Author: Alexander Fawn

Before she took on a celebrity status she was regarded as obnoxious; afterwards, more so.

Her transformation started when the tips of her toes turned bright orange. At first, a skin disease was suspected, but this was discounted. This strange discolouration soon progressed to a point where both feet were affected. Whereas most young girls would be mortified by the situation, she revelled in the attention it brought. In fact, when her legs were likewise mysteriously recoloured, she made a point of only wearing skimpy shorts. Being short, skinny and not particularly attractive, this turn of events had fired up an interest in her looks that she would otherwise never have experienced. When the national press finally caught on that something strange and indeed newsworthy was going on, a reporter and a camera crew were dispatched. Much to her delight, she was becoming more and more a person of interest.

As time went on the pigmentation continued to spread slowly up her body, culminating with her head. It was when her face had turned completely orange that more reporters and camera crews were sent. The fact that she had escalated to a point where she was a celebrity, with a fan base that covered all continents, seemed to also go to her head. This newly acquired stardom had the effect of driving her original obnoxious behaviour to the more intense level of insufferable and when her hair turned green overnight this pushed her beyond this, to the point of being positively loathsome…

It was probably as a result of this that nobody was particularly surprised, or concerned, when she ended up being eaten by a very large rabbit.

The surgeon had a fairly meagre practice in the city.

He was a heart specialist. He held consultations in his rooms, then performed heart surgery at the local hospital. He had never attracted many clients, and his reputation as a practitioner was not the best. He just managed to scrape by. However, none of this could explain the fact that he was able to maintain such a lavish lifestyle. His mansion, set on a large property and his expensive cars seemed disproportionate to the income derived from his paltry medical practice. This had been the case for several years, but had changed radically when he decided to take a short break of a day or two. So, instead of flying into Saint Moritz, the luxury alpine resort town in Switzerland where he would cross-country ski for a week or two, he booked into a five-star hotel in a coastal holiday town.

It was there, on the second night, that he had taken a stroll along the promenade after his meal and found himself at the entrance of the pier. He hadn’t visited such a place since childhood and with a degree of excitement he went in. He spent time looking at the various forms of entertainment, including a penny arcade. He was thrown back to a time when, as a boy, he would go into such venues with a handful of coins. Strolling past the brightly lit, noisy machines, his attention was caught by on old wizard in a glass case beckoning customers to have their fortunes told. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he approached. The slot took his coin and he stepped back to watch the mystical fortune teller bob around before a click told him that a card had slid out onto the tray.

He picked it up. It read, ‘Your future does not look bright. You have systematically swindled more than fifteen million dollars from the Sandler, Bingly and Mortimer Corporation over the past twelve years. The authorities have been advised.’

His heart stopped.

She had mixed feelings about being there for him.

She had been through hell and back with the whole thing. Three years for a crime brought on by alcohol. The police, the courts, the neighbours, all of it! But she said she would wait. She would give him another chance. There had been other incidents where he would get drunk and end up in a brawl. The drink had been his downfall. He was certainly known to the police. It had been just petty crimes until this. It had hit the local newspapers big time. It seemed to her that his criminal activities were all brought about by drink. But this could all change now, with his promise to change his ways. He would reform. It was this promise, repeated during several prison visits, that had kept her there.

The day before his release she had given the flat a thorough cleaning, making it nice for him to come home to. She also had her hair done at the expensive saloon in town. She wanted to look her best for him. She really did love him when he wasn’t drinking.

The next day, release day, she drove out to the prison and brought him home. It was wonderful. They were both so happy. He went off for a shower. He was gone so long she went looking for him.

She found him sitting on the bed, bottle in hand.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

He grinned. “Shoebox in the wardrobe, where I left it.”

It was the most memorable stage performance in the magician’s career.

His finale was always the woman in the cabinet trick, and that night was no different. Having performed a number of clever illusions to warm the audience up, he called for his assistant. A spot light followed her onto the stage. The music swelled as she took a low bow. He caught her hand and led her to the cabinet. With a drum roll, she entered the cabinet and he closed the door. He then began a series of mystical hand movements and mutterings while walking around the apparatus.

Meanwhile, inside, she was kneeling down and tugging at the lever that opened the trap door. Nothing happened. She tried several times to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was at this point, crouching and panting from the effort, that she heard it. It was a soft whooshing sound followed by a pop.

On stage, the magician finally opened the cabinet. Of course, it was empty and the audience broke into enthusiastic applause. That wasn’t what made it memorable. Closing the door, he started up his magical incantations again, swirled around the cabinet several times accompanied by the haunting music before ripping the door open with a flourish and a bow. It was the audience’s reaction, or lack of it, that made him turn around to find the cabinet empty.

Her not reappearing wasn’t what made it memorable. The trick going wrong wasn’t what made it memorable. It was the fact that after a great number of investigations and a great deal of press reports, the woman was never seen again!

That’s what made it memorable.

He held the glass beaker up to the light.

He turned and surveyed the room with a grin. His family had been so understanding about his wanting to set up a laboratory in the spare room. This would make up for it. Nothing would ever be the same again. He knew that, when his work was taking him close to the end. He had endured and he had definitely succeeded. It would be a game-changer. More than that, much more. This was the stuff of mythologies throughout the ages. The world as he knew it would never be the same again. His achievement would eclipse the work of all the world’s greatest scientists. There would be those who would do anything to get their hands on what he held.

The university would have to admit that his reasons for missing so many lectures were completely genuine. He had tried to explain that he just needed time, a year or two, to complete his work. There would be huge repercussions, he knew that. So many negatives. None of his current friends and acquaintances would ever be the same. He knew, from his many conversations with his parents, that they would find it difficult to ever treat him as an ordinary son again. His girlfriend, who had always regarded him as fairly unusual, and wasn’t afraid to say so, would never come to terms with it. In fact, nothing in his life would stay the same. He would have to prepare himself for what was to come. Still, all this was of little consequence and such a small price to pay.

He took another sip. There it was again, a warm and invigorating glow throughout his entire body… immortality!

She was a busy person.

She got up before anyone else. She shampooed her hair and showered. She ironed a last minute shirt for her husband before he left for the office. She dropped the kids off at school, heard about her neighbour’s holiday, prepared a casserole for tea, did two washing machine loads and hung it all out, vacuumed through the front of the house, dusted ornaments, and walked the dog. She ate a quick lunch, did volunteer work in the afternoon at the charity shop, stopped to listen to her workmate’s complaints about local politicians, and did a quick shop.

She did all this in a single day.

It was on that same day that she ran across the street to catch the bus home, for the last time.

Her family was extremely wealthy and she had never wanted for anything.

This may have been the reason that she so often did exactly what she wanted. Naturally, she didn’t work and travelled a great deal. She first heard about the ‘tunnel of change’, the mystic journey to antithesis, from a friend who had invisible web internet connections with people who knew about such things. Being the sort of young woman who would give just about anything a go, she made plans. It had been revealed to her that located in an underground city in a middle-eastern country, famous for its vast network of subterranean tunnels, only a small part of which was open to the public, there was an amazingly special tunnel. It’s a passageway that runs along the back section of the city, and not open to the public. It is claimed that only those who can pass through the mystic barrier that blocks the midway point are able to walk the entire four-hundred metre length of it. She was told that it was irreversible. It was said that when you emerge you are guaranteed to see the world in a completely different light.

Within the week she was on a plane. On arrival she booked into a hotel and began studying the maps and other materials her friend had provided. On the following day she set out and without too much trouble used the map and diagram to find the relatively small opening to the passage. It had been cleverly camouflaged with a heavy growth of bushes. Once inside, after a few paces it opened up to a full height. Although the day was bright outside, she needed the torch that she’d been told she’d need to make her way. Half way in, she came to what had only been described to her as the mystic barrier.

It looked like a large, thick pane of frosted glass set into the rock. Tapping it with the torch told her it was solid enough to bar her way. She stood thinking for a while. Intuitively, she rested her fingertips on the panel and felt it give. She push slightly and her hand went through. She pulled it back and checked that no harm had come to it. Knowing the answer, she proceeded to gently part the barrier, much like opening a pair of curtains. She felt a little like Alice in Wonderland as she stepped through. Once she was on the other side, she stood feeling really pleased with her achievement as she watched the barrier close. As she made her way along the remainder of the tunnel, and noting a glimmer of light growing brighter at the end of it, she was aware of a tremendous sense of excitement building.

When she emerged, she certainly found that she saw the world in a different light.

She was now male, black and extremely poor.

He didn’t think about his former life very often.

It was just back there, sitting there, what was done was done. He never dwelled for too long on the fact that his dear wife had stepped out in front of a car, or the day they closed the factory and his job went with it, or losing the house, or the endless attempts to find work. He concentrated on the life that was his. The daily business of walking the streets, begging, seeking shelter, and taking care of the few things he owned.

Of course, there had been happy times. Although her short life meant they’d had no children, they shared a good life for a while. He had enjoyed his work, and had several friends they would spend time with. But this all seemed to be so long ago that it had all faded. The one time that he considered to be his happiest was when, at the age of eight, his father would give him rides in the wheelbarrow. It was such a precious memory and so powerful. His father would work in the garden at every opportunity, so the rides were many. He would climb in and clutch at the sides, while his dad would race around the back yard, at what back then he considered to be very high speeds. He would have to hang on for all he was worth to avoid being tossed out.

The night was very cold with a wind that howled through the streets. When he arrived at his favourite alley it was empty. He’d learned to ignore the stench of rotting vegetables that came from the skip that took the restaurant’s garbage. If anything, being close to it, the bulk of it served as a barrier against the bitter blast that swept through the tunnel. He set down his belongings and prepared for the night. He tightened all the buttons on his tattered clothes and climbed into his old sleeping bag. He then sat for a while with his back against the wall.

He closed his eyes and gripped the sides of the wheel barrow. Delirium took hold and a private ecstasy engulfed him. The down-and-out sat smiling.

It never failed.

He answered the phone.

A man’s voice came on, saying “Don’t speak! Just listen very carefully. Your future life depends entirely on you listening carefully to what you are told. Say ‘yes’ if you understand.”

He took a few moments to take it in, then said, “Yes.”

“We know what you’ve been doing,” came the voice.

He went to answer, then thought better of it. He remained silent.

“We have bank statements,” the voice went on. “We have copies of the cargo manifests, the sea container identification numbers, the shipping rosters and your deposit and collection sites throughout Europe. We have everything we need to alert the relevant authorities to your entire operation and send you to prison for a very long time.” There was a pause. “If you have understood this so far, indicate with a simple “Yes’”.

“Yes.”

“OK. Within minutes of this call you will receive instructions by email regarding the amount, together with the time and place for the drop. You will commit this to memory and delete the email. We have remote access to your computer and will know if you have complied. Follow these instructions and you get to keep your operations intact.”

“All clear so far?”

The man took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”

“Good. We know you’ll need time to make all these arrangements. We know where you work, the position you hold in the office and who your boss is. You’ll need to convince him that you need to take a few days off to deal with private matters. We have people there and you will be observed.”

Another short pause, then the voice said, “You have a busy time in front of you. I suggest you check your email.”

The man jumped in quickly and said, “OK. I think I should tell you that I work in a factory and my boss is a woman.”

After a short silence, the voice said, “Oops!”

Click.

It is a place where fantasies are born.

Neither here nor there,

But lost between the two.

In a soft bed at the end of day,

And the only one there is you.

–

Such reveries come without expectations,

Moving far beyond the test of time.

No exertions necessary,

Adventures gliding on a breeze,

No need to run or climb.

–

Dreamy, yet aware,

A filter between sleep and wake,

Something between day and night,

Seeing such creations idealised,

But contented with the fake.

–

Whispers heard and half heard,

In the seclusion of the mind.

Lost in a calm euphoria,

Forever being in the moment.

Joy of a special kind.

–

A journey through an ethereal trail,

No matter the compass askew.

Moving to a place where you are not,

Making all unchartered waters your own,

Moving gracefully through.

A place where a unicorn whinnies,

Where fairies dance and sing,

Fantasy in all its disguises,

Allowing visions that mystify,

They create each and everything.

–

Nothing invades this private sanctuary,

And all that thrives in a dream,

Untouched by life’s harsh reality,

And inner visions come flooding in,

That only the dreamer can deem.

–

With ideas lit by a trillion stars,

Where faraway whispers come and go,

With visions barely on the periphery,

With enchantment growing with such power,

That only the dreamer may know.

–

A place that can still all echoes,

With all illusions made real.

A place where no structure or rules apply.

A place where silence sleeps alone,

Where the tangible becomes surreal.

–

It is within this half-lit world,

Where harmless things remain,

Where forgetfulness is precious,

Where reason does not apply,

Where every wish is granted,

Across twilight’s vast terrain.