Author: Alexander Fawn

He wanted to take her somewhere different.

He was looking through the restaurant guide. He’d been told about a place that gives its customers a completely unique dining experience. She was saying only the other day she was getting tired of the same old humdrum cafes and restaurants on offer in the city. She obviously wanted something different. This sounds perfect. It’s a bit of a journey getting out there, but it sounds as though it could be well worth making the effort. He checked the location online and noted the travel time. Yes, they could manage that. He gave them a call.

The man who answered sounded very friendly. “A table for two, sir? Of course, sir. We have one of those left.”

“Just one thing, is it near the kitchen? My wife is particularly sensitive to excessive cooking smells. No offence meant, I hope you understand.”

“Not at all, sir, I understand. No, this table is out on the fringe. So, no worries there, sir.”

“I’m sorry, did you say, fringe?”

“Yes, sir, here at the Bush Tucker café we like to think we blend in with our natural environment. The alfresco tables are closer to the swamp, this allows our patrons…”

“Sorry! Did you say swamp?”

“Indeed I did, sir. We at the Bush Tucker café provide an authentic atmosphere that allows our…”

“Hold on, hold on. Aren’t you the people that had all that bad publicity about customers being attacked by crocodiles?”

After a short silence. “There was some publicity, sir, but the reports were shamefully exaggerated.”

“But people were dragged into the swamp and eaten by crocodiles, weren’t they?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that has some truth in it, but…”

“Hang on! You people were in the news again quite recently. Another case of a woman customer being taken. She was pulled into the water and mauled to death or something. I remember the news report, now!”

“No, no, sir. That was greatly exaggerated, she only lost a leg.”

He ended the call and went back to the guide.

As witches go, she put on a pretty good show.

Lots of mumbo jumbo in her dimly lit cottage. But statistically she was a failure. She had a reputation for casting love spells. Young girls from the village and from miles around would visit her. As time passed it became evident and generally known that very few of her spells actually worked. The desperate girls simply didn’t get the man of their dreams. Her clientele dropped off, so did her income. Finally, she passed away in abject poverty.

The aging widow had never learnt one of the cardinal rules of spell casting.

Her heart just wasn’t in it.

He knew the eyes of the world were on him.

The final selection had been made and it was decided that he was the right astronaut for the mission. Although this opportunity would probably make him world famous and one heck of a celebrity, he wasn’t likely to be around to bathe in the glory of it. He would leave them all behind; his girlfriend, his parents, his friends and relations; all of them, for the greater good of mankind. The mission; to travel out into space, well beyond anything that had been undertaken before. He would travel beyond the solar system, beyond the Milky Way into the deepest space, into a great firmament that had only been seen through the most powerful telescopes on Earth. It would be unknown territory. The cameras and the world watched him go.

After several months of travelling at unimaginable speeds through an endless void, he became aware of a particularly interesting signal amid the incessant space noise coming from the speaker, the first of any real significance since leaving the launch pad. It appeared to be a small, lone world in a vast and empty tract of space. It could well be some kind of outpost in the centre of its vast surroundings. He watched his screen as a great yellow light came into focus. Great arches glowed brightly in the night’s shadow that covered the land mass. It was a pillar or a post, maybe some sort of communication tower. The screen was sharpened and full magnification was used. Beneath the arches, and behind the pole, a structure, dimly lit but obviously inhabited.

He slipped his craft into a holding mode above the planet and entered the pod. Landing softly before the building he made his way to the entrance. He paused briefly to look around.

The bizarre nature of what he was looking at and the ridiculously impossible circumstance he found himself in, simply faded into insignificance compared with his love of hamburgers.

Coming home from work he fell asleep on the bus again.

Fortunately, like previous times, he had woken up before his stop. This time it was only a matter of seconds before sailing past and having to either walk back or catch another bus on the reverse journey. He was sick of it and knew that something really had to be done about his sleepless nights. Eventually it would have a major impact on his health. Night after night he could hear what would have to be a small animal in the attic scrabbling around at night, causing an ongoing succession of sleepless nights. It was, in fact, a huge, hungry rat prowling around in the attic continually looking for food.

Although he found the landlord a hard person to get on with, he would have to be firm and advise him yet again of the problem in the attic. He had already complained, but nothing had been done. He didn’t want to go around and see him face to face, so he decided to send him a strongly worded email. So, that evening he sat typing. He was far more specific about the growing problem, forcefully suggesting that the landlord arrange to have a pest exterminator come in and fix the situation.

Meanwhile, up in the roof space the rat was gnawing on a cable.

The man was choosing his words carefully, so as not to upset his grumpy landlord.

Above him the chomping continued.

He was almost finished when a loud crackling noise came from above.

In that moment, upstairs, sparks and fur flew, momentarily lighting up the loft, and a dead creature lay smouldering.

Downstairs, his screen went black and the house went into total darkness.

One problem had been solved!

P is for Preference, in the way of a fruit,

O is for Ongoing, with a story to suit,

E is for Everything that needs to be told,

M is for Making a story unfold.

–

P, O, E and M do a poem make,

Let it continue, for the alphabet’s sake.

–

A is for Apple, that falls from a tree.

B is for Boy, who sees that it’s free.

–

C is for Cap that sits on his head.

D is for Dog, that hasn’t been fed.

–

E is for Envy, as the dog gives chase.

F is for Fear, as they pick up the pace.

–

G is for Growl, which comes from behind.

H is for Halt, as he changes his mind.

–

I is for Initiative, as he throws it back.

J is for Joy, as the dog eats his snack.

–

K is for Kindness, shown by the lad.

L is for Laugh, what a fright he had had.

–

M is for Mother, who hears his tale.

N is for Nectarine, she bought at the sale.

–

O is for Offer, she makes of the gift.

P is for Plea, as he asks for a lift.

–

Q is for Quick, as he dresses to go.

R is for Rush, to make the next show.

–

S is for Seals, in the circus ring.

T is for Tension, when trapeze artists swing.

–

U is for Unhurried, as he strolls to the bus.

V is for Virtue, lets others on first without fuss.

–

W is for Window, with its tinted glass.

X is for X-Men, at the cinema they pass.

–

Y is for Yak, newly on show.

Z is for Zoo, where he would later go.

–

A is for At, at the moment, after such an adventurous day, all he could think about, despite his mother’s kindness, was whether there would be enough daylight left for him to go back to the tree, and if the orchard owner’s dog was not around, he could look for windfalls, as he really preferred apples to nectarines.

He is there, drinking bad coffee, every weekday at the same time.

He sometimes has the opportunity to see her arrive in the mornings, but that is very much hit and miss. There are occasions when she walks from the station, on others she is dropped off by him. He sees her kissed goodbye, by her husband. He has seen him from time to time, and he looks to be a good sort. He hopes so. It is mostly the late afternoons that he can rely on. He watches, as the building’s office workers stream out onto the street. Some cross to the café where he sits, some turn left along the pavement, some turn right. She turns right. She always looks beautiful; no different from the woman he knew a decade ago. Of course, he still loves her.

As he sits by the window in the gloomy coffee shop, sipping on the worst kind of coffee, waiting for her to appear, he often reflects on the fact that she would no longer recognise him. His time overseas, the Taliban insurgency and the dreadful explosion that brought him home early, have all put paid to that possibility. His face received the worst of it. The heavy beard and tinted glasses help him get out in public with minimum discomfort.

She no doubt thinks he is dead. They had been courting for two years when he was called up. Of course, the letters he sent during the first few weeks were the last contact. Nothing since then. He feels sure she would have waited for a while, but life moves on.

Now, he comes here and sits, and waits.

He considers himself to be a stalker of the most decent kind.

It was a quiet night in the village pub when the man fell in through the door.

Several patrons helped him to his feet and got him to a chair. He was in a bad way. He had blood on his hands, his face and his clothes. These were torn and he’d lost a sleeve from his jacket. It looked as though it had been ripped off. His eyes were bloodshot and he had bruises to his neck and face. He was given a stiff drink by the landlord, which he sipped with a shaky hand while the dozen or so drinkers gathered around. The man could hardly speak at first, but finally gained enough breath to explain that he’d come from the next village, where there had been a calamitous situation. It had unfolded over just a few hours. He described how all of the villagers were dead and told them that he was the sole survivor. They brought him another shot and asked him to explain what had happened.

After squeezing his eyes closed for several seconds, he said, “It started with the cane toads. I don’t have to tell you that they come through in swarms from time to time. I’m sure you’ve all seen that?”

There was a general nodding of heads.

“This was different. They can spit, you know that too. Within the first hour there was a plague of them. They got everywhere! Then the spitting began. No ordinary spit, mind you. Green it was, and stung when it hit your skin. So I was told. I don’t know why, but I never had to experience it myself. I was in a pretty good hiding place right up to the end. Anyway, then people started fighting; fighting one another for no good reason. Only another hour when by before they became so wild that they were killing each other! It was unbelievable! Some folks just suicided right there on the street.” He wiped tears away. “There were only a few blokes left fighting and slugging it out in the street. They had knifes, guns, axes, machetes, anything they could get their hands on. That’s when I made a break for it.”

He stopped to drain his glass.

“Unfortunately, they saw me. About three or four of them all jumped on me. It was horrible. A couple of them I recognised; known them all my life. I fought back. The poison, or whatever it was, had also weakened them and I managed to fight them off. I started running as fast as I could. It was then that I realised that there didn’t seem to be any toads around. They must have all moved on. I’m just so lucky to be alive!”

He buried his head in his hands.

The landlord, apparently quite sober, and more than a little aware of the fact that he’d been giving the man free drinks, spoke up. “I’ve got to say that was just about the silliest thing I’ve ever heard! If they ever make a B grade horror movie of it and I was offered a free ticket, I wouldn’t bother to go and see it.”

As he said that, the door creaked open and a particularly large and very ugly cane toad hopped in.

She sat near the front window looking out, missing him.

He was a great guy really. He had his faults, of course, but he was kind and caring, and… and she had blown it. It had all fallen in a heap because she was… what? She was careful about things. No, more than that, she was a stickler for the rules. She was pedantic about doing the right things, the right way, the responsible way. It was this that had come between them. She saw it now. The reason he had stormed out a week ago, probably never to come back. She just hadn’t seen it coming. It was such a shock! But, she could hear him now. “Everything has to be perfect with you, doesn’t it?” He was right of course. That was a fair summing up.

She went through to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. She brooded while it boiled. She sat wondering. Maybe he was right. If I made the effort, maybe I could let down my hair a little. Why not? If I could change. She sat stirring her tea, deep in thought. Maybe I could win him back. Show him that I really have listened. But how would you start to do that? How do you go about breaking the habits of a lifetime? Where would you begin? She looked around her neatly ordered kitchen. Her eyes came to rest on the empty milk bottle. She closed her eyes and shuddered. She slowly got up, pulse racing as she whispered, “To hell with it.” She looked at the bottle. She could do this!

She could feel a fire burning through her whole body as she went to the recycling bin and dropped it in.

Without rinsing it!

She was on the bus thinking of him.

They’d been going out together for several months. He worked the other side of town and she was on her way to meet him at the café across the street from where he worked. They caught up regularly on a Tuesday and had lunch together. He always insisted that they ‘go Dutch’ to keep things even. She was thinking about the recent evening when he had forgotten his wallet and she had to buy the cinema tickets. He never seemed to have any money, although she knew that he earned more than her. He hadn’t paid her back, or even offered to, but it was a small amount. However, this brought to mind the much larger sum she had come up with when he needed to get his car fixed.

She sighed and took out her mobile. In her calendar she found the date.

She returned to her thoughts. That was several weeks ago. She remembered that he was short at the time and they needed it to go away for the weekend, staying in a motel near the coast. They had each paid their own way for that, as well. Her musings seemed to be acting as a wakeup call. She went on the recall the number of times that this sort of thing had happened. There were a lot of similar instances coming to mind, going back over the months. She hadn’t really noticed them slip by. She was only a couple of minutes from her stop when a feeling of foolishness swept over her in an ugly wave. In that moment she realised that she would have to do something about it. As far as she could see there were only two ways to go about it. She would either confront him about it or…

The bus pulled up at the stop.

She didn’t get off.

As a youngster he was considered to be exceptionally bright.

His level of plain curiosity seemed to know no bounds. In his early days of schooling he developed the habit of making a note of anything he didn’t like. Although it’s not so uncommon for bright kids to start writing at around the age of five, not many of them would start a diary; he did. Maybe less of a diary and more of a ledger. A place where those things that he had issues with could be recorded. It was actually an old out-of-date diary that he used. He painstakingly went through it, scribbling over the unwanted entries. He ignored all the dates and used the lines for daily entries to write on. It was kept in his bedroom and mostly only brought out and used around his bed time.

It all started with the names of kids at school that he didn’t like, which included the girl next door. As time went on, this became his ideas about his school subjects and what was wrong with them. Then came community issues, mostly heard on the television. He would scribble them down as best he could when he got the chance. Such entries went on to include world affairs and morality concerns. As he entered his teen years his notations became far more comprehensive and delved more deeply into all facets of human behaviour that he considered wrong.

In fact, it was during this period that he began to realise that there was a lot going on in the world that he wasn’t at all happy with. This worsening of his view of things grew ever more worrying. He became more and more convinced that there was a great deal of madness in the world and that it was all going to hell in a handcart. This eventually lead to the irrepressible fear the he could easily go mad with it!

Then something happened. At the age of eighteen he reached ‘the age of reason’. He read that this was something that was generally accepted as being the age at which a person is considered to be capable of distinguishing between right and wrong. After studying both the legal and moral aspects of this he made a decision.

He went out and bought a new diary. His spirits were lifted markedly as he opened it in his room for the first time and began to write.

From this point on he would only make entries about the things he liked.