Author: Alexander Fawn

The prestigious university’s Emeritus Professor of English Studies sat at his desk.

He sat marking English papers when, quite suddenly he sat upright, aware of movement behind him. Had he not had a strong constitution he would probably have had a heart attack and died where he sat. Despite this, he watched as the unexpected visitor walked around the end of his large desk and settle into the chair opposite. The stranger smiled reassuringly and raised his hand.

“It’s perfectly alright professor, I mean you no harm.”

The professor, visibly shaken, went to say something.

“It is as I say,” said the visitor, “I wish you no harm.”

“Who are you?” blurted the stunned professor, “How did you get in here?”

“Ooh! I don’t know, I just wondered if you’d like to think outside of the box for a short while.”

“The box?”

“Yes, the box. Languages do you see?”

“Yes, but…”

“Outside of your native tongue I believe you speak seven others fluently,” he paused, “and a few more, less so.”

The professor looked surprised. “How could you know that?”

“As to what I know, let me see.”

The visitor pondered.

“It wouldn’t be at all difficult for anybody to tell you that you live at number seven Brierley Close, are married with three children, two boys and a girl, that you are sixty-eight years old , have a sister living in Paris, that a year ago you stopped playing squash.”

The professor went to speak.

“The fact,” he continued, “that you’ve had trouble sleeping of late, owing to a local dog barking through the night; the fact that I know you were engaged in a most unpleasant argument during your last visit to your podiatrist, that you recently lost a button from your shirt cuff, or that only yesterday you thought it would be nice to remove your neat, goatee beard when you retire… something you haven’t mention to anybody, as yet.”

The professor sat with his mouth hanging slightly open, staring blindly at the man across the desk, who went on, “I believe I’ve established my credentials to your satisfaction?”

The professor nodded slowly.

“I’m only here to talk to you about languages. I just thought you’d be interested to know what was happening elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“Yes. The planet I come from, for instance,” he said, in a matter of fact way, “is not that dissimilar to your own.” He sat back, taking on a more relaxed posture. He waved his hand back and forth, as he said, “About the same size, several land masses, lots of little islands, lots of water , suns, moons, stars… you name it…”

He smiled broadly.

“However, we developed in a different way, do you see? To be sure, we are way, way more advanced than you are here, but nevertheless, our history, our coming together as nations if you will…”

The professor interrupted momentarily, by repeating in a low voice, “The coming together of nations.”

“Yes, through languages do you see, through languages, or more specifically…” he went on, giving great emphasis to the singular, “through a language.”

He laced his fingers.

“Please, let me explain it simply. Life on our planet evolved in much the way yours did. However, when the inhabitants of one land mass became aware of the existence of another… let’s call them peoples ‘a’ and peoples ‘b’; they, or should I say we, differed in one major respect. We had a great, overriding desire to speak with each other, to communicate, and as a result, a third language evolved, language ‘c’. A common language. A language that both groups used.” He smiled again, “You can probably imagine how this whole scenario runs on, can’t you? Other groups being discovered… the same continuing desire to talk freely, using a common language… ‘c’ became ‘d’, that became ‘e’, ‘f’, ‘g’, ‘h’, ‘i’… and so on. Of course, I am describing in short, a very long history, but that’s the nub of it.” He raised his eyebrows. “I think you get the picture.”

The professor nodded.

“So, there you have it. Where I come from, let us say in simple terms, all nations, all groups, all peoples, speak the same language.” With that, he sat back.

For the longest time, the two men sat staring at one another.

The professor finally fell back in his chair and closed his eyes.

When he opened them… he was alone.

It was the sort of morning that made you want to lie in.

He was dozing, not wanting to open his eyes or leave his comfortable bed. Although he slowly became aware of the fact that the bed wasn’t really that comfortable. He wriggled around for a while, hoping to get back to sleep, but it didn’t help. When he did open them he found that his nose was nearly touching the ceiling. Looking around he was shocked to find that overnight he had been transformed into a very large hamster!

He had no idea how such a thing could have happened. He went to sleep the night before as normal; no different from any other night. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t had any nightmares or strange dreams. There was just no way of accounting for it.

He managed to roll out of bed and squeeze through the door without making too much noise. He didn’t want others to see him like this. Outside, he hopped across the back lawn and jumped over what was now a very low fence. He wanted to get away from prying eyes and think about his situation.

As he hopped along, he was full of questions. Could it be something that he ate? Whatever could he have done to deserve this? It was a real mystery. Eventually, he found some heavy bushes he could hide in. He didn’t want to be seen until he had figured this thing out. He certainly didn’t want is mother to see him like this. As he crouched there thinking, there was only one thing on his mind.

How could he become a normal sized hamster again?

Grumpy Humphrey laid on the ledge.

Grumpy Humphrey fell into the hedge.

All of the gardeners and all of their men,

Could never trim it back into shape again.

 

The boy lived in a miserable hovel with his grandfather, just beyond the town.

The boy’s life was wretched. There was never enough to eat and the old man was a brute. He was always telling the boy how stupid and worthless he was. There was never a kind word of any sort. Ever since he had gone to live with him he’d been mean to him. He was never actually beaten, but there was never a nice word for him either. He was given the hardest and dirtiest chores, with the old man saying that he was just too old to be doing anything for himself. The boy was a slave.

One day, the grandfather sent the boy into town with the last of his meagre coins to buy whatever food he could with it. He told him to be very careful with it as the money, as it was all he had.

The boy set off and was gone most of the day. When he returned, he was very excited. He couldn’t wait to tell his grandfather of their good fortune. He held out his hand with a big grin. In his palm were three beans. He explained with great enthusiasm that he had met this wonderful wizard who had told him about their magical properties. He was good enough to sell them to him. What a good deal it was! All they had to do was plant them…

The man stared at the beans with a disbelieving look. His eyes began to water and his face turned red. He became very angry. He was absolutely furious. He was beside himself with rage. He was livid. He was fuming. Finally, he exploded and in his terrible rage he tossed the beans out of the window and sent the boy straight to bed, although it was the middle of the afternoon.

It rained heavily overnight and the next morning the boy stood outside staring at the ground for a long time, at the spot where the beans had landed. His grandfather watched from the window shaking his head and still scowling.

After a while, when it was obvious that nothing magical had happened, the old man cursed him yet again through the window. The boy stopped pretending to be surprised, turned his back and smiled.

He had picked the beans up from the ground near a market stall and used the money to eat a hearty meal, followed by a large helping of ice cream.

The fact was, he just wanted to really, really upset the old sod!

Carers keeping vigil,

A virus fast unfurled.

People sick and dying

In every corner of the world.

–

Masks, shields and goggles,

Loved ones trapped apart.

There never was so much said about

The flattening of a chart.

–

Masks that mask expressions.

Eyes are all you get.

Listen to the tone,

Sounds of hope or moot regret.

–

Primordial gestures,

Hiding their dismay,

Concealing desperate wishes,

To make it go away.

–

Zoom appointments, work from home.

Strange things become the norm.

Testing, screening and quarantining,

While riding out the storm.

–

Empty day-care, empty airports,

Sanitized hands, probing swabs,

Growing distance, isolation,

Disappearing jobs.

–

Fear the invisible enemy

And hope to control the spread.

Some attend the sick,

While others mourn the dead.

–

All in it together,

Sad stories all around.

Second wave is looming,

Vaccine not yet found.

–

On and on and on it runs,

Quickening its pace,

Despite the daunting rules and regs,

The leaders put in place.

–

Leaders holding different views,

On power and morality,

And values placed upon the scales,

Twixt economy and mortality.

–

An infection travelling high and low,

No regard for breed or class.

Together, all are waiting,

For this too shall pass.

 

He certainly had an impressive list of death scenes that he was famous for.

As an actor, you would have to say that it was the drowning scene in that early pirate movie that really boosted his career. It was a notable turning point for him. The way he waved his arms around helplessly, crying out for help through gargling salt water and finally getting battered and sucked under when the wave came crashing down on him. From there on his acting profession took off big time. Offers of roles came flooding in. He was featured in dozens of movies over several years and enjoyed the financial benefits, together with a greatly elevated life style, as a result. In short, in his own way he became a celebrity.

Audiences loved him. People just couldn’t stop talking about him. His masterful fall from the twelfth floor balcony in the latest movie was a big hit. Thinking back, there was that wonderful scene where he was trampled to death by a heard of charging hippos. Then there was that look of terror on his face when that live electricity cable swung around and hit him. Who could forget the way his eyes bulged when he was hit from behind with an axe, or the way he fell over that cliff, riddled with machinegun bullets, and what about the way he ran out of that burning house, covered with flames; it was spectacular.

You could just about hear the audience hold its breath when he clutched at his chest in that moving heart attack scene. Turning blue and slumping over a bowl of poisoned minestrone soup certainly had people talking about it for weeks. Then there was the way he flailed around after being bitten by a venomous snake. Of course, there was that look of astonishment just before the train hit him, and his realistically falling face down, with a knife in his back. His facial expressions in that strangling scene, and all that coughing and spluttering that went on while he was being choked to death were nothing short of brilliant. Being shot through the windscreen in a car accident, and being blown up by a land mine in that jungle scene were both truly awesome.

However, the time came when the fact that he always got killed off, just lost some of its glamour somehow. He asked himself why he had to die in every movie. Just for once he’d like to survive the plot, and if possible, go on to live happily ever after. The more he thought about it the more it became a burning ambition.

When he first made his feelings known on the subject he was met with a great deal of resistance. They told him he should stick with what he was good at. But he persisted, even turning down a number of offers.

After a few months of not working, which he could easily afford, he was offered a part. He was over the moon. He just couldn’t believe he’d pulled it off. It was only a low budget TV movie, but he didn’t have to die in it. For just once in his career he wasn’t going to be killed off. He wasn’t the star exactly, but in this movie he could be seen for what he really was… an actor.

He was on his way to the first rehearsal when the truck hit him.

 

 

All eyes were on the people in the control room and the world held its breath.

The only way to prevent the massive meteorite from obliterating the city was to pulverize it in space. Today’s launch was the result of several months of planning. A row of a dozen technicians sat before their banks of screens. In front of them, at the end of the room, a giant display was being continually fed with technical data. The Project Director, having recently flown in from an important last minute meeting with the Prime Minister, entered the room and took up his position behind the technicians. He switched on his microphone and spoke into it.

“Did the missile launch on time?”

There was no immediate answer. Then a nervous sounding technician number five said, “Not exactly, sir.”

“What do you mean, not exactly?”

“We were about three minutes off, sir.”

“About?”

Number five checks his screen and says, “Three minutes and seventeen seconds, sir.”

A heavy sigh from the director. “Very well. Were the trajectory adjustments made?”

“I think they were, yes, sir.”

“You think?”

“Well, I didn’t make them, sir.”

“Well, who did?”

“Number two, sir.”

The director peered around. “Where is number two?”

“He went to the toilet, sir.”

After a long silence, the director said, “OK, but I need to verify his numbers as soon as he returns.”

The room went very quiet for several minutes before the director spoke again.

“I think someone should go and check on him.”

Number eight said, “I’ll go sir.”

“Thank you, number eight.”

As the technician left the room the director looked around again. He noticed that two chairs were empty. He asked, “Where is number one?”

Nobody answered.

“Number three, where is number one?”

“Sorry, sir. I’m not sure, sir.”

“But you were right there, you must have seen him leave!”

“Well, yes, I did, sir.”

“Well?”

Number three took a long breath and said, “He had a phone call, sir.

The director shook his head. “For goodness sake! What sort of phone call?”

“I don’t really know, sir. All I know is he said it was urgent and it was from his auntie, sir.”

Just then, number eight re-entered the room unaccompanied and sat down, saying nothing.

The director glared at the back of number eight’s head for a full minute. Finally, he said, “Well, number eight, did you find him?”

“No, sir.”

“No? You didn’t find him?”

“No, sir. He’s gone, sir?”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Sorry, I don’t know, sir. He’s just gone.”

At this point the director put his head in his hands. He was filled with despair at the obvious conclusion that this entire impending disaster could well have been avoided if the Human Resources Department had run a far more rigorous personnel selection process.

 

 

Entering the world of fantasy,

While working with keyboard and pen,

Is easily done, when first begun,

By founding the where and the when.

–

Time away allows thoughts to gel;

A sense of solitude pushing through.

Will wisdom let you draw it in?

Will time allow it to brew?

–

Mollified by the quietude,

It surprisingly sets in motion

An allowance from the order of nature itself

To have fantasy procure a notion.

–

Allowing wandering thoughts to take form,

There are pleasing mysteries there.

Whimsical daydreams, hardly in focus,

And beckoning fantasies to embrace without care.

–

Imperfections surface, while the senses dance.

A maze appears, and a boundary is crossed.

A notion takes hold, but is not understood.

A truth comes to light, but in moments is lost.

–

Based on things whether known or not,

But made manifest in a growing passion.

Seeing nuances revealed at a distance,

Interpreting, after a fashion.

–

Tampering with that, which is way beyond grasp.

Attempting to transcend space.

Avoiding the scars of words unspoken.

Treating the unholy with grace.

–

Concepts unfold like gentle whispers.

Listen, lest the words take flight.

They give birth to a borrowed serenity,

While setting each nuance alight.

–

Epiphanies, in time become mundane,

While continually taking stock,

Forever wandering in a single moment,

Yet filtered by the clock.

–

Retracing the steps made in moments passed,

Or content to just endlessly roam.

By some strange syncopation, the world runs on,

And the present moment eventually comes home.

–

Does the circling of birds stir the plot?

Does the breeze blow in something new?

Does the setting of the sun settle what’s done?

And what will the morning bring into view?

–

All rhythms and rhymes, slowly fade,

And the climb becomes more steep.

Allow all the clamour to drift away,

With the safety net of sleep.

–

All of this is easily done.

Time taken just now and again.

Just to be considered as free,

By creating the where and the when.

The Harpy sat high up on the bookshelf, looking down at the inebriated man.

It watched in fascination as the man clumsily turned the pages of his book and constantly topped up his tumbler with whiskey from the half empty bottle. It watched the awkward movement of the arm repeatedly lifting the glass to his lips. It wasn’t at all sure what it was looking at. It was big, of that the creature was certain. It sat at a desk covered with books. If it stood up it would be a great deal bigger. The Harpy, being part woman and part bird, was only a fragment of his size and bulk. If it attacked the man below it would most probably come off badly.

No, if it wanted to give the man trouble, and it goes without saying that it did, after all, it was a Harpy, and that’s what Harpies did, it would have to be content with annoying him. It would fly down, making for his face, and then swerve to one side before the man knew what was happening. It moved forward a little, readied its wings and launched off across the room. The man, hearing the flapping looked up and froze in horror. He took a wild swipe at the creature, dropping his tumbler in the process. The Harpy, perched back on the shelf, took in the chaotic seen with a wicked grin. It giggled malignantly, as only a Harpy can.

The creature lifted its head and let out an evil screech, inviting others to come and join the fun. Another jolt ran through the man as the menacing shriek pierced his ears. The man’s drink slowly ran across and dripped off the pages of his open book.

In no time at all the room was teeming with the spiteful monsters. As they swirled around him he felt the hair moving on his head. He sat swatting maniacally for several minutes before he finally lost consciousness. His arms lay across the desk. The bottle lay on its side, its contents running off the edge of the desk and into his lap.

He was like that when his wife looked in. She sighed and left him there for the night.

It was Greek Mythology, of course. Such powerful stuff!

She knew it was just a silly phobia.

It all started back in her home town in Africa, many years ago. She was very young when it happened. She was taken to the zoo by her parents, and quite unnoticed, had climbed over a fence, the way small children do. She was intent on exploring one of the many animal enclosures. At first, she didn’t see the rhinoceros, but her father did. She was plucked into the air from behind and the two of them scrambled out to safety. The crying didn’t stop for hours and that night she had her first nightmare; the first of many.

The incident plagued her life growing up and eventually she came up with a solution of her own. She had finished her studies and accepted a job in Manhattan, with a partly furnished apartment in a high-rise building, not far from work. Naturally her parents were concerned that she’d be living alone in a strange city, but reluctantly wished her the best in her endeavour to rid herself of the ongoing trauma.

She settled into both her new job and the apartment quickly. She was sure she had made the right decision. She was consoled by the irrefutable fact that to be attacked by a rhinoceros in her newly found environment was extremely unlikely.

A few weeks went by, and returning late one evening was conscious of the feeling she was being followed as she walked the two blocks home. She eventually shrugged it off, and was put at ease by the sight of her front door. As she opened it she was pushed in and fell to the floor by a very real attacker. She was roughly picked up and carried in and dumped on the nearest sofa, where she was knocked unconscious by a savage blow to the head.

As she came to, she could see him opening and closing draws and cupboards. She looked around at the mess he had made when she spotted a large figurine that was barely in reach from where she lay. She managed to lift it and tuck it down beside her, out of sight. Several minutes passed. With her eyes closed she stayed very still. The intruder finally approached and bent over her. At this moment the object was swung at the side of his head, sending him crashing to the floor.

Within moments she was on her mobile contacting the police. When they arrived the thief was still unconscious when they snapped the handcuffs on him. They were delighted with the arrest as he was a known felon they’d been chasing for a while. They seemed to regard her as something of a heroine, and were quite happy that the blow to his head was fully justified.

Of course, due process took its time, with charges laid, statements taken and so on. Eventually the whole affair died away and she was left to carry on with her new life despite the disruption the whole business had created. In the main, she kept the entire thing to herself, determined to continue in her quest for a fresh start.

One evening, she remembered the evidence bag the police had returned. It didn’t contain much, but it was made heavy by the objet d’art that she had used. She casually noted that the contents matched the returned items against the list provided, when she was stunned to find an unexpected word. It was ‘rhinoceros’. The word was used as part of the description for the art piece. It was made of marble, white with blue streaking. It had been fashioned in a modern art style that left the ornament looking nothing like what it was meant to depict.

With a vacant expression, she sat looking at it for a long time before turning in for the night.

She never had the nightmare again…