Author: Alexander Fawn

From their twenty-third story apartment building they had a magnificent view of the city.

He woke with a feeling of extreme tightness around his chest. As his focus returned he became aware of his situation. The view before him was truly magnificent. This was a major factor when they were choosing a place. However, taking in the scenery was never envisaged as something you would do hanging from a rope! The chest restriction was a rope, tethered to the rail of their balcony just above his head. He started to scream.

This was responded to by a loud “Shush!”

He looked up with some difficulty. He could just make out his wife’s face peering down. “Shush,” she repeated, “no need to disturb the neighbours.”

He found that talking was made difficult by the compression of his chest, along with lifting his head back in order to work his jaw. “What’s happening to me?” he garbled.

She smiled down. “It was in the tea.”

“In the what?”

“In the tea. The drug was in the tea. The nice cuppa I made for you, using your preferred raw sugar. Aren’t I thoughtful?”

“For goodness sake! What’s happening?”

From above, he heard, “I would have thought that was pretty obvious my sweet; much better to ask why.”

He wriggled around trying to make himself more comfortable. It didn’t work. “OK. Why?” he croaked.

“Well, I guess it all just came to a head, really. For, let me see now, twenty-four, twenty-five years you have been putting raw sugar in my tea, when I much prefer the regular white.”

“You can’t tell me…”

“It’s best if you don’t interrupt me at this point!” she shouted. “So,” she went on, in a softer voice, “if you consider that on any given day of the week you would probably make the teas twice, that’s fourteen times a week. OK so far?”

He grunted.

“OK. Let’s call it fourteen times fifty weeks. That’s seven-hundred a year. Then by twenty-five… well, I worked it out to be seventeen-and-a-half-thousand! Can you believe that?”

Silence from below.

“Now,” she went on, “when you consider that most times you make my tea, you use raw instead of white sugar; that would equate to around four-thousand times.” She giggled to herself. “Four-thousand; just imagine how mad that made me; how mad I am now. I must be fairly unhinged at this stage, to do this I mean?” She fell silent. “I hate raw sugar! It always tastes of molasses to me. You say it doesn’t, but it does, and I hate it.” There was a long silence. “Now, I need to leave you for a bit. This rope is pretty strong and I’m going to need my big sowing scissors.”

He started to scream again.

When she returned, she leant over and started cutting.

With the final snip, his eyes snapped open.

As he lay there, sweating and still trembling, he put things together. No alarm had been set. It was Sunday morning.

She stirred beside him.

He swung his legs out of bed. “I’ll get the teas, honey; with white for you, of course.”

 

It comes from a strange place; origin unknown.

It can be desired and summoned by some.

– 

It can depart suddenly or fill a moment.

It can be invoked, but holds its own wand.

– 

It can fill a place or be held in a moment.

It can be at one with love.

It can mingle with nature.

  

 It can remain out of sight or unfold without warning.

It can be made visible or reside in quiet euphoria.

– 

It can be evoked in music or dance.

It can be found in art, in song and in verse.

 –

It can be seen, but go unrecognised.

It can create its own place and stand on its own.

 –

It can be created, brewed but not stolen.

It can intoxicate, but defies any trickery.

– 

It can fill a smile and move a tongue.

It can frighten or sooth.

 –

It truly comes from a strange place,

But doubt not, that it can be…

 

The doctor felt that his patient would be a good candidate for the medication trial.

He was saying, “As part of the program you are required to call me daily. Is that a problem?”

“No. That’s fine.”

“That’s good because I need to make notes for a report on how the trial goes.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Now, they’ll be no prescription or going to the chemist for this. I will do the necessary paperwork now and provide you with the medication.”

He typed away for a few minutes, then he handed her a small box of pills and a consent form. She took the box and signed.

“OK. You’ll see on the label there are ten tablets, to be taken one a day with a full glass of water; preferably last thing at night. That way you can call me on the following day.”

“Thank you doctor. I really appreciate you letting me get on this trial program.”

First call: “Hello doctor. I must say I was a little surprised that I have swollen feet and ankles. It seems to have come on so fast. Is that going to be a problem?

“No, not at all. That’s to be expected at this point in the treatment. I have a list here, provided by the pharmaceutical manufacturer, and that condition is a perfectly normal response at this stage.

Second call: “Good morning doctor. I noticed first thing this morning some flaking skin and several small black heads.”

“This is nothing to worry about, perfectly normal.”

Third call: “Hello doctor. Today I have several small boils and mouth ulcers.”

“OK. Nothing to concern us there.”

Fourth call: “Hello doctor. I am experiencing some really bad headaches and an attack of migraine.”

“Any vertigo?”

“No.”

“OK. I little unusual but no matter.”

Fifth call: “Good morning. I have to tell you that I have extremely itchy skin and during the night suffered quite badly with leg cramps several times.”

“Ah! That’s interesting; let me see now. No, that’s to be expected. Not a problem, Thank you.”

Sixth call: “Yes. Doctor. Well, today I am suffering from double vision and poor balance. I have to say, this program is really taking it out of me.”

“OK I’ve noted that. Look, you’re doing very well. I certainly recommend that you persist.”

“Thank you doctor.”

Seventh call: “Hello doctor. I have been feeling quite dizzy all day and did have an attack of vertigo.”

“Oh! It’s interesting that vertigo is a symptom being experienced at this late stage in the program. That will be a significant point for the report.”

“Goodbye doctor.”

Eighth call: “Hello. Doctor, I have to tell you that I am feeling very poorly.”

“I see, what are your symptoms?”

“Symptoms, yes, well, the rash has now virtually covered my whole body, stopping me from getting any sleep.”

Ninth call: “Hello. Is that you doctor?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Doctor, I have to say that I can’t go on with this program.”

“Look. I’m sure it’s hard. You do need to tell me your symptoms.”

“I feel awfully fatigued and,” a long bout of coughing, “yes, a terrible cough and I am feeling nauseous all the time and I feel horribly bloated… and I’m getting very irritable. I just can’t go on.”

After a pause. “That would be a pity. You only have one tablet left to take don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“I do have to point out that these tablets are extremely expensive, but they are only provided free to the trial patients… unless they do not complete the full course, that is.”

“Really?”

“Yes. This was explained in the consent form.”

“Oh!”

“At more than a thousand dollars a tablet, I don’t think you want to do that.”

“No, doctor.”

Tenth call: not made. No call came in during the day.

The doctor looked at his unfinished report and muttered, “I’ll have to call her tomorrow.”

He’d always liked science, especially chemistry.

He had been working on a particular formula for some time and felt he was getting close. The recipe was good, he even had the timing to bring the compound up to critical mass nailed down to the very second. Now, it all came down to balance. Recently, he had spent a lot of time getting the ratio of ingredients right. His teenage brother, younger by a year, seemed to have inroads into the local underworld. Negotiations with one of the top criminal organisations had got to the stage where it was obvious that if he could get it right, there would be a lot of money in it. His parents being away on holiday gave him the perfect opportunity to refine his product. He had told his brother, “If I get this right, what we have here is a compound that is around three hundred and fifty percent more powerful than nitro-glycerine.”

This new explosive would be a great asset to the criminal fraternity, for blowing safes and opening vaults, at the very least. The last crime boss his brother spoke to said if it’s successful, the various gangs under his control would pay big time for a steady supply of the stuff. His brother said he found it difficult to get a price for nitro, even using the internet, but he said patients in doctor’s surgeries where paying heaps for intravenous solutions of the stuff. No need to fix a price, once the compound was tried and tested, its value would sky rocket. It was only a matter of getting the formula stable for producing greater quantities. He knew there was a fortune to be made if he could only find the right balance. His brother would be home soon, but this was not the time to rush it. This would be the final test. Precision was everything!

He was measuring the last of the ingredients out when his brother arrived. When the sample was ready, the compound was tipped into the microwave safe eggcup, found to be ideal for the job, and after a gentle stir, placed in the centre of the microwave oven. He set the timer for four minutes and seventeen seconds.

As a safety precaution he decided that they should leave the kitchen. They went through to the lounge room and ducked behind the settee. The brilliant young chemistry student had always wanted to go to Cyprus for a holiday; his uncle went there and he just wouldn’t stop talking about it. That was his thought on the subject. He wasn’t about to have another.

The explosion occurred at the precise moment the microwave timer hit four minutes and seventeen seconds. At least he had that part right.

It left a crater almost ten metres deep and took out four blocks.

There was a hell of a stink!

The authorities saw it as an act of terrorism and upped the National Terrorism Threat Level.

A long, long time ago, a traveller entered the meagre shack of an old apothecary.

Although only coming upon the village by chance, the wanderer, having taken a nasty fall earlier in the day, saw this as an opportunity to have the wound to his knee cleaned and bound. The old man, a seller of drugs and special compounds, was also known to work spells for people in the village. He greeted his customer warmly and had him sit while he attended to the injury. The tiny village itself lay hidden in the rugged greenery between coast and moor and received few visitors. Because of this, the apothecary saw it as a welcome occasion to tell his story. He remembers the day that another stranger came to the village seeking him out. The old man enjoyed telling the story to anyone who’d listen.

“This reminds me of the time I had a similar encounter with a stranger,” he began, “although this visitor was just a young lad. He came to me with a most unusual request. Yes, most peculiar it was. This youth wanted me to provide him with a spell that would separate metal from stone.” He looked into the eyes of the other. “Well, I could hardly refuse such a challenge, could I? It took some work in the doing of it, I can tell you. But, it was managed and the boy went away happy.”

He finished applying the herbal ointment and began bandaging.

He went on. “It was some time after that, I couldn’t rightly say how long, anyway that’s when I heard that this same fellow had visited a cousin of mine who lived in another village. He was a carpenter you see?” He chuckled to himself. “What a job that was! My cousin was asked to build this huge, round table. Well, he did, and when it was finished it was carted away to some castle. Then, the story goes that a great number of knights gathered around it.” He finished the dressing and the man stood and paid him for his trouble.

The stranger said, “I myself live something of a hermitic life, but have heard such stories before. I must say, not from anyone so close to it.”

As he was leaving the stranger asked, “so, what happened with this stranger that you speak of?”

“Well, as for that, I cannot rightly say, but there are rumours that he’s our king!”

Nobody would argue over the simple fact that the boy was ordinary.

He couldn’t understand it. All of a sudden he felt the burning desire to be something more than just ordinary. He realised that he was normal to the point of being dull. He was nothing other than usual, and that was for sure. All said and done, he was just a regular person. Every aspect of his humdrum life and way of thinking was totally conventional. It was a bitter disappointment to think about just how middling he really was. It was disheartening to think about how incredibly run-of-the-mill he was. As a person he felt he was completely unremarkable in every respect. When he thought about it there was nothing about him that wasn’t commonplace. It would have to be said that the boy was not anything other than an everyday kind of person. He knew that he was no more than a typical boy of his time, but he was so average, that it hurt.

Such thoughts about himself led him to take on a number of considerations.

For instance, others would have to judge him as being mundane. He also realised that he could only be regarded as unexciting. In fact, he would have to be seen as boring by others. For that matter, he himself is quite sure that he has never been anything other than simply uninteresting. At the end of it all, he knew that he felt miserable about being a humdrum person.

All of this inevitably brought questions, such as, would anyone be able to avoid entertaining the thought that he was a dullard? Would people see him to be anything more than dreary? Would lacklustre be an appropriate label for him?

All of this was contentious issue for him right up to the time that he realised he was unique!

 

 

 

 

 

 

A place to let a life unwind;

To dwell in quiet tranquillity.

To smell the ozone on the wind,

In a cabin by the sea.

 

To the north a stretch of beach.

A band of glistening sand.

Where, with an endless lapping,

Water meets the land.

 

To the east a snaking river,

Widening by degree.

Its land born waters flowing,

Pushing gently to the sea.

 

To the south, a rounded headland

And a delta shaped lagoon.

A sand bar spans the river’s mouth

To where it meets the dune.

 

To the west an endless ocean.

A vast scope of rippling blue.

Foaming crests come tumbling in,

While distant waves all queue.

Such mysteries are held in the boundless deep,

With creatures yet unknown,

And a million jagged contours, tumbled smooth unseen

Until washed up and shown.

 

To stroll the beach shows a bric-a-brac

Of driftwood, stones and shells.

While crashing waves turn to silent foam,

Then turn in upon themselves.

 

The plaintive screeches of swirling gulls,

Without effort cutting through the sky.

A faint rustling from the dunes above.

A breeze making bushes sigh.

 

It’s a place where worldly cares are banned;

Where a tethered mind goes free.

Where the ozone is there in the ocean’s wind,

In a cabin by the sea.

 

In a trice the man was standing in front of two massive, open gates.

A little startled at the suddenness of it, he stood taking in the lofty stone walls on either side. It was a dimly lit place with a smoke laden atmosphere. As he looked on, the vapours parted and a cloaked figure appeared at the entrance, beckoning. As he moved forward he noted that the figure’s hood was empty.

“Welcome, welcome, do come in.” A black, floppy sleeve went around his back and they passed through the entrance into an even murkier atmosphere.

The man, still dazed and finding it difficult to breathe, could find nothing to say.

“We’ve followed your exploits over the years,” the figure said, with an admiring tone, as they walked further into the blackness.

“Oh! Yes indeed; followed with great interest, I must say,” it went on. “You have been actively setting your path to these very gates since you were nine years old. Cruelty to animals was your forte then. Very impressive! Of course, through the years you have honed your skills beyond belief. Yes, that triple murder in San Francisco last year was a real masterpiece. In a word, splendid! As far as is known, the authorities to this date, have no idea who was responsible for any of it. That just happens to be one of my favourites. As far as I could see, there was absolutely no motive whatsoever for the killings. But, more of that later.”

The figure stopped. “Oh! Look, I’m gushing. Please do come in.”

A door had appeared in the wall and the figure was using a giant key to unlock it. They entered a hallway, illuminated by the flame of a wall-mounted torch. The figure turned and locked the door, then led the way down a passage that seemed to be endless, with a countless number of similar torches. It dropped away, getting steeper and steeper.

The figure went on. “Naturally your overall head count is very much higher than just three! In fact, without looking back at the records, I should say dozens! Anyway, you’ll be right at home year. We have everything from the continually annoying to the extremely evil. Of course, your parents are here. You’ll see lots of familiar faces, I’m sure. Even one or two of your victims, although most of them were completely innocent.” This was followed by something close to a chuckle. “So many of your crimes have been completely undetected. I would conjecture that with your record you’ll be something of a celebrity here.”

They had been walking for some time when out of the blue, the figure said, “Unlucky break. You were hit by an out of control cement truck, I believe.”

The man spoke for the first time. “I’m not really sure. Is that what happened?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t dwell on it. It’ll all come back to you in good time.”

The man stared down the tunnel and could just make out a second door. The heat was becoming unbearable.

The figure spoke again. “Meantime, I should explain that when we enter, you’ll be shown your quarters. Nothing fancy. I’m sure you appreciate that. Just a cage really. But, everything you need is right there. It will all be explained to you; the rules, your personal schedule. All your questions will be answered.”

When they arrived at the door, it was radiating a fierce heat. Its surface was smouldering and wisps of black, acrid smoke was leaking out around the frame. The figure reached out to open it.

A gigantic ball of flame blasted out from within.

In an instant, the man was consumed by it… as a form of welcome.

It is late in the evening and the young woman has made her request.

The young cherub is saying, “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I’m sure. I first laid eyes on him outside the cinema weeks ago. He stood there chatting with some other guys. God! He looked gorgeous! I haven’t stopped thinking about him ever since.”

Cupid stood fiddling with his bow and arrow awhile, then shrugged and said, “OK.”

She waved a hand, “Is there a problem?”

“Not for me there isn’t.”

“Well then, fire away.”

“If you’re sure.”

Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Oh! Yes! I want you to shoot an arrow straight into his heart!”

Cupid thought for a minute.

She said, “You know something, don’t you?”

Cupid shrugged.

“You know something I don’t?”

He shuffled his feet. “Well, I’m not supposed to say.”

“He’s not married, is he?”

Cupid shook his head.

“Engaged?”

Another headshake.

“He’s got a girlfriend?”

Headshake.

“Has he got some nasty disease that I should know about?”

Headshake.

“Does he have a criminal record?”

Headshake.

“Is he an illegal immigrant?”

Headshake.

“Is he wanted by the authorities for something?”

Headshake.

“Has he been diagnosed with something and only has a short time to live?”

Cupid sighed and shook his head again.

“OK. Fire away!”

Cupid stood testing the tip of his arrow with his thumb with an air of reluctance.

“Goodness! What is it now?”

“You have to realise, I am Cupid the god of love in all its varieties.”

“So?”

He took a deep breath. “He’s gay.”

With wide-eyed surprise, she whispered, “Oh!”

“You see what I mean?”

Her hand went to her mouth and she nodded.

“You might have a problem with that… I don’t.”

They had been dating awhile, but not what you’d call going steady.

It was a case of having irregular dates owing to where she lived and where he worked, and so on. It was all rather awkward, but they had managed to maintain their relationship for almost a year. That’s when it happened. That’s when she lent him the book. It was a novel. An international best seller. A thick one at that. She had been cooing about how wonderful a read it was for the previous two months. She said he would love it. It would mean so much to him. She said it was so… him!

She handed it to him with a sense of pride. He took it with grace. The truth was, he wasn’t much of a reader, but if it meant that much to her he would read it over the weekend. That’s what he did.

Thank goodness he found out in time. Their relationship was getting serious. They had even talked about getting engaged.

But… she obviously didn’t know him; just didn’t know him at all.

He would mail it back.