Author: Alexander Fawn

The barista from the town’s café, rarely stopped off at the pub after work.

This night was an exception. It was a showstopper in more ways than one. Naturally, most of the patrons knew him; at least by sight. A few heads turned to watch him enter, but this changed when he began to make his important announcement. First, he quickly downed two whiskies, then swivelled around on his barstool and faced the two dozen or so patrons with the news. He said that his work was done. He explained that he was not, nor ever had been, human. At this the mood in the room changed, with a few sniggers and hushed conversations. He went on to say that for two of Earth’s years, he had regularly sent reports, based on what he had learnt here, to his home planet. This being situated in a nearby galaxy; details about this, he was forbidden to talk about.

The place had remained remarkably silent throughout his entire declaration. It was as though his audience had been placed under a spell. This changed when he turned and ordered another congratulatory drink.

A lone voice came up with a simple question. “Can you prove it?”

It was a direct enquiry; he had to admit that. He sat thinking for a while, before coming up with an answer. He nodded, saying, “The only thing I can do to demonstrate the truth of what I’ve said, is to momentarily shimmer.” His hand went up to stop a barrage of questions. “What you see here, of course, is not my true appearance. Taking on this physical form was a most unpleasant experience, and before this night is out, I’ll have to go through it again. Meanwhile, to demonstrate the veracity of what I have told you, I can shimmer.”

A few mumbles came from the room.

He slid off his stool and once again held up his hand. “If I were to try to transform myself back to my original physical form without the proper authority to do so, my entire body begins to shimmer. It’s a very uncomfortable thing to do, so I’ll only do it once.”

He closed his eyes as a painful facial expression took hold. Moments later, a brightly coloured, sparkling haze enveloped his entire body, from head to toe!

Gasps rang out around the pub, as the vivid shimmering continued.

The shock of watching this amazing display meant that the vision remained fixed with them, and hardly any one of them heard him bid them, “Goodnight”.

It goes without saying, he was never seen again…

He knew that he was well overdue for an eye test.

He eventually made an appointment and went for a test on the following day. The optometrist, reading his notes, had been surprised at how long it had been since his last test. So far, looking through all these different lenses, he hadn’t done at all well. He was sitting in the chair looking at the table of letters on the far wall. He was asked to read them out. He knew he was in trouble when he had difficulty with the one at the top.

The eye specialist was saying, “Take your time. Try that one again.”

He focussed as hard as he could, but repeated. “That has to be a ‘B’. I’m sure it’s a ‘B’.

The expert coughed politely. “No,” he said, “It’s an ‘E’.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure,” came the reply. Then after shuffling things around, he came up with a pair of temporary glasses that had the proposed lenses slotted into the frames. “Look here, if you’d like to walk back out into the showroom and take a look around with these on for a bit, I think you will find that these improve your eyesight a great deal.”

The patient put them on. They felt heavy, but he could certainly see a lot better straight away. He walked out to where the racks of spectacles hung on the walls. He was generally looking around as suggested, when he caught sight of a mirror. He went over to it and stood looking at his reflection. He was horrified!

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. So much of his hair was grey, and he had spots on his cheeks that he had no idea he had.

He began to panic.

Rushing back into the test room he put the glasses down, saying, “Sorry, I’ve just had an urgent phone call. I do have to go.”

The other looked up with a frown.

“I’ll have to come back, sorry.” Waving his old glasses, he said, “Meanwhile, I’ll have to stick with the originals for a bit, sorry.”

With that, he left in a hurry.

He really enjoyed his nightly walks through the bush.

These bushland retreats were perfect for getting away from the hustle and bustle of city life, but he knew these late-night strolls would come to an end soon. He would miss the night air and the sparkling host of stars. It was so quiet, so peaceful. The flat bushland, stretching away into the far distance was so beautiful at night. The moon was almost full, making it easy for him to navigate around the occasional patches of dry shrubbery. The large, plastic carrier bag hanging from his shoulder was lighter than at other times. He paused to gaze up at the orange sky, thinking about her. She’d been missing for several days now. Looking around; it was so easy to get lost out here, he thought. He was almost there…

Now, sitting beside the opening of the old, abandoned, vertical mineshaft, he opens the bag. He tips the contents out. The parcel tumbles down into the unseen depths.

He stands and straightens his back.

“Tomorrow night,” he whispers, “the left leg.”

On retiring, he just wanted to settle down somewhere that was quiet.

He’d spent all of his working life in noisy environments. It had begun in a factory full of noisy machinery, then it had been on loud building sites as a construction worker, and finally he had been working as part of the ground staff at an airport. He knew it would all change when he retired from the workforce. He planned to move away from the city and find a nice tranquil spot in the country. It wasn’t long before he had settled on a place in a rural district away from the clamour. It was ideal, because it was at the end of a quiet country lane, some distance from the road that ran through the village. Also, the house was the last property, meaning that he only had one neighbour. He understood that he, like himself, was retired and living alone.

All went well at first. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before he became aware of the mice. Especially at night, when in bed, trying to get off to sleep. It sounded as though there were a lot of them scurrying around, up in the roof space. It is difficult to describe the degree of personal trauma this event brought about. He had spent the latter years of his working life planning and looking forward to a completely silent and peaceful lifestyle. He was determined not to allow these pesky rodents to spoil any of it.

Eventually, after his initial rage had subsided, he gave it some serious thought, and the problem was naturally solved by purchasing a super-strong pest-killing poison. He laced food scraps with the lethal stuff, got up into the area above the ceiling, and crawled around scattering the bait. Within a couple of nights, the house fell silent.

Unhappily, the situation took yet another turn when the man next door got himself a dog! To make matters worse, this particular animal turned out to be the kind of dog that barked a lot… especially at night! His longing for some well-earned peace and quiet was becoming something of a battle. Again, it is hard to say how much this new tragedy would affect his judgement.

After living with this new state of affairs for a couple of weeks and a lot of ongoing sleepless nights, he realised that this situation could be resolved in a similar manner to the first.

However, he had to weigh it all up carefully. He needed to consider the ramifications. The decision of how to use the poison had to be thought through, regarding the consequences.

Would it be for the dog or the owner?

He was reading through the first draft of a short story he’d written.

It was only a short crime story, but it did contain at least three cleverly placed clues; four if you included the title as being one. Despite its size, it contains all the clues required for the detective to solve it. There was the number of place settings, indicating how many people were originally expected, and the name of the agency that provided the waiter. Of course, there’s the date that had been set for the celebratory dinner. It wouldn’t be until they got to the end of the story that the reader would see the significance of the title. Will his readers be clever enough to untangle it, or would he just get lumbered with a whole load of comments that are actually asking for help?

After a few moments of careful thought, he consigned it to the ‘On Hold’ folder.

It was generally understood that he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

The teenager thought that the latest ap he’d downloaded to his phone was really cool. He’d only had it for three days, but he’d already accrued more than three hundred points. Not just any points, orange points! It was great! He’d racked up another twelve just sitting in the waiting room. He’d reported, the way he was supposed to. Meanwhile, the Parole Officer thought about his next parolee, out in the waiting room. Knowing that he had the IQ of an amoeba didn’t mean that he wouldn’t necessarily get the job. However, because he was obviously a few fries short of a Happy Meal, he would need some encouragement. At the end of the day, the fact that his elevator didn’t go all the way up to the top floor shouldn’t stop him from being given a chance. As he generally gave the impression that the lights are on but nobody was home and was, in fact, as thick as two short planks, he would need to help him along a bit.

In short, the Parole Officer knew that he was a few cents short of a dollar, but he believed everybody deserved a fair go. He had filled out the job application form for him and he would do his best to prepare him for the interview.

The following day, the applicant, duly indoctrinated in the finer techniques of being interviewed, sat across from the company’s Human Resources Manager.

The manager finally looked up. He smiled when he noted that the applicant was putting his phone away. “Now, Mister Thorpington, I’ve read your CV.”

The boy’s eyebrows shot up. “You said Thorpington?”

“I did.”

“Sorry. Just rings a bell, that’s all.”

The mission was a simple one.

Simple, but absolutely vital to the country’s national security. He’d been handpicked by the chief. The briefing that took place in MI6’s headquarters went for two hours. He was to fly out the following day, meet up with an overseas agent, who would provide him with copies of confidential military documents. There would be a parcel with a great number of these, wrapped and sealed for him to bring back. Airport security had been informed of this, allowing him to return through customs without a hitch. He had a hotel room booked for two nights to cover any contingencies.

The next day, after landing, he went directly to his hotel. The flight had been bumpy and he felt slightly jetlagged when he landed. He had time to relax in his room before meeting up with his fellow agent that same day.

As arranged, the two agents met on a park bench, where the material would be passed over. It was immediately apparent that no parcel had been brought. The agent explained that the documents could only be accessed, one section at a time and copied. This had been done over a number of days. He said that it was all there. It had been decided to load these files onto a tiny flash drive, which had been hermetically sealed in polythene.

It was suggested that the reason for the change of format should be explained verbally to his chief in MI6, owing to the delicate nature and complex method used to gather the information. On parting, a shake of the hand allowed the small item to pass between them.

That evening he dined in the hotel’s restaurant; the food and drink being accompanied by the small object. At the desk, he informed them that he intended to leave the next day. He was still not feeling the best and considering that his mission had been completed, the sooner he got home, the better.

It was late when he got to his room, and he was very tired. He would call the chief when he got back home with an update.

On his arrival, he planned to get a taxi from the airport, going directly home.

That’s what should have happened.

Unhappily, crossing to the taxi rank he stepped in front of an airport bus.

There was no doubt about the cause of death.

No post mortem was required.

He had her visit for an evening meal at his place.

The evening went well, with him managing to impress her with his home-cooked beef lasagna. He felt that this could be the beginning of something. He had always liked her. They’d known each other since their schooldays. She now worked in a dress boutique in town, while he was in the accounts department, in the head office of a construction company. They both worked in town and not far apart. He had seen her a few times having lunch at one of the big department stores. She was often there with other women, probably friends who also worked locally. It had been a case of him only admiring from afar.

That had been the case, until he saw her sitting alone as he entered the department store’s cafeteria. With his tray of food and drink, he made his way to her table. His heart skipped a beat when she looked up and smiled as he approached.

They sat chatting and eating as though the intervening years didn’t exist. Most of their talk was about work and food; mostly food. Especially him. He talked about some of the dishes he really liked to cook at home. One thing led to another and that is how it happened that he invited her to his place one evening for a meal.

As said, the meal had gone well, and after washing up he sat relaxing in front of the television for a while before turning in. In fact, he was about to do that, when he got a call on his phone.

Being late, he wasn’t sure about taking it until it occurred to him that it could be her!

He answered the call and was thrilled to hear her voice on the other end, apologising.

He said, “Why, what’s the problem?”

“Sorry,” she repeated, “It probably sounds silly, but I can’t find my lipstick! Apart from being expensive, it’s my favourite. I must have left it at yours. It’s only small and I must have dropped it or something. So sorry.”

“OK No need to apologise, I’ll take a look around now, if you like, and call you back if I find it.”

“Oh! That’s really sweet of you. It’s rather late. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll start looking now.”

She said, “Thank you so much,” and rang off.

He stood thinking for a while. He realised that this could be a good thing. If he found it, they could arrange for her to call in for it. It would be a sure way of seeing her again. He had to find it.

Knowing that she had used the bathroom during her visit, that was the first and most likely place he looked. Nothing there. Now he would search around in all the unlikely places…

He was laying on the floor, looking under the settee when his phone sounded.

Struggling up, he opened the call.

“Hallo” he said.

“Thanks for looking,” she said. “It’s OK, silly me, I found it!”

Words upon words.

A scribbler at work,

With pencilled words,

And a pressing of keys,

And screen scrolling.

Plots in play.

Tales and verse emerge.

–

A passion for the pen,

Bringing fragmented notions

And a tapestry of thoughts

To form the artistry of words.

Ancient in its beginnings

And diverse in all its meanings.

–

A page fills like a canvas,

While the hourglass is ignored.

Notions come like flowers blooming,

Words are possessed and held.

Allowing the fire to burn within,

With a coaxing out of thoughts,

Or curbing a torrent of images,

Each giving life to lines.

–

Outside of a busy world,

Scribbling dances into the night,

Letting the heart of it dictate,

With phrases sparking into life.

–

A craft that stirs the emotions.

A workpiece in the making.

A gift in the offing,

And the universe smiles back.

–

Look out across the world,

With people everywhere,

Playing out their lives.

Each with their own stories.

With… words upon words upon words…

She was lying on the bed dreaming.

This would have to be one of her favourite pastimes. The bedroom was quiet and this gave her time to think. She knew it was fanciful, but she really wished she could be somebody else! She imagined what it would be like to be an army commando, with a rifle, preparing to go into battle, or a nurse in a uniform, with a stethoscope around her neck. What about being an astronaut that is trained to be launched into space, to land on a planet somewhere and gather samples for scientific analasis when he returns to Earth. It would be really great if she could be some kind of tribal warrior that led others into combat.

Anything but to be her… to have to listen to all the… “isn’t she pretty”, and “can we dress her up?”, and “she looks really gorgeous in that hat!”

She sighed. The fact was, being a Barbie doll really wasn’t that great…