Author: Alexander Fawn

She was approaching the house, like any other day after work.

She was a little nervous, but it didn’t show. The nice man next door is home; that’s good. The house feels hot, she needs to open the front windows; that’s good too. Take your time; no rush, she thought. The big moment arrives and she discovers hubby in the lounge with a nasty wound on the back of his head; excellent! He looks peaceful lying there; can’t be helped. Check for pulse; dead as a dodo; absolutely, no more physical abuse coming her way. Looks as though he put up a bit of a fight; all nicely done.

Check the back door, it has been forced open; good. Items taken from house; had to be done. She agreed that he could keep the items he took, including the new TV; not so good, but hey! There’s always a price. God knows, this was expensive enough.

All seems to be in order. She reflects; she should have done this earlier.

Now – she has to scream very loud, have the neighbour come in and look after her, then go into shock, do her best to answer questions when the police arrive.

Afterwards…

Act solemn for a month.

Buy a new TV.

Start a new life.

 

Jill and Jack went down the track,

To gather piles of firewood.

Jill fell over, broke her toe moreover.

She wasn’t feeling very good.

– 

She hobbled back along the track,

Just as fast as she could go.

Jack made a splint with sticks and lint,

And she rested, don’t you know.

 

This was her second visit and she felt she was making progress.

The therapist sat looking at his client. He had spent a minute or two looking back over his notes from the previous session.

“So, let me see, we have established that you’re not happy with him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Your feelings haven’t changed since your last visit then?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Was there ever a time when you were happy with your husband?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think he is happy with you?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“Can you think of anything that would make you happy with him?”

“No.”

He tapped his pen on his notebook.

“Tell me, are you happy with yourself?”

After a pause. “No.”

He scribbled a note. “Can you tell me someone, anyone that you are happy with?”

She thought for a minute. “I can’t think of anybody.”

“OK. What about people you have known in the past, any of them?”

She sat thinking for a while. “No. Not really.”

“Alright, can you think of anybody who is happy with you?”

“I can’t think of anybody.”

“OK… and anyone you may have known in the past… any of them, at all?”

“No. Not really.”

He shuffled in his chair, made a note and said, “You’re simply not happy with anyone, and there is no one who is happy with you; excellent!” He smiled professionally. “Case solved!”

“Wow! Do I come back?”

“No.”

“Just for a review or something?”

“No. I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I thought there were going to be three sessions.”

“Not necessary.”

“I feel I need…”

“No, sorry.”

“Why not?”

“I’m really not happy with you.”

He went out into the garden, just to stand and admire the stars.

This time of year the night sky was at its best. He had his favourite constellations that he liked to search for. Some nights that was made difficult by clouds, but not tonight. Every tiny pinpoint of light dazzled against the black. He stood looking up wide-eyed for a few minutes, allowing his night sight to adjust to the dark. The longer he held his gaze, the brighter the patterns above him became. He found a particular constellation and began drawing imaginary lines from star to star, the way they are shown in books; drawings in the sky.

He was doing this when he found a dot missing and he couldn’t connect the dots. It was one of the brighter stars that appeared to be gone. He wondered at this because there was not the slightest evidence of cloud around, yet the star that he had just seen and admired for its brilliance was simply no longer there. Although he knew just about all of the constellations by heart, he was no expert about any other aspect of astronomy. It was quite possible that stars, even bright ones, lose their luminosity on certain occasions.

He was thinking this when, in a different part of the night sky, another star suddenly blinked out, leaving a solid blackness where something should be shining. To his amazement, as he looked on, more and more stars began going out, just shutting down! He was losing count; they were switching themselves off so fast. Then, it seemed to stop. No more were disappearing. Instead, stars started to reappear, but reappear where they just shouldn’t be! They were coming back across the sky making great swirling patterns, huge curved lines of vivid pin points. As they formed he could see two curled shapes with a great circle forming between them.

He literally staggered back when he realised what he was looking at; what he was reading. Right across the heavens, he read ’SOS’! It was a sign. A gigantic message painted across the firmament for the whole of human kind to see! Was someone in trouble up there? Was this done to tell us, no, warn us, of some stupendous impending disaster? Have others seen this? Was it meant for him alone?

Who’s he going to tell?

He staggered back again, belched loudly and went back in for another beer.

The young woman in the waiting room was obviously agitated.

Rows of a dozen chairs each lined all sides, with most of them empty. She shared the room with eight others. One of them, an elderly man who looked extremely sad, sat next to her. He coughed into a handkerchief occasionally. She thought about striking up a conversation with him. This would be more about sharing her problems and less about cheering him up. She picked up a magazine and made a show of turning the pages. He didn’t respond.

“I had a terrible experience,” she said in a half whisper. His head wiggled slightly. “I was trapped. It was so embarrassing. I mean, to be trapped in one of those things.” She looked at him. He didn’t seem to be listening. She went on, determined to tell her story. “It all happened last night. A bunch of us went to the concert in town. You know the one? You must have seen the posters.”

The old man just sighed.

Not to be put off, she went on. “Anyway, the concert was great, and there was lots of food and drink for people. You know, these mobile things you get at this type of event. One of the girls with us had to go back to the row of temporary toilets several times during the evening. Each time she came back she talked about how long the queues were and how she wished she had a stronger bladder.”

The man made a grunting noise.

“Oh! Sorry. You don’t need to know that part. Anyway, I sat out the entire concert without going, but I thought it best if I paid a visit before going for the bus. Seemed sensible at the time. There was hardly anyone queueing by the time I got there; most of the audience had left.”

She fell silent for a minute. “You don’t need to hear much about what happened next, but let’s say I was in the little metal cubicle for a long time.”

The old man moved his shoulders; he seemed uncomfortable.

“Well, that’s when it happened. When I had finally, you know, finished, I couldn’t get out! No matter how hard I tried, the catch on the door had jammed. I tried everything I could think of to release it, but it wouldn’t budge. That’s when I got scared. I mean, really scared. I started banging on the sides of the thing as loudly as I could, but nobody came! Can you believe it? Do you think anybody heard me, eh? Do you think there was anybody around the whole night to hear me banging?

He blew his nose, and said, “Obviously not. What was it that did for you?”

She looked shocked. “Pardon?”

“Obviously not,” he repeated, “if there was somebody around you wouldn’t be here.”

She stared at him, not understanding what he was saying.

He gave an impatient shrug. “Well, did you suffocate of did your heart give out?”

She looked around the room…

For all intents and purposes she was just an average, middle-aged woman.

She was on the bus, coming home from the city, when she first heard the voices. They were right there in her head. A woman’s voice, soft and speaking slowly, but only just audible. The first time she heard it the voice was saying something about volunteer work and how it was good for the community. She had done some volunteering once, but not for a long time. She wondered if she was being told something; being guided in some way. Yes, that could be it, a guiding voice. She knew that other people, women mainly, had talked about their guardian angels. She had never taken much notice of this… until now.

The voices seemed to continually fade in and out. Sometimes she could hear a lot of the words and other times just odd words or phrases. This was perplexing because she had never suffered from poor hearing. At home, in the quiet of her front room, it was easier to hear them. She heard very little for a couple of evenings, then late one afternoon a male voice came across a lot stronger. Again, a pleasant well-spoken man, talking about the loss of lives and the need for the government to sit down for talks. She heard several complete sentences before it faded out.

It was clear she was being given some sort of advice, whether it was from an angel or some other kind of spiritual being, she didn’t know. Whatever was going on, she decided to keep it to herself. Apart from any embarrassment that could result if this was shared with others, she felt that these messages were for her alone. It was her secret. For the best part of a year she would sit quietly knitting, listening as best she could to her voices. It was at this point that her life took a turn, for medical reasons.

Her teeth had given her problems for years. She thought this would be fixed finally when she had her upper teeth removed and a bridge fitted. However, she had been feeling pain there and it had been getting gradually worse for some time. Reluctantly, she had her local dentist examine her. Unhappily, she had developed a bad case of Gingivitis in her upper gums and needed to return to the medical centre in the city for further surgery. The outcome of this being the removal of her bridge and a course of treatment for her gums. It was recommended that instead of a bridge, an upper dental plate be fitted in order that any further treatment could be carried out more easily. Naturally, she was disappointed, but even more so when she came to realise that her voices had stopped.

She was destined never to know that her metal bridgework had been picking up a radio news channel!

When looking within, are we seeking respite?

From the world’s disorder;

By using some bygone ancient wisdom?

And can we find solace in a poetical view of the world?

–

As we enter the labyrinth do we side with those who chide the moon?

Seen and unseen, for it is always there.

And notwithstanding our ever-changing passions,

Is there really someone out there ready to carry man’s burdens?

Do we see human survival being dependant on the worship of deities?

–

We sift through misfortunes and blessings using the same filter,

Often guided by the persuasion of others,

And using this filtered perception to view the world,

It being a chaotic mix of psychology and spirituality,

Do we turn to natural science?

–

There may be disrespectful trust in what we feel.

Merely a delusional witness to life’s ups and downs.

Inner voices, often too loud, seeking help.

This warren of cluttered realms,

Perceived to be too deep to climb back out.

–

Discovering so many keys yet being forever one short.

Seeing the ground and the sky as walls that form a trap.

All such notions blocking the way.

Striving for the reproduction of beauty.

Feeding false fixations, with values continually shifting.

Clutching to a natural obsession to survive.

All beyond some psychic fear becoming a healing agent.

–

All this, just to become hunters and gatherers again,

In an effort to give the past a future.

Swayed by others with feelings of competition and aggression;

In a tangle between man and spirit.

Duality competing with unity.

–

With no advancement from speaking in tongues.

No respite from pity or fear.

Only a repetitive creation of hedges within the maze.

Succumbing to the knowledge that the force of art continues to govern form.

Moving beyond the verity of all we know,

Still seeking respite from disorder, yet using only our ancient wisdom,

And just maybe… finding solace in a poetical view of the world.

 

 

The two men caught up in the University’s library.

“How’s that problem of yours going?”

“It isn’t.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Me too.”

“You’ve had it a long time.”

“I have, I just don’t know what to do about it.”

“Have you tried ignoring it?”

“I have.”

“Any good?”

“No, not really.”

“You could always pretend, of course.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, just pretend that the problem doesn’t exist.”

“Oh! Yes, I see what you mean.”

“Give it a go.”

“I have.”

“Any luck with it?”

“Sadly, no.”

“OK. I think you need to move on to the next step.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not easy.”

“I’m sure I can give it a go.”

“It’s called the denial stage.”

“Right. How does it work?”

“Well, you deny that you have ever had a problem in the first place, or that you ever tried to ignore it, or that you ever pretended that the problem was gone, when it wasn’t.”

“Oh! I see.”

“You could probably give that a go, if you think you’re up to it.”

“You know; thinking about it right now, I’m sure I have tried doing that.”

““You have?”

“Yes.”

“Well… that leaves the ‘other person’ stage.”

“Other person?”

“Yes. You convince yourself that some other person has the problem, that they denied that they ever had the problem in the first place, that they tried ignoring it, that they pretended that the problem was gone, when it wasn’t, and it all has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“Wow! Does that work?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

You’ve not tried it then?”

“Me? No! People have been known to go mad trying to do that!”

The service station was empty of customers when he called in for fuel.

He had a long drive ahead of him and despite the run down look of the place, he couldn’t afford to be picky. He filled up and went in. The old man at the counter was tinkering with his phone. He didn’t look up when he approached. The machine sat on the counter, so he inserted his card. The old man kept tapping at his mobile. When asked for a receipt, the man tapped a button and it rolled out, still not looking at his customer. The card was removed and returned to his wallet. He stood looking at the old man for a minute, feeling completely invisible. He was totally unaccustomed to such a gross level of rudeness.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the fuel,” he said, “I have a long journey in front of me and I’d hate to run out.”

The old man grunted, again without looking away from his phone.

He stood thinking for a while. He felt anger welling up inside. This was becoming intolerable. He was a respectable member of the public, and a professional man. This sort of behaviour needed a good jolt. He said, “I’m letting you know I’m using the toilet out the back, before I move on.”

Nothing.

“Well, yes, thank you. I’ll drive safely, shall I?”

No response.

“Come again, shall I?”

Silence.

“Well then, nice chatting with you, bye”.

With that, he went around to the gents’ toilet and looked it over. He found a gas bottle and carried it back into the toilet.

Being a highly-paid combustion engineer for a major gas company, he knew exactly what he was about. In the cubicle, he sat it on the lid of the toilet bowl and cracked the valve open, just enough to allow a low hiss and a steady build-up of gas in the cubicle. In the wash basin, at the far end of the room, he screwed up a number of paper towels very tightly, to produce a slow burning wick. He lit it. He checked the time. He estimated that it would only be a matter of minutes.

He got into his car and drove back the way he had come for a few metres, turned around, then parked on the side of the road. He was at a safe distance. He switched off and sat waiting. He was quite sure the old man didn’t actually own the petrol station, but he felt sure he’d get into one hell of a lot of trouble.

Several minutes passed before the explosion. When it came, the ground shook and a great orange ball went up. He started his car and drove slowly past. There was a face at the front window.

He found it gratifying that the old man was actually looking at him!

 

He had never been entirely comfortable with the girl from the flat across the hall.

He felt quite ashamed of the fact that he had always judged her on her appearance alone. They hadn’t spoken other than brief ‘hellos’. This was the case with just about all of the tenants in the block. He often worked late, so, by the time he got home most were at their evening meal. This was how it was with him; early mornings and late nights. This evening she happened to be coming down the stairs as he was making his way up. Beyond the usual greeting, he had time to witness a beautiful smile. It was stunning; positively radiant. Beneath the dark make-up, the spikey hair and the daggy clothes, there was probably a beautiful person!

A couple of weeks passed and he found himself doing some late night shopping. He was looking for a USB flash drive of a particular size when she saw him and entered the shop. At first she seemed to be looking for something for herself, but after a few minutes she came and stood next to him. She looked up with that same smile and said, “Hi! Fancy meeting you, eh?”

He smiled back. “Yes. Just looking for a one-hundred-and-twenty-eight gigabyte flash drive. I heard they were on special here, but they seemed to have sold out. Not surprised really, they were going for a very good price.”

She looked along the racks with him for a while. Then she moved very close to him, she winked and whispered, “If you like, I can lift one for you, and let you have it for half-price.”