Author: Alexander Fawn

He met this guy in a pub.

They got chatting. At first, it was interesting, just listening to his ideas about what was happening in the world. He spoke for some time. He suggested that it all began way back in 1776 in a place called Bavaria, with the formation of the Illuminati. He said they were a powerful elite group. It was a secret society that aimed to establish their own globalist agenda. He said it was a clandestine gathering of people that aimed to create a totalitarian world government. He said this was known as the New World Order. He said they were conspiring to eventually rule the world. He went on at length about their ideology. He said that it had continued, down through the generations and was still active today.

He was impressed with how the man’s take on all of it was so detailed.

The other went on to say that they were powerful figures; a cabal that operated, using organisations as a front to manipulate major political and financial events today. He said they were still there, still controlling world events, still aiming to achieve world domination.

It was at this point, that it became painfully obvious that what he was saying made him angry. Finally, he shrugged and finished up by saying that, of course, it was all only a conspiracy theory…

After thanking him for explaining all this, he left the pub and made his way to where he had parked his car. He walked along very slowly. Thinking about all that he’d been told.

It had all been very interesting, but from what he already knew, by watching news reports, reading articles and following modern-day politics, he couldn’t understand why anybody would regard it as just a theory!

He drove slowly past the house that was in darkness, then parked around the block.

Returning on foot, he made his way back along the dimly lit footpaths. As instructed, he silently climbed over the gate and crept down the side of the house. He jimmied open the back door and made his way in. Using a small torch, he went through the ground floor rooms, pulling open draws and cupboards, and disturbing a few things. Satisfied that he’d made it look like a regular robbery, he climbed the stairs to find the main prize. In the designated room he found the safe tucked away behind a picture. Sitting on the bed, he took out the slip of paper that he’d received in the mail. It read: 17 Glitch Street. 5 to R, 2 to L, 3 to R 1 to L. Family returns 10:00pm. He checked the time; a little after nine.

He smiled. So far, so good.

Holding the torch between his teeth, he went to work on the dial. There was no rush. He carefully followed the information he’d been given. Moving the dial with expert precision, he completed the sequence. The handle didn’t move!

In the time that remained for him to be there safely, without interruption, several further attempts were made, before trying alternative sequences. However, it was obvious that the information he’d received was incorrect.

Finally, being a great deal less than happy, he left the house and returned to his car.

Meanwhile, the house at number 19, remained inviolate.

He loved the book he clutched.

As a young boy, his father would sometimes say that ‘the moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on’. The origin of these words was not fully known until, during his school years, he had immersed himself in anything he could find on Greek Mythology from the town’s library. In his lifetime, looking back, he had never really known how the book first came into his readings. No doubt this happened while searching in that well-frequented library. His discovery of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, a wonderful poem translated from Persian to English, had opened something in him. Quite apart from its dealing with the age-old questions of life and death, the tongue-in-cheek references to God and spirituality appealed to his young mind. Within the verses, despite their dealing with weighty topics, he found the poetic approach, along with a humorous slant, had made the reading of it enjoyable.

That joy had remained with him throughout his long life. This tatty, soft-covered version is now held tight.

This morning the carer found him and tears welled in her eyes. This gentle old man had been one of her favourites. Because of his failing sight, she had read the quatrains to him of an evening.

Now, in his endless sleep, its time to ‘turn down an empty Glass.’

There are so many examples, it’s hard to know where to start.

Take the supermarket for instance, pork pies and scotch eggs not available for weeks on end. They tell you at the counter the factory is closed temporarily or they just can’t get the workers or covid has wiped out the staff or it’s all about transport issues. What are you supposed to believe? None of the above, that’s for sure. Then there’s this business of trying to figure out why anybody would willingly spend their money on clothes that are made to look worn and have holes in them? If you ask, you’ll be told it’s the fashion. Give us a break! Inexplicable, right?

It can be a surprisingly personal thing, something being inexplicable, because there are some people that really couldn’t care less.

Of course, dig deep enough, you know, really deep, and you come up with tetraneutrons, what are you going to do? These little trouble-makers can’t possibly exist… Detected by a particle accelerator in a concrete bunker in France, these four neutrons, bound together in a way that defies all known laws of physics, were there, but there again, they simply can’t be! These nuclear physicists that are trying to make sense of this apparent new form of nuclear matter, regard the whole thing as pretty significant.

Fair enough, but if there’s no reasonable explanation for the unavailability of pork pies and scotch eggs, what chance have they got?

…just asking.

He sat, looking out of his bedroom window.

From the second story, he had a clear view of his objective. Picking up his binoculars he looked again. He could easily make out the small cluster of trees with a small patch of grass in front of it. He smiled. It was way up there, on the far ridge, across the lake, from where they lived, that he saw the place he would need to be. Yes, that would be the ideal spot. He had made up his mind. Tomorrow he would do what he’d always said he would do, finally, in his retirement. He and his wife had often been up there for walks when the weather was good. They had frequently paused to look back to where they live. The light colour of the house’s brickwork had made it easy to locate. Now, with his plan well advanced, he would do it.

She, despite thinking that his idea was quite silly, went along with it. After all, it would do no harm, and it seemed to mean a lot for him to do it. Tomorrow would be the day and she would give whatever support he needed to carry out his plan.

Early tomorrow morning, he would detach the mirror from the dresser and place it so that it sat square with the bedroom window. When the sun rose above the distant ridge, it would light it up. At that point, he would be there, on the small patch of grass with his camera. It would make quite a spectacular shot!

As planned, next morning, with the mirror in place, he was there, at the very place, with his camera, waiting patiently for the sun to rise behind him…

One may ask, what could possibly go wrong?

He was pouring his half glass of malt whiskey, not knowing it would be his last.

The rest of the family were downs stairs, watching a movie. As was the custom, the lounge room lights were off, making it feel more like a cinema. A large bowl of homemade popcorn sat on the table in font of them. It was an action-packed crime show and it had been planned for days. The father, in his upstairs study, couldn’t be bothered to join them. In fact, he had as little to do with the family as possible. He had never wanted children and he now had three of them. He had no love for any of them. Especially his youngest. He had almost given up trying to knock any sense into him.

Likewise, his wife had given up encouraging him to cut down on his drinking long ago and was happy that he spent so little time with them.

Nobody noticed the youngest leave the room, but they all heard the bang!

In the days and months that followed, there was one simple question that nobody was able to answer.

No one could figure it out.

How did the seven-year-old manage to get hold of a gun?

He wanders through the library,

With bookcases, line after line.

He spots the book he wants to read,

Runs his finger down the spine

–

He sniffs the scent of leather.

He muses to savour each word.

He jumps at the sudden sound.

It was the closing bell he heard.

Their relationship was rocky from the word go.

Allowing her to move in to his small apartment in town was a big mistake. It only took a few days before he fully realised the fact. Although they were both office workers, their jobs, along with their interests, were very different. She had a tendency to become angry at the drop of a hat, and her ongoing mood swings were hard to live with. In the evenings they rarely agreed on what tv shows to watch, and they had very different dietary needs. To make matters worse, she had her own ideas about where things around the flat should be kept. It was only during the second week that he learnt that her lease had been about to expire. She had obviously seen him as some kind of saviour. Moving in with him had solved all her problems.

It was then that things changed. The tiny creature first appeared in the kitchen. It was nibbling on something near the fridge when she began to scream! It was probably the noise alone that had the mouse dart across the floor and disappear through a hole in the skirting. Needless to say, she was extremely upset and demanded that the hole was plugged. Although this was done, over the following day or two, the creature made appearances again around the place. Each time, she went berserk, telling him that he was to blame for leaving the place dirty.

It all came to a head when she found the offending rodent curled up on her pillow! At this point she demanded that he buy mouse traps so that the thing could be got rid of completely.

The following day, on his way back from work, he bought six mouse traps for Monty; it was around this time that he thought of him as Monty. That evening, he carefully removed all of the springs, loaded each one with food scraps and placed them around the apartment.

Without going into details, three days later, she packed up her stuff and left.

On the internet, after a short spell of research, he found out that sugary and high fat foods should be avoided. He understood that they liked to nibble on all sorts of things, like fruit, vegetables, chickpeas, beans, grains and seeds, along with a regular supply of fresh water. He could easily manage all that.

On the evening that followed her departure, he settles down in his armchair to watch one of his favourite shows on tv. On his lap he has a large tea tray, draped with a fluffy hand towel. On it, a dish of food scraps at one end and a bowl of water at the other. In the middle, his new friend is curled up on a comfy pillow.

Occasionally, a fingertip strokes its head.

Monty… his saviour!

She had worked on the counter of her uncle’s butcher’s shop for several years.

She liked it well enough. She got to know the locals that came in for their meat, and it was conveniently close to home. The pay wasn’t great, but he was a good boss. If she hadn’t received the mysterious phone call one evening, she would never have seriously considered packing it in. The unknown voice on the phone was only prepared to tell her so much about the job he was offering. The work would be of a highly confidential nature. It was basically evening work. It would involve a great deal of travelling to locations all around the country. She would use her own car, with all fuel and maintenance expenses paid for. The costs of any overnight accommodation at motels or B&Bs would be reimbursed.

The caller said that the hours would vary greatly, and all assignment details would be given by text on a provided mobile phone. She was also told that she’d only be working for two or three evenings a week, but despite this, the pay would be excellent.

With her agreement, they would meet in a very public place of her own choosing, where he would happily provide her with full details of the work so that she could decide whether or not she wanted the job.

Two days later, on a Saturday, having taken time off for an appointment, she was sitting on a bench beneath the town clock. The place was very busy with shoppers. After a short wait, a man approached. He looked much like any other business man in a suit. They sat for almost an hour, with questions and answers running back and forth. At the end of which, she accepted the job.

Two weeks later, she began her new occupation. By text, she’d been given the location and precise details of what to expect when she arrived. The assignment went well, and a second job in the same week was a good indication of how lucrative her new occupation was going to be. As far as she could tell, it all came down to the fact that some very wealthy people had been saddled with noisy neighbours.

Who would have thought that travelling around the country laying down poisoned baits for noisy dogs could be such a money-spinner!

It begins and ends with copies residing in two different time zones.

In a city, on a busy street, in a café, a man sits sipping coffee. He likes the lift it gives him before starting his day in the office. He is just a few streets away from the building. It is a few minutes before nine o’clock in the morning on a cloudy Tuesday. He sifts through his wallet, finding several loyalty cards for other city cafes. He pulls a tattered photograph out from the back compartment. It’s an old, four by six inch, black and white photo, slightly creased with worn corners. In it, two smiling teenagers are standing side by side, holding hands. He wonders what she was doing at this moment.

Meanwhile…

Elsewhere in the world, in a town, on a quiet street, in her home, a woman is dusting shelves. She likes doing a little house cleaning in the afternoon. It is a few minutes before four on a sunny afternoon on the same Tuesday. She pulls out the old photograph album and flips idly through its forgotten pages. She finds the photo, buried among so many black and white memories from that time. Two happy youngsters. She wonders what he was doing at this moment.

Some links are never broken. Neither knows that they share this moment; this same moment. Nor will they ever know.

The element of synchronicity, unexplained. So many synchronised links.

So many, never seen.