Author: Alexander Fawn

He was nothing more than an unbelievably ordinary guy, anyone who knew him would tell you that.

On the face of it, there weren’t too many of these. You could say he was prosaic, hum-drum, in fact, a nobody. He worked as a clerk in a small company that imported parts for domestic appliances. His role there consisted mainly of keeping records; maintaining the paperwork that recorded where stuff came from and where it was going to. There were only a dozen people that worked in the place, with just two or three of these that he communicated with on a daily basis. He had never married. Living on his own in a tiny flat just a ten minute bus ride in from the outskirts of the city suited him fine. He had no hobbies, no pets, and no interests outside of maintaining his simple lifestyle; one that gave him no reason to complain.

The significance of what came to light on that evening was, and never will be, recognised for what it was. It was during a conversation with one of the ladies from the office and two men that he didn’t know that it happened. Both he and the woman had been required to work late and the conversation that buzzed around him was exclusively about how hard life was and how much better they thought the world should be. It had to be a combination of the lateness of the bus, together with the chill of the wind that had sharpened the bitterness of the complaints being aired. As usual, he said very little.

When he was eventually asked if he could name just one thing that was actually good about life, he replied, “Everything.”

She was considering the self-evident truth about how much things can change.

Three years ago she had made a promise. It was different then, they were so happy. Her sacrifice was such a small thing for her then. He had never shared her interests in things that he considered best left alone. He thought what she was doing was dangerous. He said it was a threat to both of them. So, she had promised.

But, the fool had succumbed to the charms of the woman in the accounting office, and that changed everything. She needed the book. With her promise made, she had hidden it away in a shoe-box.

He was out again, she wasn’t sure where, most likely at his favourite bar in town, or maybe her place. Either way, it gave her the opportunity to retrieve her book of incantations. She flicked through and found the one she needed. It would happen wherever he was. It would be better if it actually ended in a hospital. These things always ended well in those clinical, professional environments. Questions wouldn’t be asked. She would receive a call informing her that her husband… etcetera.

She held the open book and spoke the words. After this, she sat waiting.

In less than an hour, the phone rang… it was the hospital.

She had given her solemn promise that she would give it all up, but that was then, and once learned, witchcraft never loses its power.

From very early childhood he believed that travelling back in time was possible.

The future, well no, after all it didn’t exist yet, but the past was real enough. Of course everybody had said that it could never happen, as it would go against all known physical laws. The most vehement opposition came from the religious zealot who lived at number ten. She would have to be the most evil old hag he had ever come across. In an angry exchange, she had told him one day that he was a nincompoop and would never amount to anything. Well, that not only upset him a great deal at the time, but gave him an even greater reason for figuring out how to bring about the impossible.

When he finally cracked it, all made possible by building a very special telephone from scratch. It worked simply enough on the basis that he used the front, rotating dial, to select a time period. With great excitement, he used its awesome power to travel back and forth several times, making sure that he wasn’t seen. He wanted no fame or glory for doing the impossible. It was far better that nobody knew what he had accomplished, at least for now.

Thinking back, he knew that this most abhorrent person, the malignant witch, regularly opened the back door of number ten every night to let Puss-Puss in for supper and his comfy cat basket for the night.

His dilemma was that he couldn’t make his mind up. He would either return and give the nasty old biddy the fright of her life together with proving her utterly wrong, then go on to reap the rewards of his amazing invention, or simply bump her off. Either way, he had an appointment at number ten.

He was thinking about all this when the phone rang…

When you see the storm clouds coming,

When the truth of it is denied,

Do not struggle or ponder,

Set it all aside.

–

When the bad apple comes into view,

And they see you have them in mind,

Carefully climb out of the barrel.

And leave it all behind.

–

See the potholes coming.

Skirt quicksand as you go.

Know the pitfall for what it is,

Hold on tight to what you know.

–

When early signs of a festering appear,

Act without delay.

Recognise the ending.

Know when to walk away…

He had been asked to write something, a eulogy for his long-time friend.

He sat, pen poised over paper. It was actually quite ironic that he should have been asked to talk about the man. He really didn’t know him at all well; nobody did. The deceased was a very private man. Yes, they’d attended the same school, and yes he had been in touch with him half a dozen times over the following five decades, but he didn’t know him. He only knew what little most others did. He was shy and kept very much to himself. He had come into money as a young man and used it to live modestly, but at the same time he had travelled a great deal.

He was not a particularly happy man. In fact, he often suffered from bouts of depression. He had never married. He was a sad, lonely individual who seemingly travelled from country to country in search of what… adventure, romance, love, passion, who knows?

Although, in truth, according to the very last time they caught up it seems he found all of these in spades in a small town in Paraguay, the night a promiscuous chamber maid took him down to the hotel’s subterranean wine cellar.

He dropped the pen.

No, he couldn’t talk about that!

It was a perfect day for communing with nature.

She found herself walking through the forest, taking in the aroma of damp foliage and pine cones. It was so peaceful. The sound of the carpet of dead leaves rustling beneath her feet reminded her of times past; of long gone childhood days. So many sweet memories came flooding back. Her friends running and playing with her. Stopping sometimes, like now, listening to bird calls and trying to name the birds making them. She stood listening for a while. There was only one she was sure of, the rest… the rest she could no longer place. That’s what the ageing process does for you, she thought. It makes things fade away, grow distant, no longer recognised.

Quite suddenly, she found herself in a clearing, she could easily look up into the open sky. She stood watching the few clouds there. Saw how they moved and changed shape. This was yet another thing she would love doing as a child. The cooling breeze was just enough to move wisps of grey hair across her face.

It was only when the sun dipped and dusk surrounded her, that her time was spoilt by the realisation that she had no idea where she was, or how she had got there!

She had never been really comfortable with staying at her aunt’s house.

She remembered visiting with her parents. She had always found the place positively creepy. They had never been received with any genuine welcome on their visits. As a child she had overheard her parents talking about the gossip that the old woman was dabbling in the black arts. None of this was comprehended fully at the time, but it was enough to justify her dislike of the place, located, as it was, way past civilisation in a valley surrounded by woodlands. It was as though the old cottage didn’t want to be found. It had no electricity, just gas lamps, giving off a greenish, yellow glow that hardly lit the pokey little rooms.

Her aunt seemed to have made a point of collecting strange figurines. These she had placed all around the place; in every room. They all had the unnerving quality of being somehow out of place, especially the ones that sat around in the bathroom. For her, the most disturbing one was the small, shiny bird that sat on the narrow window ledge with its large, penetrating eyes, and of course, she had never been able to rid herself of the sound. A sound that so often brought her out of a night’s sleep with a jolt.

It was the memory of the time, that last time. Her very last visit. The final incident that had lingered into her young adulthood, and the reason she’d never go back. It was the morning she was leaving. It being a long drive ahead of her, she rose early. She was brushing her teeth when it happened; that sound!

The low, grating noise, as the little porcelain owl slowly turned its head and winked at her…

Not finding a word can make you quite sick.

It can make you feel like a lunatic.

–

To capture the thought you need to be quick,

But there are times when it just doesn’t click.

–

A word not quite right can get on your wick,

And after a while your neck gets a crick.

–

You’d think it’d be easy to pick,

But you’d really like to give it the flick.

–

You’ve been at it for hours and giving it stick.

Nailing it down, that’s the trick.

–

But you end up feeling incredibly thick.

All this, to find something that rhymes with brick!

The teenage lad from the factory floor was called to the office.

The manager waved him in with a smile. The boy was a bit nervous when he was asked to take a seat. The boss cleared his throat and said, “We’ve had a dramatic drop in orders over the past few months and the people at the top say we have to downsize the operations here. It was decided that our production levels would match up with a smaller staff. We estimate that our current number of staff needs to be cut by three.

He pointed to a pile of folders. “I have gone through all of the personnel files,” he nodded and continued. “Naturally, I had to take into consideration the fact that three of my people are going to be out of work. Most of the men here have families to support. At first, it was a very difficult decision to make.”

He looked at the file in front of him. “Of course, on the other hand,” he picked the file up and looked through it. “I see from the records you have only been with us six months. As far as I can see you have not taken any sick days or had time off for anything.”

The lad said, “That’s right, sir.”

The manager went on, “There’s a note here from your supervisor saying that you arrive early in the morning and often worked back late, if needed. It also says that you often take less than your allotted lunch break, returning to the workshop floor early.”

The other said, “That’s true, sir.”

The manager turned over a couple of pages. “I see from these worksheets that you are producing more than anyone else in your section.”

The boy smiled.

“I must say that all this has made my decision a lot easier.”

The boy raised his eyebrows.

“As far as I can see, you are basically doing the work of three people…”

Looking into the heart of trivia

Can be more than a serious matter.

Seeking the truly hidden things,

Beyond any party chatter.

–

It is not so much the ‘did you know?s’,

Like the use of peanuts in dynamite,

Or that male seahorses really do give birth,

Or that moon-bows are rainbows that appear at night.

–

It’s not that the first pencils were made from lead,

Or that New Yorkers can’t see the stars at night,

Or that an ostrich lays an egg bigger than its head.

Once known, such things can be seen as trite.

–

It’s so easy to trip over trivia

And fall, without knowing that you did.

So much that is regarded as trivia

Has places where treasures are hid.

–

Is it the fear of a lack of seriousness

That has us looking away?

There will always be things truly unseen.

Always, come what may!