Author: Alexander Fawn

I’ve no idea where I am or how I got here.

There are lots of others here with me, all sitting around trying to make up their minds. They don’t seem to know any more than me. There’s a buzz going round that were in some kind of resting place; a sort of ‘time out’ thing. If there’s anyone in charge I haven’t seen them. I don’t think I’ve been here very long. I was handed a list when I arrived; we all got one. Apparently, for the time we are here we can be anything we choose. It’s a long list, full of the names of characters. I suppose that’s what you’d call them. Some of them I’ve never heard of.

Of course, I’ve heard of vampires, elves, dragons and zombies. I know about Mutants, Imps, Griffins, Werewolves and Bigfoot. I also know about unicorns, ogres, ghosts and count Dracula. I think I know what a golem and a cyclops is, but I’ve never heard of a Sasquatch or a wendigo. The list just goes on and on!

I’m pretty fond of horses, so Pegasus appealed at first. That is, until I thought about flying. Was sick on a plane once.

I’ve always been fascinated by mermaids, but being a boy, the thought of having the head and body of a woman wouldn’t feel right, but the tail would be cool. I guess a centaur would be better, being half-man and half-horse.

Being a will-of-the-wisp sounded OK. My grandad used to tell stories about them, but he never explained what they actually were.

I quite fancied being a shapeshifter, but it’s not on the list.

There was a sound at the door. He didn’t hear it. Nor did he feel the monster comic book being slid from his hands and placed on the bedside table.

It started in the washroom.

He was sloshing water on his face to improve his demeanour. When he looked up he saw this face glaring at him. He didn’t recognise it and told whoever it was to back off. It just stayed there staring, with a nasty expression. He began shouting at it but it didn’t go away. Finally, he punched whoever it was on the nose and walked away. He felt better for that and staggered out into the shopping centre. The mirror being polished metal only dented slightly.

He wasn’t sure where he was, not exactly, anyway. He just felt the need to get out; find some fresh air. After only a few paces down the main shopping aisle he caught sight of the same troublemaker following him. Just glimpses now and then. He came to a halt outside a book shop. He was trying to read the titles when he came face to face with the guy again. He was standing right there in front of him, defiant as ever. He’d had enough. He stood landing blow after blow and screaming abuse. A small crack appeared in the glass. Suddenly, he was grabbed by two burly security guards who marched him outside where they waited for the police wagon. He stood looking at his blooded fists.

At the station, the charge sheet read, ‘disturbing the peace and wilful damage to property’. The young police officer who brought him in commented, “He must have been out of his mind!”

The senior officer replied, “Nah. LSD’ll do that!”

His uncle had lived a charmed life.

Now that he had passed away and the will was read, all the gossip and tension that had been building about who was going to get what was finally resolved. He personally hadn’t expected much, despite being something of a favourite. It was inevitable that the closer family members would each receive their share of the great fortune the old man left behind. As for him, he had been left his uncle’s prized stamp collection, and no doubt it was worth a great deal. It came to him in the form of a large, leather-bound album. It contained a huge number of stamps. He decided to sit down with it one evening and work his way through it.

It was during this particular evening that the paper was discovered. It was tucked into a pocket on the inside of the back cover. It was some kind of parchment made of animal skin, folded in half and giving no outward sign that it was anything special. When opened, it contained script that appeared to have been hand-written in ink.

It read:

By possessing this parchment, the following ills may never befall you.

Suffering chronic or painful illness

Experiencing loss of sight, hearing or speech

Having possessions destroyed by fire

Experiencing loss of employment

Being a victim of fraud

Undergoing loss of home

Being falsely accused

Suffering a threat to life

Undergoing imprisonment

Being witness to a crime

Facing home invasion

Having possessions stolen

Receiving unwanted correspondence

Living with rude neighbours

Receiving fines or penalties

He sat for a long time marvelling at the list. He had always been a worrier. This was exactly what he needed. He really had been a favourite and his uncle had rewarded him with a treasure that was obviously far greater than anything left to others. Since possession of it seemed to have great significance he folded it further and tucked it firmly into his wallet. It would go with him everywhere and protect him from misfortune.

This went well, right up to the point where he lost his wallet somewhere in the city. This was followed by a great deal of time and effort exhausting every possible avenue to recover it. How could this have happened? How could he lose it? He thought back. He had read it so often that he could remember it word for word. He had been protected against loss of sight, hearing or speech, also home and employment. Nothing could be stolen or lost in a fire, but now that he thought about it, there had been nothing about the loss of personal possessions.

Being something of a worrier, he began thinking about those things he was no longer protected against.

In a London pub a man sat drinking at a bar.

Nothing unusual about that, you might think. Although, you could say that this man had a checkered past. He had certainly experienced a number of ups and downs. As it happens, he was an extremely bright fellow. He had been drinking for a while before striking up a conversation with another patron. It may simply have been the drink that had him open up to a complete stranger, and it was probably due to the fact that he’d been drinking longer than the other that had him rambling on. Presumably, he thought his life interesting enough to dominate the conversation. The man he was talking to didn’t recognise him, and there was no reason why he should.

At first they talked about the great wave of pestilence that had swept through their city. They then went on to exchange views about the local theatre that had burnt to the ground and had recently been rebuilt. The man described himself as a prolific reader, who had dreamt of becoming a great actor. He had written a lot of poetry. He saw them as private poems, but one of his patrons decided to publish them. He talked about his children; first a daughter, then twins, a boy and a girl. He explained that there were complications when giving birth to the twins and it meant that his wife was unable to have more after that. Unhappily the boy died when he was only eleven. With this he became very sad.

The other, having seemingly tired of the conversation, stated that he needed to get home. He offered his commiserations and left.

The man sat alone, quietly finishing his drink before he too got up and left.

It was an incident in Cheapside.

The pub was the Mermaid Tavern, the year was 1642, and the man was William Shakespeare.

The two men were moving slowly through someone else’s house.

The older man was saying, “This’ll be just a quick in-and-out job. The boss wants the package delivered to him personally straight after the job, and what Mr Big says, goes. Just remember that. Straight after he said. It must be important.”

“What, tonight you mean?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh! I didn’t know that. Where does he live?”

“Don’t you fret now, he only lives five blocks from here.”

The younger man looked relieved. “That’s good then. I have choir practice tonight.”

“You’re kidding, of course.”

“Not at all. I’m the lead tenor,” he replied, with obvious pride.

The other sniffed and they moved into the study and switched the desk lamp on.

“Wow! What a beauty, look at the size of it! No wonder we have to blow it.”

“When you say blow it, you mean… he gave a nervous grin, it’s just that I thought you’d be using a stethoscope, crouched down listening to the tumblers… that sort of thing.”

In the dim light the younger man watched as the other began weighing something in his hand. He was also reading a label. “Let’s see, would that be ten or a hundred?” he mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“C4. Nothing to worry about. Stable until you prime it.” He continued doing calculations in his head. “Hundred then. Maybe a little more for this beauty. Yes, hundred and five, or even hundred and ten. I’ll go for a hundred and ten.”

The young man was looking nervous, but he was saying nothing.

“Any external damage would be minuscule,” the other murmured, pushing the detonator into what looked like a large ball of putty.

The young man could no longer keep quiet. “You’re saying minuscule.”

“Yes, extremely small.”

“Yes, I know what it means. I can’t help wondering whether you are underestimating the risk of this thing going wrong.”

“Stop worrying. The guy I got it from told me this is an LPD. It’ll give us plenty of time to move back through the house.”

“OK. LPD?”

“Long Period Delay detonator.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look, you’re just the driver, right? I only agreed to you coming in with me because you seemed so interested.”

He fiddled with it a little longer before saying, “OK. Let’s move back to the lounge room, just to be safe.”

They were huddled down at the back of the settee, when the older man said, “It might be a good idea to put your fingers in your ears.”

That never happened.

At that point, five blocks away, Mr Big heard the explosion.

It is fair to say that he was a nobody.

He had never felt the need to be remembered. There are those among us that dearly want to leave a mark on the world or have a burning need to make a difference. He was not one of them. In truth, he had no desire to be an active member of his community. His parents had both passed on and he’d never married. He had considered owning a pet, but it had never happened. He knew very few people. There are nonentities out there that are quite comfortable with their lack of importance. It has never been fully appreciated that hermits live among us.

Then, one evening, this unknown man, in an unknown town, in an unknown apartment, in an unknown room, in an unknown bed, at an unknown time, passed away in a state of perfect contentment.

The lodger drove home after an exhausting day.

He had been in the house for an hour before realising that his keys were missing. He wandered into the front room and found his landlord lounging with his feet up reading the paper, as usual.

“Dam it!” he said as he entered.

“What?” came the disinterested reply.

“I can’t find my keys.”

“Bet they’re somewhere.”

“Eh?”

“Somewhere, you know, wherever you lost them.”

The lodger made an effort not to get annoyed. At the end of the day, the man was his landlord.

“Yeah, right. You’re probably right. Anyway, happy birthday!”

The other didn’t look up, but mumbled, “Thanks.”

The lodger stood patting his pockets. “They have to be here, somewhere,” he whispered to himself.

The other said, “They’ll turn up when they’re good and ready.”

“They have to. All my keys are on it.” He sat down. “They have to be in the house somewhere. I know I had them in my hand when I came through the front door.”

The other said “You’ll have to go back to wherever you’ve been since you came in.”

“I know, but I’ve just about been in and out of every room in the house since I got home.”

“They’ll turn up,” the landlord repeated. He turned a page and went back to his reading.

“Sorry, I wanted to give you your present before going to my room.”

“Present?”

“Sure, I picked it up on the way home. Sorry, it’s locked in the boot.”

The landlord jumped up. “Did you make a coffee when you got in?”

“Yes. Why?” he said, shaking his head. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I do. We’ll go room to room. Let’s start in the kitchen.”

Once upon a time, there were two men.

They both worked for the Bureau of Meteorology where they produced weather maps.

It came to pass that they both decided to take a week off despite the fact that they were behind with their work load. They said they were confident that they could catch up on their return.

However, the story goes that they each went their own way.

One stayed and took a local holiday while the other decided to take an extra week to travel overseas to play sport. He decided that he would fly to Italy. At the very last minute he arranged the flight and booked himself in to play at the Club Ca’Del Moro. This meant that his colleague, the one who remained behind, would have to finish the cartography on his own.

All of this was on the premise that the menace, played tennis in Venice, while after departing, this left the other to solely taking part in, despite not having his heart in, in fact he was smarting, while restarting the charting.

 

When people talk of our planet dying,

Although it’s hard to comprehend,

What are we actually talking about,

When it all comes to an end?

–

Is it a completion of what was started?

A brand new state with no more pendings.

A story that’s been fully told.

A story that has no alternate endings.

–

There are endings, and there are endings.

Stones and rocks no longer worn with time.

All part of the great abandoning.

No penalty, no half-time.

–

All those finishing breaths.

No more late night shopping.

No more incurable diseases.

The ultimate stopping.

–

No more sleeps and no more dreams.

No more tears or sighs.

No more glorious sunsets,

As the planet dies.

–

No more searching for anything lost.

No more emails to send.

No longer a requirement to remember things,

As it all comes to an end.

–

No packing of suitcases.

No more fires to put out.

No more timings or count downs.

Everything opting out.

–

No more puddles to step around.

No more sorry sights to see.

No trying to lose weight.

No wildlife running free.

–

No more sending messages.

No more fashionable craze.

No more births or deaths.

An end of nights and days.

–

No more philosophising.

No darning of a sock or a sweater.

No accidental drownings.

No more making things better.

–

The final wash of all ebbing tides.

The end of all pain.

Goodbye to all the elements.

Nothing left to attain.

–

No more going in and out.

No more to and fro.

This would be the final one,

As far as endings go.

It started with a phone call from his girlfriend’s office.

Apparently, she had to leave urgently, but left a message at reception asking them to call him. The message was to meet her at the address given. The girl at reception said she thought his girlfriend had been acting strangely and had a feeling that she was in some sort of trouble. She had looked upset. Outside, the weather was bad. A forecast storm was building. There was not a lot of rain, but it was extremely windy. He left his office and ran almost all of the three blocks to the building in question. As he entered, he checked the address he’d written down. It said, she would be on floor thirty-six. He went straight to the elevator; inside he pressed thirty-six, noting that it was the top floor. On the way up, he had a chance to wonder what was going on. He couldn’t imagine what sort of trouble she was in.

Coming out of the lift at thirty-five, he saw that floor thirty-six was accessed by a flight of stairs. At the top he pushed a door open. It led out to the huge flat roof that covered the entire building. The storm was still blowing wildly. As he stepped out a fierce gust of wind slammed the door shut behind him. Being nearly blown off his feet, he lunged for the nearby handrail. He held on as hard as he could while the howling, gale-force wind buffeted him around. Despite the noise of the storm, he could hear someone calling for help. Keeping a tight grip on the rail, which ran along a low wall, he worked his way around the stack of air-conditioning units that sprouted up from the centre of the roof.

As he got to the corner he saw who was calling. He had to blink hard a couple of times. It was his loopy neighbour from 19b. She was gripping the handrail and cackling. She had been extremely upset recently, when he’d accidentally backed out and run over her pet hedgehog, Cyril.

She began moving towards him slowly, pulling herself along against the wind and laughing maniacally. A large baseball bat hung from a clip on her belt.

He couldn’t help noticing that she was tethered with a safety line, connected to one of the large metal rings set in concrete, and he wasn’t…