Author: Alexander Fawn

He was sitting quietly, waiting to be questioned about what he saw.

Once he’d seen it, he knew he had to report it. He wished he hadn’t seen anything. He wished he hadn’t been there when the meeting took place. It was only by accident that he was in the toilet cubicle when it happened. He hadn’t bothered to lock the door, that’s why the indicator showed vacant. They didn’t bother to check. It wasn’t much of a meeting. The whole thing took about a minute. Two clear plastic bags full of powder going one way, and a fat envelope going the other. All he saw through the crack of the door was two men. He couldn’t see their faces, just arms making the exchange. The only thing he could tell them was that one of them had an anchor tattooed on his arm.

He thought back to that moment, seeing the tattoo. Popeye the Sailor Man flashed through his mind, from comic books when he was a kid. They’d want to know about that! Just that tiny bit of information could help the police crack the case. But, of course, these people were ruthless. If they knew he was talking to the police, he’d be dead. One thing he knew about the bosses in the illicit drug trade, was that they would stop at nothing to protect their operation. There was so much money involved that they would make anyone who knew too much simply disappear, forever! If he made a statement, they would have to protect him as an unnamed witness.

He seemed to have been in the room a long time, since being told that a detective would be along soon. He was becoming more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by. He could hear his heart thumping. Was he doing the right thing?

The door opened and a man entered. Pulling up a chair, he smiled as he put paperwork down in front of him. He pushed up his sleeves and began shuffling papers around.

That’s when the other caught sight of it.

Popeye!

There’s an old adage that says what I say three times is true.

His routine was to take a break from his work on his laptop, by stepping out onto the patio, where he had a chair. Over time, it became evident that his cat, a large male, also found it a comfortable place to sit. Although, in his case, a comfortable seat cushion to curl up on and go to sleep. At first the man would see it as somehow cute and went to a nearby garden bench instead. Again, over time, he reconsidered his attitude and took on a more practical view. He felt that he had been too soft. With his new approach, he found it necessary to give the animal a few nudges before it jumped down.

The next stage of the affair occurred when, on occasion, he would find the cat on the chair and would only have to approach, talking to it, to have it reluctantly give it up, without him having to do anything. The final phase came when, on his opening the door to come out, the cat would look up and instantly hop off. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then, he did it again. When he did it a third time… well, you know what they say about that. Anyway, when his pet did this, it invariably settled down next to the chair. It was this last development that had the man wondering.

He pondered over the idea that this was a most un-catlike thing to do. They, as a species, and being the way they were, tended to do exactly what they wanted, at least most of the time. Maybe it was a sign of respect? No. Give me a break, he thought. Maybe it was his age. After all, he was getting on a bit. Because he was getting old, it could be that he wasn’t up to making an issue of things; he was just looking for a quiet life. He wondered about that. What would his age be, compared to humans? He’d have to look it up. The whole thing had him puzzled.

Oh! Well, he thought, there’s another adage, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

The soldier was sent to make an adjustment, like so many before.

The year was 1171 and Genghis Khan was his target. The ruthless founder of the Mongol Empire. A brutal conqueror, responsible for the deaths of tens of millions. The Time Agency had sent him back to undo that part of history that saw so much suffering and so many needless deaths. The agency had calculated this to be the best time. The would-be warrior was nine years old and had just lost his father. He was about to become something that modern time travel and history patching could stop from happening. It could be put right; before it happened.

The man was crouching in a thicket of trees, watching the lad. Although several kilometres away, he could see him clearly on the screen of his super scope, mounted high on his long range sniper rifle. He had been given the precise moment to take the shot. A small timer on his wrist was counting down. The people at the agency had calculated exactly when the thread of time should be cut, followed by the man’s removal back to his own time, ten seconds later.

Like all these missions, a lot of time was spent preparing for it. He had been training for months for what was to be a ten minute mission. So much of the course had been given over to video lectures about all that was known about the empire builder. Surprisingly, the conqueror had shown extraordinary tolerance towards other religions. He even granted exemptions for tax relief on places used for their worship. After so much background information, some inkling of a bond had formed, along with strange doubts that the man was who history said he was. He considered that the fact that shooting a child didn’t sit well with him and no doubt explained much of his apprehension.

The assassin, having spent a number of years with the agency, had heard that several returns had been made to this place and time. There was definitely a great deal of extra security and there were so many stringent rules of confidentiality. These had been insisted on from the very beginning of the mission.

He blinked several times and focused on the boy, who had moved to the shelter of a tree, taking something from under his upper garment. The something appeared to be some sort of device. With trembling fingers he stroked the screen to increase magnification even more.

It was a mobile phone.

His mind raced as the timer beeped down the last ten seconds. He lowered his rifle. During the few seconds that remained he realised there would be one hell of a stink when he got back.

Then… he was gone.

He had the feeling that something was wrong the day he bought it.

His old coffee mug had seen better days, much like him. It was when it got chipped during the washing up that he decided to treat himself to a new one. It was definitely time for an upgrade. Whenever he was up at the shopping centre he would see what was on offer. It was on one of these occasions that he came across the shop by taking a different route to the bus stop. It was a strange little place that at first looked like a second hand shop, but at the same time everything in it looked new. Peering in through the front window he saw it. He went in. A very old woman, dressed entirely in black, appeared from somewhere. She came across as rather creepy. Anyway, she took the mug out of her window display and let him hold it for a while. It was white enamel, the right size with a nice handle. It was not at all expensive, so he bought it.

When he got home, he couldn’t wait to try it. He felt like a child again. He made a mug of coffee and sat drinking it. That was the first day. It wasn’t until the following morning that he noticed that the mug had some very strange symbols around it. They were faint and only just visible. He didn’t recognise any of them. The next thing he saw, when the cup was empty, that the thing had gone back to being white. There was not a mark on it! Day three was even more peculiar. Pouring boiling water into it brought all of the markings back. They were clear now, although undecipherable. He realised that the temperature was causing it. If this was a sales feature, the weird shop owner hadn’t mention it.

Over the next few days the symbols stayed. It was as though it had been primed somehow.  It was around a week later that the first incident of the mug moving took place. He had been sitting reading the paper when he had put the mug down on the coffee table and left the room. When he returned it was gone! Bewildered, he hunted around and finally found it sitting up on the shelf in the cupboard. He was absolutely sure he hadn’t put it there. He lived on his own; no one else could have done it. The next morning he was surprised to find it missing from where he had left it the night before, next to the kettle, where he always left it last thing at night. Eventually, he found it in the dishwasher.

The following day, it moved twice. It went from the middle of the kitchen table, were he had left it, to the narrow space between the kitchen sink and the window. He would never put it there! Then, because he left it there, in such a strange place, to go away and think about it, it was gone when he came back. This told him that it only moves if you take your eyes off it. So, when he finally found it, in the microwave of all places, he just simply never did that because he was not convinced that it was a safe thing to do, he decided to put his theory to the test. He would sit down with it right in front of him, for an hour if he had to, and not take his eyes off it.

He made his drink and took it through to the living room. He made himself comfortable, drank his coffee, and then placed the empty cup in the middle of the coffee table. He sat watching it. He was determined to keep his eyes on it all afternoon if he had to. More than an hour had gone by when a loud bang came from the street. Quite naturally, he glanced out of the window for the briefest of moments. It had probably been a car backfiring. He was thinking this when he realised that the mug had gone. In that tiniest instant, it had moved. He had proved his theory. As time went on, this evidence of it moving only when it was out of sight, made the whole thing a lot easier to live with somehow.

Shortly after this discovery, the lady from across the street, a friend he’d known for a number of years, called in to let him know she’d be away for a few days. Her son was picking her up and she’d be taking a holiday with his family. As usual, it was a request for him to keep his eye on the house while she was away. He said he was happy to do it and invited her in for a cupper. They’d been sitting for a while, with her telling him how much she enjoyed spending time with her grandchildren, when he decided to tell her about the mug.

Without describing the peculiar circumstances of how he had bought it or the gradual appearance of the strange symbols, he gave her a detailed, blow by blow account of its remarkable movements. Finally, he sat back, waiting for a response.

The elderly woman’s face crinkled into a smile. “Oh! I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said, “I have a teacup at home that’s always doing that!”

The two teenage boys sat pondering the state of the world.

Well, at least one of them was doing that, the other just listened. The older boy had always kept up with world affairs, the other didn’t. Generally speaking, the older boy was not happy with life. He felt that the whole world was going to pot. He felt that all the pointers were there; he saw the indicators. Today, he was particularly morose.

“Just think about it,” he was saying, “there’s climate change, terrorism, earthquakes, drunk driving, poverty, abuse of animals, and racism, just to mention a few”.

“A few?” said the other.

“Of course, there’s the refugee crisis, the increase in global warming, illegal immigration’s on the rise, the rates of depression are climbing, there’s pornography wherever you look, there are growing unemployment figures, worsening obesity, rampant drug abuse, Kaitlyn’s leaving, there’s the problem of world population growth, there are religious radicals, and, of course, there’s the global issue of income disparity.”

“Wow! Hang on, who’s Kaitlyn?”

“The girl next door.”

“She’s leaving?”

“Yep. She tried asking her parents to stay here. It didn’t work.”

“OK. You’re right. Everything sucks.”

They had played together as toddlers for as long as they could remember

He, the five-year-old, would tend to take the lead in whatever game they played. She, the three-year-old would watch and copy and sometimes better whatever he did. As far as their respective parents were concerned, the fact that they would play happily for hours meant that the four adults could relax and spend their time being relatively undisturbed.

It was during one of these family visits that it happened. It isn’t known, and probably isn’t important, how it came about, but they were down on all fours. They seemed to be tracing the patterns of the carpet with their fingers. Despite playing together so frequently and often for long periods, there had never been much physical contact between them. However, on this occasion it just so happened that their fingertips touched…

He was seventy five and she was seventy three. It isn’t known, and probably isn’t important, how it came about, but they were down on all fours. They seemed to be looking for something, something small, maybe a pill or tablet that had dropped, something important enough that it needed to be found. However, on this occasion it just so happened that their fingertips touched…

It was in that one inexplicable moment that it came to pass that their entire lifetimes together were missed.

Lovely, lovely, virtual money,

Are you only funny money?

Moving up throughout the years,

But will we all end up in tears?

Lovely, lovely, virtual money,

Are you only funny money?

A dim cold show of watery sun,

With clouds shadowed across the sky.

It’s midwinter’s sombre artistry,

In the cold heart of July.

Pale aspects of naked trees,

With cheery birdsong lesser now,

With nature’s pallet turning grey,

This being all that she’ll allow.

–

With many creatures gone and hiding

Wisely in there hibernation.

Deserted beaches, empty streets,

Few tourists seen here on vacation.

–

Whistling winds and a dimming sky,

Feel the mercurial mood it makes.

With sudden gusts that bring a chill.

It’s the path that winter takes.

–

But cosy in a writer’s cloister,

The wintery scene is held at bay.

A snug shelter with a flow of prose,

A comfy sanctum, come what may.

–

The season puts the world on hold,

A sense of promise it awakes.

It’s the lull that has to be.

It’s the path that winter takes.

She was considering what can happen between the ‘hadn’t’ and the ‘wouldn’t’.

She came to the conclusion that sometimes there’s not much, and sometimes a great deal, between the ‘hadn’t’ and the ‘wouldn’t’. She was mumbling about this when the doctor entered the room. She had been unconscious for some time and he wasn’t sure how much sense she was making, but happy that she was coming out of it. There didn’t seem to be any worthwhile witnesses, other than the driver of the number 468 bus. She didn’t appear to be fully awake, but he decided that he would gain a better understanding of what had happened if he sat patiently and listened. He could add any pertinent information to her medical notes. He drew a chair up beside the bed.

She continued to mumble.

“If I hadn’t stayed out so late the night before, I wouldn’t have slept through my alarm. If I hadn’t stopped to load the washing machine this morning, I wouldn’t have been late leaving the house. If I hadn’t missed my regular number 468 bus, I wouldn’t have had to wait twenty minutes for the next one. If I hadn’t got to work late, I wouldn’t have missed my manager, who had to go out. If I hadn’t had to wait for his return, I wouldn’t have started processing the orders he wanted so late in the morning. If I hadn’t been so far behind with my work, I wouldn’t have had to work late to catch up. If I hadn’t been in such a rush to make up for lost time, I wouldn’t have made such a silly mistake. If I hadn’t printed the wrong paperwork off, I wouldn’t have been so late finally leaving the office. If I hadn’t got to my stop so late, I wouldn’t have missed the number 468 bus. If I hadn’t got impatient waiting for a taxi, I wouldn’t have walked home. If I hadn’t taken a short cut through the park, I wouldn’t have come across the stray dog. If I hadn’t felt sorry for it, I wouldn’t have tried to pat it. If I hadn’t disturbed what turned out to be such a savage dog, it wouldn’t have chased me. If I hadn’t been running so fast across the park, I wouldn’t have run out past the pavement. If I hadn’t been out in the middle of the road, I wouldn’t have been hit by the number 468 bus. If I hadn’t been knocked down by a bus, I wouldn’t have ended up in this hospital. If I hadn’t been laying here in this bed for such a long time, I wouldn’t have had the time to work all this out.”

She looked up at the doctor with a weak smile. “It’s all about what can happen between the ‘hadn’t’ and the ‘wouldn’t’, you see?”

He began to scribble.

She saw him by chance.

He was standing across the street, waiting for a bus. She was sipping coffee, watching through the café’s window. He was certainly a looker. He had almost swept her off her feet the night before. They were in the club; music pounding, drinks flowing freely. He’d asked for a dance. He was just a little bit demanding, a touch arrogant. They had danced anyway. Then he disappeared into the crowd. At the bar she knew the barmaid from school. She said she’d seen them dancing; asked if he had been a bit pushy. She had said he was OK, that he just wanted a dance

After serving a customer she came back with the information that he didn’t have a job, she had a suspicion that he was a drug dealer. His older brother was in prison, she knew that for a fact.

She thought about how he had showed up later asking for another dance and how politely she had declined. He was obviously put out and momentarily glared at her before walking away.

Looking at him now, in his expensive suit, his nice haircut and polished shoes, he was a good looking guy, a really good catch for a girl. She reflected on the notion that you just couldn’t judge a book by its cover. The truth of it was that he was probably a rotten guy in a nice looking body. A bad egg, you might say, perfectly acceptable on the outside, until you crack it open, then you’d get the stink. Maybe she felt a little of that last night.

She would like to think so.