Author: Alexander Fawn

As a very young child he was always picking up stones.

He would show them to his mother before putting them in a box he kept under his bed. That’s how it started. For him, the activity of collecting was as natural as any other hobby. The impulse to gather, to accumulate, had grown stronger, and far more powerful as the years passed. Now, having never married, living alone in a dilapidated cottage far away from the nearest neighbours. He had never questioned his growing passion; had never wondered whether his actions were based on enthusiasm or addiction, or even madness! No, no such self-reflection had ever entered his mind. The old building was exactly what he wanted. In fact, the basement was absolutely ideal.

The sturdy brick walls had taken the chains and cuffs without any trouble at all.

It was a bitterly cold wind that swept down the street, and stamping his feet didn’t help.

He checked the time again. He was sure she said two. It was gone two-thirty. He struggled to tighten his scarf with slippery leather gloves, but he wasn’t going to take them off. He thrust his hands back down deep into his overcoat pockets. Was he in the right place? He read the post office sign across the street. No, this had to be right. This wasn’t like her, she was always so punctual. He slid his suitcase forward and moved even closer to the curb. He checked the street both ways again.

Suddenly, from behind him, a familiar voice said, “You should have taken the key!”

He spun around. “What?”

“Hello darling,” she said, with a look that gave nothing away. “Gosh! It’s freezing isn’t it? Especially when you’re standing still, waiting.” Her face took on a sneer. “Makes it harder when you’re waiting, don’t you think?”

He was both confused and speechless for a few beats. He glanced up and down the street in desperation. “I wasn’t waiting,” he said, unconvincingly.

“Oh! That’s good then.”

He frowned at her. “It is?”

“Yes, because she won’t be coming.”

“She?”

His wife gave a throaty laugh. “Don’t bother, the games up, as they say.”

He tried to show surprise. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“OK. Of course you don’t, dear. Either way, as I say, she won’t be coming.” She gave a casual shrug. “It was two o’clock wasn’t it? I’ve been watching you since then. Watching you get colder and colder. I thought I would let you suffer for an extra thirty minutes.” She giggled in a way he had never heard before. “It was fun, sitting in the car with the heater going, watching you stamping your feet, you poor dear.”

He went to say something.

She raised an eyebrow and went on quickly. “Do you happen to know what the most common cause of fatal domestic home accidents is?”

Fear crossed his face. He just managed to say, “No.”

Well most statistical surveys say that it’s trips. Silly, isn’t it? A simple thing like a trip, and a fall, then the head coming into contact with a hard surface. Yes, if hard enough, a thing like that can be fatal.”

He couldn’t hide the anguish and realisation that was welling up inside him. Tears were forming as he asked, “What have you done?”

She laughed. “No, dear. It’s not what I have done; it’s what you didn’t do that counts. It’s what made it all so easy.”

He stood shaking his head foolishly.

“She looked down at his large suitcase. “There would have been plenty of room in there for a small key. It’s like I said, you should have taken the key.”

He was still standing with his mouth open. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“The spare key she gave you to her flat,” taking it from her pocket, she continued, “I’ve known for weeks now; where you hide it. It made it all so easy, as I said.” She moved to the curb, found a grate and dropped it down. She returned and took him by the arm.

“Now, come on you poor thing or you’ll catch pneumonia! You’ve been standing out here far too long. Don’t forget your suitcase. I’ve had the car heater running for so long, I’m sure there’ll be some warmth still in it.”

As he picked the case up, she said. “Now, there you go. What a good boy. There’ll be some changes, of course. Don’t worry honey, I’ll explain all the new rules on the way home.”

The insurance agent was sitting in his office telling his friend about the industry.

“I have to tell you, there are some real sharks out there. There was this one guy I heard about. This life insurance seller told this guy that he recommended that a policy should be taken out as soon as possible. The guy wasn’t too sure, so he says if he has any doubts his cousin does Astro Tarot Readings. He goes on a bit about what powerful stuff it is. The guy says he’d never heard of it. The salesman says no you wouldn’t have, it’s quite unique. He says he’ll make an appointment for him and he agrees. He says it’s a bit expensive, but worth it to be really sure.”

“Does he go for it?”

“You bet. He rocks up at the fortune teller’s house. First they do all the date stuff, you know, date of birth and so on. Then he has him lay out the cards in a certain order. Then he starts reading all this spooky stuff out.”

“Spooky?”

“Yeh, interpreting the cards. Anyway, in this particular case, all this ended up on the Internet.”

He fossicks around in one of his desk drawers and finds a piece of paper. He lays it on the desk and starts reading.

“It goes like this. The Chariot; that’s not moving, it’s just sitting there. The Empress; no signs of fertility or life found there. The Moon; a total mystery. The Hermit; there’s no meditation possible. The Lovers; definitely no passion or choice there. The Hanged Man; there’s no enlightenment in sight. The Magician; that’s in a complete state of inaction. Judgment; no new phases to come. Justice; a total lack of balance. The Emperor; shows as totally unstable. The World; total lack of attainment. Strength; that’s powerless and without courage. The High Priestess; the subconscious has been nullified. The Fool; no new beginnings found and a total abstinence of rules or regulations. The Tower; that has collapsed. Wheel of Fortune; no ups, only downs. The Star; only bad omens. The Devil; lot of destruction happening there. The Sun; no happiness on the horizon, in fact, there is no horizon. Death; something is definitely on its way, there.”

He sits back shaking his head.

“Of course, all the time he’s doing this he’s looking more and more worried. At the end, he says, ‘I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you it’s not looking at all good. OK. I’ll give it to you straight. In short, you haven’t got a future. Both the stars and the cards say that you will die suddenly within the next two or three days; four, if you’re lucky… but don’t bet on it. That’s what the guy tells him, or words to that effect.”

‘It’s that bad?’ the guy asks.

‘It is, I’m afraid. Let’s face it, you need to protect your family. Goodness! They could be left destitute!’ the guy says.

‘What do you recommend?’ he asks.

‘Insurance,’ says the guy.

“And did he?”

“Yep. Poor bugger took out a top end policy with heavy payments. Became a nervous wreck. Kicked out of the house. Lost his job. Lived until he was ninety seven, and died in his sleep… penniless.”

From the window he could see her crossing the square.

She walked with the graceful glide that he knew so well, the way she walked into his life all those years ago. She had literally swept him off his feet. He thought back to those early times; dates in restaurants and theatres, admiring glances from men wherever they went. She had always been a beautiful woman, had always dressed well. A gentle smile crossed his face as he considered the fact that from the first time he set eyes on her he was smitten. It had been infatuation; as simple as that. It had taken an embarrassingly long time before he realised just how besotted he had become with her.

As he watched, she walked out of a building’s shadow into the bright sunshine.

He checked the shooting rest and the silencer. He breathed out slowly. His finger tightened gradually as the crosshairs came to rest…

The boy’s uncle had a farm that bordered a great forest.

When visiting his uncle, they would often go for walks together around the farm, but when the weather was particularly good and the ground was dry they would hike together through the woodlands. These occasions were always a real treat for the boy because his home was in the city.

On this occasion the day was hot. They had been walking for some time and gone deep into the forest when they came across a clearing. It was a large, flat grassy area where nothing seemed to be growing.

They stood for a while gazing at the great empty space.

Before moving on, the man said, “There used to be a village here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but a long time ago.”

“What happened to it?”

“The story goes that an old seer lived here, when it was a village I mean. She was often consulted about things that the normal folk didn’t understand, and they always listened to her. Well, not quite always it would seem. It was a hot summer that year and several villagers had spotted fire dragons roaming nearby. Fire dragons love the heat, you see. One day a young boy, no older than you, ran into the village holding a baby dragon by its tail. He was very proud of himself, saying he had clubbed it to death. Well, the people sang his praises then set about building a fire. They threw the carcass into the flames and celebrated.”

They came to the centre of it and once again looked around.

They walked on and he continued. “When the old oracle returned from visiting another village, she reprimanded them all, saying that you should never kill a fire dragon with fire. There were many that simply didn’t believe her. In fact, later that day, one of the elders decided to put the ashes to good use by spreading them across his small patch of garden, where he was growing vegetables. It was the middle of the night when somebody noticed an orange sparkling coming from the patch. There were more and more shouts as the whole thing grew brighter. Everybody came out to see what it was all about. When the old seer was told how this had come about with the casting of the ashes, she was very angry.”

Finding themselves at the far side of it, they both turned.

He went on. “She was so angry. She told them that nothing would stop the inferno and gave orders that all should flee the village. They gathered up what belongings they were able to carry and began making tracks to other nearby villages. By the time the last of them were ushered out by the old woman, the fire had taken hold, with several buildings being quickly consumed by the leaping flames. The fire raged for what remained of the night, leaving not a stick untouched. Those that returned the following morning found there was simply nothing left. In fact, it was so black and flattened that it was hard to imagine there had ever been a village there at all.”

The boy stood staring. “Wow! Is all that true?”

The man laughed. “No, of course not, it’s just a clearing.”

 

 

After a fairly quiet morning in the police station a commotion was heard at the front entrance.

The boy, still struggling, was taken to the front counter.

The duty sergeant looked up. “What’s the little rascal been up to this time?”

“Shoplifting again, sarge.”

The sergeant shook his head. “Tut, tut. Still out there pinching stuff. Eh?”

The boy said nothing.

The constable continued. “When he was challenged, he started shouting obscenities. I would say that’s a case of disorderly conduct, sarge.”

The sergeant nodded and made a note.

“Before he could be evicted, he knocked over several stacks of products, then grabbed a can of paint and sprayed several packets of detergent. So, I think we should add vandalism.”

The sergeant made another note.

“It seems that when the manager tried to get him out of the store, the boy bit him. So, an assault, causing bodily harm needs to be added.”

The sergeant sighed and scribbled some more.

“Anyway, when I arrived I made him turn out his pockets and found several packets of marijuana. So, I think we need to add possession.”

“Alright, leave him with me, constable. I think a stern warning should do it.”

At that point a voice came from the Senior Sergeant’s office. “Just step in for a moment, will you?”

The senior man waved him to a chair. He stood thinking for a moment, then said, “Look, I can certainly see the point of view that you are approaching this from. However, I really feel that we need to take into account the fact that he’s your son!”

 

 

She walked this path every morning.

The air was cool, but the sun was on its way. He stood back, partly hidden by the flowering bushes. He was good at waiting. She would be here soon. He knew how much she loved the flowers. She would come with watering can, stopping occasionally to wet the brightly coloured petals.

This was her morning habit, her ritual. At the house, a door sounded. He felt the thrill. The garden looked particularly beautiful in spring. She would be happy and excited when she saw the blossoms this morning, passionate even. Spring is a passionate season. If only he could bring himself to approach her; to tell her how much he appreciated the love and devotion she pours out, along with the gentle sprinkling of water.

Suddenly, she appears, dressed in a woolly robe and slippers, carrying a heavy can. He looked on in admiration as she slowly made her way beside the flower bed, stopping occasionally to examine a blossom. She used a fingertip to move it gently from side to side. She moved on, seeing nothing but the colours, the stems, the soil, the shiny beads rolling off petals. As always, she paused at the clematis, her favourites. He knew this from experience. He loved the way she whispered to the flowers as the can tipped. His heart swelled as he saw the adoring smile light up her face. She straitens and comes closer. Moments later, she glides by without noticing him.

It was at times like these that being a garden gnome wasn’t at all easy.

The cryptocurrency industry,

Is it going boom or bust?

Is it just a wise investment,

Or is it Mammon’s lust?

–

Novices look for an overview,

Maybe never understood.

A crypto river quietly flowing,

The way paper never could.

–

Are we sure it’s in its infancy,

With its lack of centralization?

All that loot is securely stashed,

With understandable hesitation.

–

The power to print money is under threat

For the ether, we give thanks.

No more endless small print!

Did we ever trust the banks?

–

Is it a different kind of trade,

That is done without the frills?

Does a crypto wallet

Really let you pay your bills?

–

There’s a kind of crypto rush,

With a matching history with gold.

The miners take up their crypto tools;

Better than cash we’re told.

–

The whole mind-boggling nature of it,

May be new to some.

A turning point in world history?

We’ll know in time to come.

–

A biting of lips, as bitcoin dips.

You may well lose it all,

And you may well say you had some fun,

Should you see it stall.

–

The coin is only ever worth

Whatever a coin is worth,

Leading either to Utopia

Or a financial Hell on earth!

–

As for the overall wisdom of it,

Uncertain, it should be said,

But remember, Confucius, he say,

Bitcoin? Get in there Ned!

Ordinarily he was not a person to be left speechless.

Certainly, no such thoughts crossed his mind as he dialled the number. He sent the letter at the beginning of the week, but he hadn’t had a reply. He had never been much of a complainer, but enough was enough.

The chair of the parish council picked up.

“Ah! Good morning to you. Yes. I have your letter here somewhere. One moment.”

A rustle of paper.

“Ah! Yes, I have it. You’ve been with us for a number of months I see. As you probably know, the chair of the village dancing club informed us at the parish council meeting of their disappointment that you would not be attending the weekly get together that our little community enjoys so much, every Saturday evening. It has been something of a cherished tradition in our modest community to hold a weekly dance on the night, with everybody joining in, maintaining a happy communion. Your reluctance to fall in with this humble yet important tradition of our regular gatherings probably goes some way to explain why anyone would even consider doing such a thing as described in your letter.”

He paused to blow his nose or sneeze. It was hard to tell. The caller thought he could hear other voices, or it may just have been a bad connection. After a few more seconds, the councillor went on.

“Although I agree with your considerations regarding the events that took place late last Saturday evening, and personally find the whole incident most regrettable, I also find myself duty bound, as chair of the parish council, to take into account the feelings of those members I serve. Owing to the fact that there are several small farms situated in the immediate area, it would be hard to determine where such a pile of dung, particularly in the vast quantities that you describe, could possibly come from. Not, I think, from any one property. Although your letter’s useful description of the sheer size of it does lend one to believe that it may well have come about as a result of several rural enterprises clubbing together, as it were.”

Another rustle of paper.

“With respect to any perceived obligation that the parish may have to assist in the removal of such a vast quantity of manure, there is the consideration of practicality to take into account. Such a project would no doubt require equipment that is simply not at the council’s disposal. Further, I can only think that the fact that your dog was asleep among these bushes at the time of the dumping, as it were, was nothing short of an unhappy coincidence. As for how your wife’s garden line of washing burst into flames, save for a number of her personal undergarments that ending up strewn along the street, it is a complete mystery, considering the damp weather we have all been experiencing of late.”

Another pause, followed by throat clearing.

“It has been suggested to me that it may very well be that the whole thing comes down to a matter of community spirit, you see, and if you don’t mind my saying, on the surface, this is something you don’t seem to have a lot of.

Anyway, thank you for your call. I can assure you that due diligence will be ongoing in this matter.

Oh! By-the-by, we hope you can join us on Saturday.”

A loud sniff.

“Bye for now.”

They are all on them.

There’s no longer any need to talk to most of the others, in person; they all have one too. They’re on trains and buses, at airports and bus stops. They’re on park benches, up trees, in shops, cafes, waiting rooms and libraries; at home, in the office, factory or store. Used sitting, standing or lying, by both the unemployed and the plain bored. It’s in a pocket or a bag, silently waiting, unless buzzing or chiming for attention.

In a chair, up a ladder, on a horse, standing in a crowd or in a silo. Communication may be essential; plumbers, carpenters, doctors and tow trucks. Drivers, passengers and shop assistants are all busy comparing the costs of items, checking the weather, the stock market, show times or the latest government policies. Those do have their needs, often unavailable, either hiding in a corner or blatantly ignoring those who wait.

If, by chance, you‘re not sure where you are, they have that covered. Never get lost again. You’re that little blue dot. You are there because a satellite that you can never see says so. Now, unavoidable. Overuse no longer a consideration. They’re right there waiting to tell you where you are or to order something, to book a table or take a selfie. They’re where they should be; that is, everywhere!

No need to tell you what they are, but if in doubt, just look it up on yours…