Author: Alexander Fawn

Mr Adams didn’t have much time for fairgrounds.

Nevertheless, he always went along with his wife to keep her company. The show swung around every year, making some kind of circuit right around the country. She liked to go along for the spectacle of it all, while her husband found it all rather noisy and pointless. Despite this, they had a few shots at the rifle range, had a go on one of the gentler rides, and now stood in front of Madam Griswold’s tent.

“OK. Go on” he said wearily. “I’m sure you want to know what your future holds for you.”

“No. You know I never throw my money away on this sort of thing.”

He was reading the sign. “Look at this. She doesn’t tell the future, she tells the now! What the hell does that mean?”

She read the sign. “Well, I suppose I’m interested, even if I don’t know what it means.”

“Go on. You’ll never stop wondering if you don’t go in.” He sighed. “I’ll wait right here for you.”

As she entered, a little old woman sitting behind a tiny round table looked up with a toothless smile. In a voice hardly above a whisper she said “Please sit my dear.” She looked very frail and not at all well. Her customer sat with a sense that this going to be rather ridiculous and a complete waste of money. But then she thought, he did talk me into it.

“I don’t tell you about your future. You read the sign?

“Yes.”

“Good I can only tell you about your now. Where would you like to start?”

“I… I have no idea.”

“Well then, well concentrate on your home. Is that alright?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Alright then.” The old woman closed her eyes. “Oh! Yes, it’s a nice home dear. You do keep it well.”

She felt her face flush and replied “Thank you. I do my best.”

“It’s a pity about the crack at the bottom of the bathroom mirror.” With this she opened her eyes to gauge her visitor’s reaction.

Mrs Adams gasped, “The… the bathroom… what do you mean.”

“No matter dear; it just seems a shame in such a well-kept bathroom. Everything neat and tidy. Matching towels. Everything in its place. You’ve just never got around to it I suppose.”

“I noticed that the box of tissues on your dresser is almost empty.”

Mrs Adams sat dumbfounded.

“The banjo your husband’s father gave him is beginning to rot around the hole.”

She looked bewildered “Banjo?”

“It’s in the loft.” She went on “If you do decide to move the couch in the living room, you’ll have to do something about the carpet stain. Shall we go somewhere else now?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“Your son’s flat. In Toronto is it? The missing teddy bear fell down behind the bed in the spare bedroom. Your uncle’s white utility vehicle has been resprayed, but the original colour, blue, is starting to show through; he may not have noticed yet. I should mention that there are two buttons missing from your husband’s spare, clean shirt; you know, the one he keeps at the office.”

The old woman stopped and passed a bony hand across her face. “Sorry dear, but I’m getting a bit tired. Is it alright if we stop now?”

Mrs Adams was still in a state of shock and could only nod. She staggered back out of the tent and fell into her husband’s arms. He saw she was close to fainting and sat her down on a nearby seat. A man came over from another stall and asked if everything was alright. Mr Adams asked if he could get a glass of water and he hurried back with it.

“I’m afraid my wife was in with Madam Griswold and had a bit of a turn.” The man puffed out his cheeks. “Not surprised. Silly old biddy. I’m not sure what she tells them in there but I’ve seen a fair few wander out like lost sheep. I’m going to get Alex to have a word with her.”

Mr Adams said “Alex?” The man replied saying “The manager, I’ll be back in a minute; you look after her, she doesn’t look too good to me.” He was back within minutes. They seemed to be arguing. Alex was saying “You look for yourself.” The man went into the tent and came out saying “I don’t understand! We’ve been here all the time and this lady went in and saw her not long ago. I saw her go in, while this gentleman, her husband, waited outside.”

Alex explained “We received a call from her daughter telling us of her passing away last week. I gave orders to remove the tent from the grounds.” He looked around saying “This was obviously ignored.”

Mrs Adams was still not speaking, only mumbling to herself. Her husband said “I think I should get her home. “Of course” said Alex “…and I apologise for any trouble this has caused.” Mr Adams moved his wife quickly to one side, smiling and nodding, as two workers began pulling down the tent. He took her away as fast as possible.

He really didn’t have much time for fairgrounds.

The two women in the Despatch Office had one very specific thing in common; they were both utterly bored with their lives.

It seemed that the only thing of any possible interest was the behaviour of Bernard, the recently appointed expeditor who shared a corner of the office, who was currently out doing his rounds.

“He’s a bit odd” Sarah said.

Her co-worker, Brenda, looked up from her desk. “Creepy! I’d call it”.

The pair looked around the office; making sure they were not being overheard. The room was empty, but Brenda lowered her voice anyway.

“D’you know, yesterday we were talking about my photo of cute little Billy, when he used the phrase the production of children. It seemed a strange way of putting it, I thought. You know, a bit weird!”

“I know.” Sarah replied. “He told me that he thought people had lost any reason to be nice to one another; and when I asked him if he was talking about the office he said no, he meant the world!”

Brenda, who occasionally had to visit other parts of the company, said “I was talking to Barry in Transport last week and he said Bernard had been asking questions all morning. Nothing to do with work; just questions”.

“What sort of questions”.

“Well, apparently he had asked several of the drivers about nuclear proliferation”.

“Proliferation?”

“You know, the spreading of nuclear arms”.

“Oh!”

“Anyway, Barry says he had asked him if he had any idea about whether the global population was sustainable”.

“What did he say?”

“Just told him to get lost, apparently”.

Sarah shook her head. “He gave me a hard time yesterday, when you were over at Engineering, going on about climate change”.

“What did he want to know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he wanted to know anything really; he just went on about the threat, and how hard it would be to do anything about it because it had been ignored for too long. I got the feeling he was having a go at me!”

“I know, I often get that impression”. Brenda dropped her voice even more. “Where did he come from; do you know?”

“What town, do you mean?”

Brenda shook her head. “No. Where did he work before here?”

“No idea; but it’s really peculiar because Tom in HR told me…” Sarah stopped abruptly as the man in question came into the office.

He placed a couple of folders on his desk with great care and slowly approached the women. He seemed even more nervous than usual.

“Sarah. Brenda.” he said, standing awkwardly, and shifting from one foot to another. “I have a question… Would either of you know when the food is predicted to run out?”

“Food?” said Sarah. “Canteen food, do you mean?”

“No, world food; you know, the sustenance of the global population… for the planet I mean.”

The two women eyed each other.

Sarah said “These questions you keep asking…” She paused, not wanting to be completely rude, but at the same time being happy to let him see that she really didn’t like him. Her faced was flushed. “These questions,” she repeated, “should you be asking them? I mean, you keep going on about how there are all these problems in the world, and I can tell people are really getting sick of it!”

Bernard’s jaw went slack.

At first Sarah wondered if she had gone too far. No, she thought and straightened in her chair. It was about time somebody told him!

Brenda’s eyebrows shot up, then she nodded encouragingly at her friend.

“Look, the fact is Bernard” she went on, “there isn’t anything wrong with the world, it’s just fine. It’s just hunky dory. So, just give it a rest will you?”

“Hunky dory” he whispered.

“Yes, it’s all just peachy”. Sarah was red in the face now, and her hands were shaking. “For God’s sake Bernard, everything is fine!”

Suddenly, a look of terror flashed across Bernard’s face. He staggered back against a filing cabinet. After a moment, he slowly reached into his inside jacket pocket and brought out a small spherical object. Holding it up to his lips he whispered the single world “Irretrievable”.

At this same moment the room filled with a great flash of brilliant light and the man before them promptly disappeared, leaving only a small puff of purple smoke.

The two ladies sat wild-eyed and trembling. Then, they both began to scream.

Although it was not immediately appreciated by the ladies in the Despatch office, the events that were to follow would not only have a profound effect on their humdrum office routines, but more generally, their lives were about to perk up a bit!

Several crudely dressed men stood around gazing at the newly formed axe-head. Its maker was being patted on the shoulder. He was nodding his thanks and obviously very pleased with their appreciation of his talent.

Although they were the scientists and engineers of the future, their deliberations were mainly transmitted with body language and hand gestures. They only had a few words to express their thoughts and opinions.

Suddenly, a younger man entered the clearing in an agitated manner, waving his arms and beckoning for the men to follow.

The head man and well-respected elder was clearly annoyed by the interruption. He growled “What?”

“Come. Come see.”

“Come see what?”

“Come see!”

Reluctantly, the group followed the elder, some shaking their heads, others grunting and laughing.”

They entered the cave and looked around. They could see nothing.

The elder shrugged and raised his hands in an impatient questioning gesture.

The young man pointed to the wall of the cave with a great beaming grin.

They all gathered around in silence staring at the wall. After a minute or so a few whispers started up and two of them were trying very hard to supress a fit of giggles.

The elder shushed them and turned to the young man saying “Drawing.”

The other nodded enthusiastically saying “Um, drawing.”

The old man said “Spider web is all.”

“No spider web – wheel. I call wheel.”

The old man sighed and said “Spider web”.

“No! No, for moving – wheel”

The old man said “What is wheel?”

The young man took up a pose and thrust his hands forward repeatedly, saying “Moving; moving along.”

The old man looked around at the others and said “No wheel – web!”

The young man opened his arms in an embracing gesture “Wheel!” he cried.

“No, web, nothing new. You crazy. You ever crazy!”

Despite the fact that deep down within himself somewhere the younger man felt that the future would see so many of his kind be forever grateful for his revolutionary invention, but all he could say was “No. Wheel!”

So they all jumped on him… and beat him up…

In a slower and more ordered world

There was thinking in between.

Now news reports come thick and fast,

Flashing on the screen.

To analyse what’s gone before,

While new things intervene,

The brain now forced to take the next,

With no thinking in between.

–

A person standing deep in thought,

Something rarely seen.

A weighing of past and things to come,

Thinking in between.

–

Office workers in the street,

So often can be seen.

Are they only wasting time,

Or thinking in between?

–

Issues cascade one by one

With up-comings unforeseen.

Future planning only works

With thinking in between.

–

So, when next you see a person pause,

Taking stock of things unseen.

Give them space, proceed with grace…

They’re thinking in between.

 

He hoped it would never happen again.

On that particular day there was more than the usual number of people in the house. Most of them he didn’t recognise at all. For him, it was all rather confusing and more than a little frightening. There was lots of talking and laughter and occasional shouting that jangled the nerves.

It was so cold in the garden. He wasn’t at all sure why he was there. He could smell things he had never smelt before. The noises were horrible.

Great coloured patterns filled the black sky, flashes so bright that they hurt his eyes. Bright orange streaks shooting upwards and making whooshing sounds as they go. As it grew dark he was carried everywhere. He cried a lot.

He hoped it would never happen again: but for everybody else it was just another Guy Fawkes Night.

Betty didn’t really support the idea of Halloween, she thought it was silly.

Nevertheless, she reluctantly answered the doorbell every time it went and handed out treats. So far she had done this four times and she was getting fed up with it. She complained to her husband, but he was watching a game on television, and was hardly aware of her comings and goings.

It rang again and she sighed. She picked up the small bowl of toffees and made her way to the front door. When she opened it she found a small witch waving a pillowcase. Betty paused and took it all in. Although not very tall, the witch appeared to be quite stocky, round in fact.

She waited for the obligatory ‘Trick or Treat’, but didn’t get one.

“Yes?” she said, figuring that the kid should at least speak up if they wanted a treat.

The witch shook her pillowcase and held it up.

Thoroughly fed up now, Betty repeated. “Yes?”

The witch just pointed into the sack and nodded.

Betty felt her anger growing. “Oh! I see. A mute witch! Well, I suppose that’s different.” She said sarcastically. “Can I help you?”

The witch squeaked very softly “Trick or treat!” paused, then added “Please.”

Betty leaned forward with her hand cupping her ear. “You’ll have to speak up, I’m hard of hearing.”

The witch said “Trick or treat.” louder this time.

Betty frowned, stepped closer and said “Sorry dear, I didn’t quite catch that.”

The witch squirmed a little and said “Trick or treat Mrs!”

“Wait a minute, I know you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“Trick or treat.”

“You’re Mrs Miller from the Post Office!”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are!”

“Trick or treat.”

“You are Mrs Miller, and I speak to you regularly at the counter.”

The witch shuffled and said “No you don’t!”

“Yes I do. Why are you all dressed up like this?”

“Lots of us are!”

“Yes, but they’re all children!”

“Trick or treat.”

“Look, just forget the ‘trick or treat’ for a bit. I know who you are. You’re Mrs Miller. Surely someone is going to recognise your voice sooner or later.”

The witch stood very still for a moment, then said “I normally have a voice-changer…” She coughed, then said a little louder, “A voice-changer.”

“A what?”

“A voice-changer. You know, one of those little gizmos that make your voice sound funny.”

Betty looked up and down the street, dropped her voice and said “Well, why aren’t you using it?”

“It broke.”

“Broke?”

“Yes, well, I suppose it broke. Anyway, it just stopped working and I didn’t have time to get another one.”

Betty straightened up and sighed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “Just tell me this” she went on. “Why do you do it?”

The witch’s costume flapped. “I like chocolate.”

Betty’s eyebrows shot up. She stepped back with her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to Mrs Miller. The same Mrs Miller I come and talk to every fortnight at the Post Office!”

The witch said in whisper “That’s me dear. You come in once a fortnight to send a Postal Order off to your son don’t you?”

Betty gasped, looked over her shoulder and pressed her finger to her lips. She said “Just a moment.” and went back into the house.

Two minutes later she returned with a giant-sized bar of chocolate. She opened the pillowcase and dropped it in. It fell in with a heavy thump.

The witch hugged the bag to her chest.

Betty nodded and winked. She smiled and she slowly shut the door saying “Best there are some things only we girls know about.”

Mrs Miller, the respectable lady who served behind the counter at the local Post Office, just loved chocolate!

 

The man sat looking out across the park, it was crowded. He was known to the police as a violent offender and a wife beater. In fact, he had run-ins with the police on an ongoing basis. It was widely known that he regularly beat his partner, but she never brought charges and nothing ever seemed to get done about it.

A little later, he sat in their tiny apartment humming merrily to himself. He stopped abruptly as she entered. The whole mood seemed to change. Within moments another blazing row struck up, with both of them making wild gestures and screaming at the top of their voices. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had started, he turned slowly and went into the corner and bent down, as if looking for something.

At first she just stood, frozen to the spot. It was as though she knew what was about to happen, but could do nothing about it. Then she began to shake; she shook all over. Her hands flew up and she backed off a little as he appeared holding a large club. She screamed even louder now as he approached her with it raised above his head.

With one mighty blow he brought it down on her. She fell badly, moaning and trying to get up. He stood over her now and began repeatedly bringing the club down onto her head. He beat her again and again and again… then, once more the whole thing seemed to freeze.

They both stood up; it actually looked for a moment as though Punch actually helped Judy get to her feet. Together they took a deep bow.

The tiny curtains jerked closed and all the children clapped. The place was filled with laughter… and… well… how strange is that?

 

She crawled out of bed after another sleepless night.

How could anybody be expected to sleep with that racket going on? Despite this, she managed to leave the flat on time and make her way to the office. The day didn’t go well. In fact, it went mostly wrong. She was very tired. She didn’t seem to be managing her department very well and she knew she had to do something about it.

At lunchtime she walked across to the park and sat eating her sandwiches as usual. She was due at her mother’s for tea that night. She thought about it. She strolled slowly back to the office, still thinking about it.

During the afternoon she called her mother to say that she might be a little late for tea, then she packed up and left early. She caught a bus into the city centre and made her way to a small bar that her brother-in-law had once told her about. He’d been drunk at the time but she was willing to give it a go.

It took a while to find it. It was tucked away in a side alley. As she entered she felt very much out of place. After all, she didn’t normally spend time in places like this. Although it was early evening there were several customers sitting at tables. She went up to the bar and ordered a drink and took it to a table. She sat quietly sipping her drink and thinking about her next move. After a few minutes she got up and approached the barman again.

“Are you Sam?”

He looked up. “That’s me.”

“Sam, I’ve been told you can put me in touch with a man called Angelo.”

The barman stopped washing glasses, dried his hands and walked slowly to the counter.

He looked her up and down and said “You’re asking for Angelo?”

“Yes, Angelo. I’m told he provides… special services.”

The barman went back to washing glasses under the sink. He was obviously thinking about it.

She waited patiently

He returned and said “Let me get this right. You want to get in touch with Angelo for his special services. Is that right?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’d like to meet up with him, if that’s OK.”

He chuckled. “Nobody meets up with Angelo. Hang on. If you’re serious, I’ll get you his number.”

She smiled and said “Thanks.”

He disappeared off to the side. When he came back he leant forward on the bar and said in a low voice “I don’t know who you are miss, and I don’t want to know, and you didn’t get this from me. Have you got that?”

She said “Yes. Got it.”

He slid a scrap of paper across the counter and turned away to serve another customer. When she returned to her table she opened it and saw that it was a telephone number. She finished her drink, slowly and thoughtfully, then left the bar.

She arrived at her mother’s late and spent what seemed to be an obligatory hour and a half, occasionally moving her fingers over the piece of paper in her pocket, before returning home.

When she got there she found a bottle and poured herself another drink. She sat staring at the number she’d been given. She finished her drink and dialled.

A man with a thick accent said “Hello.”

She paused, then asked “Are you Angelo?”

A few moments passed and he said “Yes. What do you want?”

She took a deep breath and said “Do you do dogs?”

These ancient pillars stand, with spreading hoods,

While Nature’s colours paint the woods.

͂

Surrounded now by towering trees,

Softly swaying in the breeze.

͂

Stepping over withered roots;

Ankles brushing grassy shoots.

͂

Shady patches with woodland spaces.

Windswept banks and silent places.

͂

Tangled branches form a web,

Keeping sunrays at an ebb.

͂

Reeds and grasses softly quiver,

Along the banks of stream and river.

͂

Smooth and rough and jagged trunks.

Paperbark hangs in stringy chunks.

͂

Arching branches and tangled leaves,

Lining pathways with shady eaves.

͂

Healthy trees standing gladly.

Withering trees drooping sadly.

͂

Some ripped and torn and showing strife;

Others pristine, green with life.

͂

Mighty boughs like arms stretched wide;

Others grounded, cast aside.

͂

Windblown needles send out a cry,

While large, soft leaves merely sigh.

͂

Flaking bark and stringy vines.

Twiggy patterns of all designs.

͂

Leaves gyrate in a churning wind;

Falling, leaving branches thinned.

͂

Broken pieces from nature’s store

Lie scattered across the forest floor.

͂

Ancient pillars, with spreading hoods,

All while Nature’s colours paint the woods.

Big Al sat fingering the cigarette he had wormed out of his impoverished senior workmate. He smiled at it. The early morning breeze billowed the machine shop blind and a glimpse of a shapely nurse faded amid the shrubs outside.

“Damn” he muttered. “How am I supposed to have lude thoughts about these nymphs, if I don’t get a proper look at them?”

He slumped back into his favourite smoking chair and contemplated the prospect of another day and the internal interplay between himself and those who would move about him in the hours to come.

He sat musing. Would he say this to him? If she didn’t interfere, was there a chance that those two might not do that, if such and such was said? What if those three could get together and agree not to say this to her anymore? What would be the affect if…?

He glanced down at the cigarette again and wondered what it was like to have to actually pay for the enjoyment of smoking.

The day passed much like any other.

Just then, his boss, a friendly, if out of pocket figure appeared in the doorway.

“If you’re staying on a bit mate, pull the door to when you go. Good night” he said, and shuffled off whistling something by Mozart. Al thought… happy enough fellow considering he had nothing to smoke on the way home.

Big Al looked at his watch, it was ten to six.

A door banged shut, more whistling, fading.

The cigarette was lit. He was cutting down. He took a long satisfying puff.

Big Al has wormed his way through another day, with minimal interruption.