Author: Alexander Fawn

It had been a horrible day.

Most traffic wardens face difficult situations at one time or another, but today he had one too many unhappy customers. It makes no difference when offenders complain about getting a ticket; they still get one, but they whine about it just the same. That last one! He actually pushed him away. That didn’t happen very often. It’s just as well, there are fairly strict rules about not getting physical with disgruntled car owners. All the same, he was only doing his job. Anyway, he knew a hot drink would cheer him up, it always did. He hadn’t visited this café before. It was a pretty dingy looking place, but the cappuccinos were good.

He looked around, there were half-a-dozen customers, mainly men, all sitting alone at tables. The man sitting closest was mumbling to himself, “Why me? It isn’t right, it shouldn’t have been me!” He tried smiling at the man to make him feel better, but it didn’t work. Out of nowhere, a waitress appeared. “Now, now,” she cooed at the grumbling man, “no point in getting yourself worked up. Would you like something else?” The man just glared at her. “OK,” she said, “you just let me know.”

She approached the newcomer. The smile had gone. “A traffic Warden, I see.” He looked down, he was still wearing his uniform, of course. “Don’t get too many of those, I can tell you that. Pity, I never liked you people.” She was a large woman with a pudgy face. She stood pouting at him, then with a lot of obvious effort, said, “And what can I get for you?”

“Another coffee would be nice.” Before she walked away, and not being put off by her attitude, he was used to it, he said, “This chap here,” he angled his head, “he seems to be very upset.”

“Yes, of course he is,” she whispered, “it was a roof job.”

“Roof job?”

She nodded and scowled down at him. “Shush. He fell off a roof. He’ll be OK. Just leave him alone. I’ll get your coffee.”

He sat staring around the café. There was something odd about the place. When she returned with his drink, he had more questions. “Your customers don’t seem very happy, has something happened?”

Still speaking in a low voice she sighed and reluctantly said, “They’re all locals, of course. Four of them are from the building collapse. Didn’t you hear about it?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“No, you probably wouldn’t. Too busy serving infringements, I suppose. Anyway, it happened this morning.” Her face softened and she pointed to a young woman sitting in the far corner. “That one was electrocuted at home. She’s in a daze, poor thing! Do you know, some people have no idea why they’re here.”

At that moment he had a sudden flashback. He saw the angry man waving his parking ticket at him and thumping him in the chest. Then there was the truck. He’d forgotten about the truck!

His eyes began to water. He said, “Sorry, I think I might be one of them.”

“Oh! Really? I thought you’d know, you being a traffic warden and all.” She giggled to herself. “Sorry, we’re just a holding place here. A sort of halfway house if you like. Just while your case is reviewed.”

He frowned. “What?”

“You know,” she said, “whether you go up or down. See the door there?”

He nodded.

“You’ll go through there when they’re ready for you.” She sneered at him. “In your case, it could be a while.”

He sat reflecting on the fact that his assailant’s meter had only gone over by two minutes.

Wearing a smirk, she said, “Another coffee?”

She finally made up her mind to put one in her living room.

Diffusers seemed to be the latest way to delicately scent your room. So many of the ladies from the women’s social club had bought them, and they’d all raved about how effective they were. Eventually, she went online looking at the vast selection. They weren’t too expensive and cheap to run. The one that caught her eye was not particularly attractive, but reading the description won her over. Apparently, this model came with a fragrant mood-inducing oil that was based on an entirely unique formula. It said it had the magical property to calm and soothe, and transport the purchaser into another place, and to allow an awakening of one’s most evocative senses.

The afternoon it arrived she definitely felt a thrill. She opened the packaging and sat carefully reading through the instructions with the idea that after tea she would get it going before settling down to watch the television. That’s how it happened, that’s when, after only a minute or two of watching a gentle stream of mist rise vertically from the top of the diffuser, it appeared. Smudge appeared. He was curled up at the end of the settee, just the way he always did, all those years ago. Of course, she knew he wasn’t real, but that didn’t matter. The discovery that there was no substance to it, no real physical presence, it was only an image that she could pass her hand through, no, it didn’t matter at all.

That first night, she didn’t put the television on at all. After the first excitement, after wiping away the tears, she sat with him beside her in a state of perfect contentment. She sat listening to him purring softly; watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the occasional twitching of his whiskers, and of course, despite him being a grey cat, that wonderful smudge of white on his forehead.

As the week’s passed, her evenings were spent in this blissful state. It became something of a special ritual that she looked forward to each day. She had decided that none of these unusual features would be shared with her friends. It would be their secret; just him and her.

Then came the recall… all those who had purchased the product were asked to return it and receive a full refund. The reasons for this were not made clear, just a vague warning that unwelcomed psychological side effects had be reported and that this constituted a possible risk to the purchaser’s health and wellbeing.

Of course, it goes without saying, Smudge wasn’t going anywhere!

Number one, can be fun.

Number two, for me and you.

Number three, for you and me.

Number four, is there for sure.

Number five, can fly and dive.

Number six, is in the mix.

Number seven, can be just heaven.

Number eight, is never late.

Number nine, is doing fine.

Number ten, starts it all again.

It was obvious that something was wrong and he needed to get to the bottom of it.

Things were not feeling at all good. He was struggling, looking for some elusive thing sitting deep within himself. Whatever it was, it also occupied the surrounding space. It was overwhelming and frighteningly profound. He felt that it could be grasped if only it was not buried in a great jumble of conflicting ideas and incompatible concepts, all railing against so many distorted realities. He knew that something had to be done!

Having never married and having no children, and regardless of the envy this brought about in those family relations he did have, his considerable fortune could quite happily be spent on himself. Despite never having to use the horny hands of toil, he regarded himself as a man of action. He realised that something just had to be done.

Within an hour of sitting on the edge of his king-size bed, feeling sorry for himself, he had made all necessary arrangements. By mid-morning a car arrived at the front of his mansion to take him to the airport, from where he travelled first class to Switzerland.

The seven-day health retreat in the exclusive clinic was everything he could have hoped for. Although feeling completely rejuvenated when he returned to his home, he nevertheless experienced a period of anxiety. After three days of waiting patiently for his final health report from the clinic to arrive by mail, he received a seventeen page dossier. He retired immediately to his comfortable study to read it.

And there it was, all summed up in the final line of the summary.

In a word… indigestion!

He sat quietly, lost in thought, hardly seeing the expanse of trees and fields in front of him.

It was one of his favourite seats, places for rest and seclusion scattered around the open park. A landscape so large that it never seemed to fill. Always a quiet spot available for contemplation. He had so much to contemplate; issues that would fill the park and spill over into the beyond; marriage, work, debts… His wife was away at her sister’s. He really didn’t know whether she was coming back. That was a fact. Losing his job and having bills pile up was not helping. He had to take responsibility for all of it. He hung his head .He closed his eyes and shook his head. Well, didn’t he? It was his life, he had made it all what it is.

So lost in thought, he jumped violently as a bird squawked loudly overhead. He opened his eyes and looked up. He watched it glide to the distant pond and land slowly on the water. He looked around at what he saw. A sudden and completely unexpected thrill ran through him. He saw beauty. He saw the sky, the trees, the great sweep of grass… it was all so, well, it was just so right, so perfect! He was staring at what nature was doing all around him and he was filled with wonder.

This euphoric moment was just that, a moment, a short few short seconds that passed as suddenly as it came. It had burst in upon him. Just a fleeting glimpse into the bounty of a world of treasures in front of him, but it had passed. It was no longer there, replaced by issues, issues and problems and unavoidable sadness.

For him, it was a sadness routed in the belief that he couldn’t get it back…

He was looking through a number of old family photos when he spotted the girl.

Then, sifting back through, he found her time and time again. She was a pretty thing, around six or seven, about his own age back then. He remembered her as a regular playmate. As he stared at the pictures, memories came flooding back. He remembered now, how his parents had told him that she was his imaginary playmate. They had been tolerant and understanding about it at the time, saying that it was quite a normal thing for young kids to do and that it was something he would grow out of. It all seemed such a long time ago now. His father had passed away early but his mother still lived in the old house. The same house and garden that he was looking at now.

He found the whole thing very confusing. Looking at the girl in the pictures, he remembered her perfectly well. She was a regular visitor and they really hit it off. He wondered why his parents had told him she didn’t exist. No reasonable explanation came to mind and he would certainly ask his mother about it during his next visit. In the meantime, he found all those photos with her in them and placed them safely in an envelope.

It was soon after this discovery that he visited his mother and told her about it. He was looking forward to getting to the bottom of it. She listened patiently with a smile and asked to see what he had brought. He open the envelope and spread the photos out in a line across the dining table while she put her reading glasses on. He sat staring at them once again.

And there she was, gone…

When he got home, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Most of his roof was missing and his garden was strewn with debris on all sides. Amongst the rubble he could see broken tiles, lengths of splintered timber and fragments of smouldering carpet. After circling the outside of the building he stood looking at the front door. There didn’t seem to be a mark on it. He unlocked it and entered. There was a tremendous heat and a pungent smoke drifting up from a gigantic hole where his lounge room used to be. He stood, taking in the great gaping sections of floors and ceilings. He looked up at the great expanse of open sky that now replaced what used to be his upstairs bedroom and bathroom.

He approached the gaping chasm with caution. The intense heat and acrid fumes rising up made it difficult to peer down into the abyss. From what he could make out, he was looking down into a bottomless pit with walls glowing bright orange as far as his watering eyes could see. His mind boggled as he asked himself what could possibly create a hole that size. Regardless of how impossible it seemed, he felt sure that there had to be a perfectly rational explanation for what he was looking at.

Meanwhile, far away, in fact on the other side of the planet, a technician arrives at a rocket launch site. He stands looking at a similar hole. This blackened crater was quite clearly located at the very spot, that only the day before, a very large rocket had stood.

He was also aware that on the previous day, specialists had been brought in to make a number of extremely delicate adjustments to the rocket’s reverse thrusting system.

He began to speculate…

The detective climbed the stairwell to level three and looked for room 16. He tried the handle: not locked! He had to be careful, he knew the man inside was violent. He eased it open and looked in. No one in the hall, but movement somewhere. It was all so dimly lit. He moved silently into the first room; a lounge. Again, hardly any light. More noises came from behind the door on the far side. He took his gun out and let it dangle by his side as he moved further into the room. He stopped when the noises stopped abruptly. He brought his gun up and stood motionless. All at once, the door burst open and a large silhouette of a man stood backlit in the doorway; his arm came up. The detective didn’t hesitate. Two rapid shots took the man down.

He holstered his gun and found a light switch. The man just lay there; TV remote still in his hand

Am I conceited, or what? He thought. I really should wear my glasses…

The small village in the mountainous region of northern Italy receives very few tourists.

On this day, the man sitting at the little table was just another local resident. He was seen as a strange addition to their community; he kept pretty much to himself, was very quiet, but certainly polite. He was thinking of returning to his villa when he noticed the back-packer across the street; he seemed to be staring across. Suddenly there was recognition in the tourist’s eyes. With a beaming smile, he rushed over and took his hand.

“From the old company, right? Four, five years ago?” he gushed.

After a long hesitation, the man said, “Yes. I remember you,” he looked him over, noticed the camera, “back-packing I see.”

“Yes. I’ve been doing it for several years now. Somewhere different every time.”

The man looked around. “On your own?”

“I am. On my own and still single. I often think that none of this would be possible, if I weren’t. You could say I’ve been bitten by the bug; I’d hate to give it up. But you, do you actually live here?”

“I do. You could say I’ve also been bitten, but by a different bug. I found I could afford to buy a small villa here and I just love the life. It’s simple, yet it’s exactly what I want.”

The back-packer laughed. “Well, there you are then. You have found your place in the world.”

The man pointed to the camera. “Do you take many pictures?”

“Do I ever? Hundreds of them. Especially in places like this. Coming up from the valley I was continually looking back and taking shots.”

The man said, “Well, before passing through, I can highly recommend the vista from my balcony. It’s only two minutes off this road. It was the main reason for me buying it.”

“That’s very kind of you. Thanks.”

With that, they took off and soon arrived at the villa.

The tourist was thrilled with the view as he stepped out onto the balcony. He said, “Wow! I’d like to take several shots, if that’s OK?”

The man lifted his shoulders and said, “Of course, take your time. I’ll get some cold drinks.”

As the man attached the silencer to his gun he knew that it had to be done, although the tourist obviously knew nothing. Only those from the old underworld would know why he was there. He had been in the witness protection program for two years now.

He’d like it to stay that way.

In the quietness of the night,

Strange imaginings are given flight.

–

Anything within the range,

Prohibit none for passing strange.

–

Conducting music in your head

Or making song sheets burn instead.

–

Silence getting wet in rain,

Bring it back to dry again.

–

Watching sins grow slowly dark.

Seeing flowers make a spark.

–

Make the time forget itself,

Then place it on a darkened shelf.

–

Unbursting soapy bubbles as they fly

Or slowing down a morning sky.

–

Smashing nice ideas apart,

Then mending them within your heart.

–

Scolding symptoms as they part.

Saying all is really art.

–

Reading poems in a cloud.

Making words self-define aloud.

–

A leaf burnt through by the sun.

All epiphanies undone.

–

A gentle breeze that moves a stone.

Making boulders float alone.

–

No need your thoughts to rearrange,

All is only passing strange.