Author: Alexander Fawn

What a project that was.

At the time He thought it was one of his best. It had all come in on time and on budget. He’d put a great deal of work into it. There was nothing wrong with the original idea. He puts him down in this lovely garden then gives him a companion. The rules were simple enough, but they screwed it up big time. It all became a bit of a mess really.

It was at that point that He nearly gave the whole thing away. He had thought seven days would be enough. He may very well take a bit more time with any future projects.

He was looking down with dismay. He knows He should really stop looking at it. Of course, there was nothing stopping Him from scrubbing the entire universe thing altogether.

He could simply do something else. After all, when it came right down to it, He could do whatever He liked.

He’d think about it.

Endings are fine as far as they go,

Like the end of a schedule for a three year blog!

Endings for readers, it’s best not to know,

With some too obscure to see through the fog.

–

You can annul, you can stop, cease or finish;

Cancel dissolve or annihilate.

You can bring to an end or draw to a close,

Wind up, conclude or terminate.

–

The concept of complete finality

Is awesome and second to none.

Like a moth flying into a flame

Or a snowman left out in the sun.

–

When the last domino falls,

When all is said and done,

To be silly, it’s better to be at the end of a poem

Than at the end of a gun.

–

To consider a paradise lost,

With an end to all hopes and dreams,

But with happier tales in books, shows and movies,

They all have to end it seems.

To see the hourglass’s sand ebb away.

To watch as the stars lose their glow.

To be present when the last clock stops…

Then, endings are fine, as far as they go!

They had been travelling for some time when she spoke up.

“Are you sure you know how to get there?”

He said. “Sure.”

“I don’t recognise any of this, shouldn’t we have stayed on the main road?”

“No, we’re fine.”

“I think we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost, just relax, will you?”

“OK. I suppose I can be relaxed and lost at the same time.”

He blew out a breath. “We left late, if you remember,” he said, looking at her accusingly.

“So?”

“Well, you know, it makes you more rushed, more open to mistakes.”

“So you’re admitting to making some kind of mistake are you?”

“Not at all, I’m just saying…”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re not lost.”

After a while she spoke up again. “I don’t care what you say. I’m sure we’re lost.” She looked out at all the unfamiliar sights going past.

“No, we’re not lost. We’ve just gone a little astray that’s all.”

“Astray?”

“Yes. It’ll be fine. I’m looking for a turning.” He glanced at her. “I need to concentrate.”

Moments later, she said, “I did say we should get a car with one of those navigator things in it.”

“Too expensive.”

“We could use one now,” she said.

He scoffed. “Not likely. I don’t fancy having some weird voice telling me what to do all the time.”

“You can turn the sound off.”

“You can?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

“Man at work told me.”

He was silent for a while. “Well, I didn’t know that.”

“There you are, see? If we had one of those, we wouldn’t be lost.”

“I keep telling you. We’re not lost!”

“I think you should pull over, before we get more lost.”

He sighed. “You can’t get more lost.”

“No?”

“No. No such thing. Lost is lost.”

“Is that an admission?”

The frustration finally got to him and he pulled off the road and parked on the grassy verge.

He took out his mobile phone, looking for maps.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows, and said, “We are lost.”

“So, you do admit it?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“We’re lost in time.”

She looked at her watch. “In time?”

“Yes. The barbecue’s tomorrow.”

I saw him again today.

He looked so good in his suit. He probably wears it for his work. I’ve never seen where he works. Somewhere important, I’m sure. He probably has a lot of responsibilities; I’m sure he does.

He certainly looks after his hair. Every time I see him, he looks as though he’s just come from the barber’s.

He always seems so relaxed.

I’ve watched him walking through the shopping mall, from one end to the other. I was up on the gallery floor, looking down. I must have been there for ages just staring down. I love the way he walks.

I saw him talking to somebody once. It was in the street and he stood chatting to this other man. It looked as though he knew him. I watched his face, his expressions, the easy movements of his hands and his arms as he talked. He would be lovely to talk to.

And his smile! The first time I saw him smile my heart fluttered. Sounds corny I know, but it did.

Of course, it seems so silly that I’m making all this up.

But I’ll recognise him when I see him.

The call comes in to the station.

It’s transferred through to the detectives.

The caller has vital information.

They are interested.

He wants to meet.

He’s asked to come in to give a statement.

He refuses and names the time and place.

A detective is assigned.

The alley is unlit.

The detective calls in for backup.

The man steps out of the shadows.

The detective moves forward.

A second man appears and grabs the informant from behind.

The detective watches as a gun is put to the informant’s head.

A siren sounds.

Police dogs start barking.

The informant is struck to the ground.

The man runs off.

The detective takes chase.

The dogs and their handler follow.

The man makes for the bridge.

The dogs are let off their leads.

The detective gets to the bridge.

The dogs race passed him.

The man jumps up on the railings.

The dogs yap at his feet.

The man loses his balance.

The detective catches up.

The man falls from a great height.

The detective looks down to see the man enter the water.

The handler calms the dogs.

The detective watches for signs.

The man comes up and just floats.

Back at the station the detective grabs a coffee.

The detectives shift is nearly over.

The chief says he’s happy.

The detective does the paperwork.

He gets another coffee.

The station goes quiet.

The detective gets another pat on the back and goes home early.

He sits at home in silence.

He remembers his childhood.

How much he wanted to grow up and become a Botanist.

Things never change.

He had peered in at it so many times on his way to the bus stop each morning.

The joy of knowing that he could see it, almost made him look forward to school. Almost, but not quite. He wondered how it was possible that a thing so small could cost so much. It had been the object of his desire so long that he couldn’t stand it much longer. He made some fairly complex calculations trying to work out just how long it would take him to save up for it. After careful thought he came up with a plan.

It was exactly as he anticipated, when the final moment came and it was right there, in his hands. It was so awesome.

He stood, mesmerised by it, before his reverie was shattered and he became aware of the shop’s alarm bell clanging.

He carefully picked his way through the broken shards of window glass, and quickly disappeared down the alley, just as the sirens grew louder.

This was what she had always wanted to do.

Moving into the flat near the university was a good move from the point of view of making progress with her studies. The course itself was going well, she had always been interested in social welfare issues and wanted to get a better understanding of matters that impact on both the community and society in general, particularly for the aging population. Going for a bachelor degree in Social Science was what she had always dreamed of doing.

On the other hand, she really needed to get some sort of part-time work. She had literally lost count of the number of resumes she had sent out. Most of them getting no reply at all.

In desperation she phoned home.

Her father was saying, “Something part-time you say… well, I did see in the obituaries a while back that old man Barns passed away. I used to play golf with him soon after I retired. Do you remember him?”

“Only vaguely, why?” she asked.

“He owned that auto parts shop, not far from you, in the high street. I’ve met his wife a few times, nice old lady; probably worth a fortune now. Anyway, they never had children so I assume she’s taken it over. She might give you a job. It’s worth a try.”

“Wow! That would be great Dad! How do I get in touch?”

“OK. I’ll give you the number, but let me get in touch first. I ought to anyway, since I knew her husband. I’m pretty sure she’ll remember me. I’ll say you are looking for something and give you a bit of a plug; can’t do any harm.”

“Oh! Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem sweetie. Glad I could be of help. I’ll give her a call today and you can follow up tomorrow.”

“Will do, and thanks again. Bye.”

This could be just the break she needed. So handy. So close.

Time dragged; but she finally made the call the next day.

“Hello, Mrs Barns?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My father suggested that I give you a call.”

“Oh! Yes. He said you might be in touch. He said you were looking for something.”

“Yes, I am.”

“He told me you are a keen worker. Is that right?”

She hesitated, “Well, yes, of course.”

“Oh! Bless you my dear. You can start on Monday, if you like. Of course, I can’t afford to pay you. This is so kind of you to volunteer.”

The student was shocked into silence. She started, “I… I haven’t…”

The woman went on, “It will be such a help. Trying to keep house since my husband died… well, it’s been very difficult. As for the business, I seem to be losing more money than I’m making.” There was a long pause, then she spoke again, sounding tearful. “I’m sorry my dear. You don’t want to be burdened with any of that, I’m sure.”

“No. That’s alright, not at all.”

“Lovely. See you Monday then.”

She dropped the phone. “Well. Here we go,” she murmured, “social welfare in action!”

When he was young he used to play with the smaller kid next door.

The smaller kid was happy about that, as he wasn’t popular with others of his age. In fact, most of the time they were downright unkind to him. The kid was an easy target. This was mainly because he had a lot of stuff going on. His constant facial tics were the most noticeable, like rapid blinking, but he had other things on the go. Like the clicking noise he used to make with his teeth and the cracking of his knuckles.

There were a whole lot of sudden, uncontrolled body movements, some of which could really take you by surprise. Like the twitching of the shoulders and the obsessive slapping of the knees, the head jerking, earlobe scratching, foot tapping, throat clearing and nail biting; and of course, there was always the grunting and the sniffing.

Now, all these years later, with a medical degree and a fair slice of life behind him, he looked back, remembering the kid next door… with a kindly understanding.

All these things were simply ways for him to cope with him being him.

What is this place that comes to me,

While sitting beneath this willow tree?

Watching a peaceful stream glide by.

Above, a never changing sky.

Swans flapping to and fro.

Fish swimming far below.

Insects crawl where they belong,

While birds provide their happy song.

Canopies that shade mushrooms growing,

Autumn leaves forever showing.

Ivy intertwines the trees,

With floral scents upon the breeze.

Dew drops falling one by one.

All is dappled by the sun.

Distant pines sway together.

They never know inclement weather.

Fairies dancing here and there.

Waltzing butterflies in the air.

Unicorns saunter without care,

With flowers blooming everywhere.

Bluebells waving happily.

Time suspended indefinitely.

Nature’s canvass never tainted.

Only waiting to be painted.

What is this place that comes to me?

Precious, yet provided free.

It’s magic of a special kind,

It grows within a poet’s mind.

The detective entered the interview room and dropped the file down on the table.

“Good morning,” he said with a grin. “I just thought I’d pop in for a chat.” He looked down at the file, then up at the suspect. “I’m sure you’re just dying to tell me what you’ve been up to; helping yourself to things that simply do not belong to you.”

The suspect dragged his thumbnail across his lips, indicating that he wasn’t going to say anything.

The detective’s eyes glazed over slightly, then he laughed and said, “Ah! That’s good, very good, your mouth has been zipped.”

The suspect slowly nodded.

The detective grinned again and mumbled, “Marvellous invention zips.”

The interview room fell silent. The suspect frowned, and let out an involuntary, “What?”

The policeman was obviously enjoying himself. “Zips,” he repeated.

The other sat glaring.

“Yes,” he went on, “invented by a chap in the late eighteen-nineties. Then, the modern version, the one you and I know today. Yes, it was improved on and really took off a couple of decades later.”

The suspect stared in disbelief.

The detective sat nodding, he seemed to be deep in thought. “My word. Awfully clever things; based on the wedge and hook principal.” He leant forward and tapped on the folder. “It’s all about making things come together, you see. Coming together and staying together.”

The suspect was becoming visibly agitated.

The detective went on. “He was a travelling sales man, the guy who first came up with the idea; name of Whitcomb. What kind of name is that, eh? First name Whitcomb.” He held up his hand, “No. Don’t answer that.”

“You know, these things have dozens of tiny teeth with weeny hooks and hollows. I mean, what an invention! It’s hard enough to invent the idea that these miniscule, odd shaped components should all lock together like that, but to figure out how to actually make it! Think of it, a thing like that; to manufacture all those separate bits so perfectly that they mesh; they just come together!”

He made a slow hand movement.

“And you slide this thing, I forget what it’s called, backwards and forwards to open and close the whole thing. The simplicity of it. The cleverness of it.”

He snorted. “Just think about how long it takes to button things up. You know, a shirt, a jacket.”

His eyebrows raised. “Did you know they have to manufacture a special tape, just for zips?”

He clasped his hands behind his head and gave out a long sigh. “I mean, people like us, the good and the bad of us, we just pale into insignificance.”

The suspect said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you don’t,” replied the other and opened the file. He read for a moment. “Would you like to know?”

The other just shrugged.

“What we have here, received from forensics earlier this morning, is a thumb print.”

The suspect stiffened.

“One beautiful thumb print. I must say you did a pretty good job of wiping the jewellry shop clean before you left, what a tidy fellow you are, but… you missed just one nice, big, clear thumb print.” He held up the evidence sheets and jiggled them.

“I’m not saying anything.” The suspect growled.

“No. I wouldn’t expect you to. We have you cold on this one and you’ll be spending time for it.” He sat back in his chair. “I’d like you to be truly amazed when I tell you that your place has been turned over and we’ve found the loot.”

The other’s head dropped.

“Do you see what I mean, now? About things coming together, I mean. I do like it when things come together.”

The suspect was still staring at the copies, now laying on the table. He sighed and said, “OK. OK. No point now in… well, denying or anything. Just tell me what all that zip stuff was about.”

The detective put his head back and closed his eyes for a minute.

“Oh! I don’t know. This can be a pretty boring job, really. You have no idea how mundane it gets sometimes. It’s always me that ends up doing the interviewing, and to be honest, I just get sick of it!” He closed his eyes while he massaged his face.

“Can you imagine,” he went on, “how many suspects I’ve had to interview in this room over the years?” He put his hand up. “No. Don’t bother. Not even I know the answer to that. Just about all of them had to be worked on for hours, and in most cases with no result. Just think about how mind-numbingly boring that is. But you…” he looked at the robber and wagged his head, “…you, my friend, are a piece of cake.”

He picked up the papers and slid them into the file. “How easy was it, eh? You leave a nice piece of evidence that you were in the jewellery store on the night of the robbery. They wipe all the glass cases ready for the next day, you see. So finding the print you missed wasn’t that hard.”

The robber said, “What was all that stuff about zippers? Did you just make all that up?”

“No. Watched this interesting documentary about it a couple of nights ago.” He chuckled softly to himself. “I mean, with the evidence we had on you, I could have jumped straight in with it. I could have been out of here in less than a minute, but there’d be no fun in that, right?”

The robber went to speak.

Before he could say anything the detective said, ‘that would have been so boring!”

He stood up. “You have no idea how satisfying it’s been, teasing and annoying you in here today. There should be more of it. Honestly… taking things that don’t belong to you, it’s very naughty.”

He chuckled again as he left the room.