are skulls, knees and veins.

Thumbs, shoulders, toes and napes,

Fingers, kidneys and brains

–

There are hearts and cheeks, calves and thighs.

There are tongues, heels and arms.

Mouths, livers, nails and jaws,

Legs, necks and palms.

–

Not to mention the hip and the lip,

As well as the hand and the gland.

Where would we be without chin or shin?

No need to further expand.

–

It’s all made to fit together;

To work as a total thing.

Cells that fight invading germs,

Chords to talk and sing.

–

Just imagine the initial design,

And the development of the plan.

What an awesome task to undertake;

The crafting of a man!

 

The young girl came into the living room, washed, dressed and curious.

Her parents had obviously been waiting for her. Her mother gave her a hug and said, “We have a special treat for you today.”

The girl looked around and said “It’s not a wrapped present is it?”

Her mother smiled. “No.”

“Are we going through the tunnels again Mummy?”

With a shake of her head she said, “No. Come on, we mustn’t be late.”

In the city they entered a huge building she had only ever walked past. Her father handed over a ticket and they made their way to a row of large shiny cylinders. As they approached, one of them opened and they stepped in. Her father handed his daughter an information leaflet and the car began to move. As they rode she read. The lift stopped and the door opened onto a foyer. She knew what was happening now, she had heard lots of stories about it.

She waved to her parents as she entered the cubicle and changed into skimpy top and bottom, hat and dark goggles. She stepped back out into the foyer.

A man in a uniform came forward.

“A special occasion for you miss. Just some simple rules; when the glass panel opens, go through to the chamber and stand inside the circle you can see on the floor there. When the canopy opens you have one full minute. When the bell rings, return through this same door. Any questions?”

She glanced across to where her parents had been sitting. They were getting up now and moving closer. She was shaking with excitement. Her mouth was too dry to speak, she shook her head. The door slid open and she walked forward nervously and stood patiently in the circle.

She heard the rumble of the canopy opening and looked up to see something she had never seen before. She raised her arms above her head and bathed in the sun’s rays. This was like nothing she had ever experienced before; not like anything she could have imagined.

Tears of joy and bliss welled up inside her goggles, and she could just make out her parents calling to her from behind the panel.

“Happy Birthday!”