Author: Alexander Fawn

It was all a bit complicated.

On the face of it, it was a bad situation for both parties. Little did the driver of the vehicle know that he’d been sold a dud. It had failed the roadworthy test and was not legal to drive. While at the same time, she would discover that he had paid for the car by giving her a phony cashier’s cheque. Although this was the case, neither of them was destined to become aware of the facts. It turned out that in both cases things were about to get worse. For him, an unmarked police car pulled him over and a plain-clothes undercover detective got out and approached the car. For her, cashing in the cheque was suddenly interrupted when masked bank robbers had all of the customers lay face down on the floor while they made the cashiers fill their bags.

At this point, both individuals were fully aware that their predicaments had got worse, but they had no way of knowing that the worst was yet to come. For him, there was no way he could have suspected that the plain clothes officer was a serial killer. For her, there was little chance of her anticipating that one of the robbers would panic and shoot her.

It was all a bit complicated, and any moral that could be derived from the relaying of these events would properly rest with…

A large envelope went around the company with employees making donations.

It was for the upcoming Christmas party. The factory manager did the rounds, going to each staff member, asking them to put in what they could afford. Some only came up with a handful of coins, but most gave notes. It was the day after the collection that the theft was discovered. The envelope had been emptied of all banknotes, leaving only the loose change. There was a lot of heated discussion about who would do such a rotten thing. It was made worse by the fact that it was most likely that someone who worked there had done it. The factory boss had his suspicions, as he had seen one of the young workers hovering around the office area, looking shifty, early that morning.

He was convinced that the boy had stolen the money. He decided to take him to the general manager’s office, where he would shame him into admitting what he had done. At the arranged time, the manager had called the boy off the factory floor, telling him they had an appointment in the boss’s office. They entered and pulled chairs up to the desk facing the general manager, who sat frowning at the boy.

Coming straight out with it, the factory manager said, “Isn’t it a fact that you stole money from the company’s Christmas party collection?”

The boy didn’t answer. He just sat looking around the room.

Raising his voice, he repeated, “Isn’t it a fact that you stole money from the company’s Christmas party collection?”

As the boy still made no response, the general manager intervened by saying angrily, “Come on, boy. Answer the question!”

The boy, looking surprised, said, “I’m sorry. I thought he was talking to you.”

The elderly woman was crossing the road when she tripped and fell.

Fortunately, she had almost made it to the other side when it happened. A passer-by managed to get her up onto the pavement, but she was still lying down. She was obviously shaken. The incident occurred during a busy time on the main street through town and it could have been a lot worse. By the time the policeman arrived at the scene, several people were crowding around the old lady.

With a commanding voice, the officer cried, “Everybody step back, please.”

Instantly, they all stood, then moving away, they lined up obediently with their backs against the wall of the building; three men and two women, all standing to attention.

The officer was amazed at this level of compliance. He boomed, “Sit!”

Again, without hesitation, they all slid down the wall and took up positions sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk.

It was then that the senior officer appeared and took the policeman to one side. He grinned and said, “Before you get them all to roll over… I’ll take it from here.”

The first officer nodded and went on with his patrol.

He had recently been transferred from the police dog training unit.

He saw it as he was turning into the driveway.

It was out there on public display. It was his favourite paisley waist coat. Well, he only ever had the one, but it was still his favourite. He’d had it forever. Back in the day, when they went out dancing, it was his signature, everyone loved it. It took the brunt of many a joke, but it was a thing his friends used to identify him with, as a good sort, always good for a laugh. It was always packed whenever they went away. It was a big hit in Ibiza, the locals there loved it. He even wore it when he went skydiving once.

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then. Plenty of ups and downs; lots of downs lately; with her. He felt it all going pear-shaped when he came home drunk again. She knew how much the thing meant to him. Yes, he got the message. He got out of the car and walked back out to the recycle bin. There it was, half hanging out… deliberately! He took it out, shook it off and laid it carefully on the passenger seat.

As he drove away, he thought he’d have it dry-cleaned.

She rounded the corner, only to see her ride home pull away.

If she had been just thirty seconds earlier she would have caught the bus and accidentally kicked the man’s briefcase over, spilling his papers. Between them they would have gathered them up, smiling at each other. She would have said how sorry she was and he would have suggested she make up for it by buying him a cup of coffee the following evening. They would have gone steady for a little over a year before marrying.

Two days into their honeymoon in Rome, he would have left the hotel to buy a newspaper and would have been hit by a truck. He would have died at the scene. As a result of this, the grief, together with the strain and frustration of working with the local authorities to get all of the required paperwork sorted so that she could arrange to have his body sent back home, it was all too much. This would have taken a heavy toll on her health. For several days she would have suffered from what she thought at the time was a bout of influenza. However, when it was eventually diagnosed it would have turned out to be Meningococcal disease. As a result of the late diagnosis without treatment, she would have died the following day.

All this… if she had caught the bus. But she didn’t. She went home on the late bus and found her flat was in the middle of an extensive power cut. This meant that she couldn’t prepare her usual mug of hot cocoa before going to bed.

She was extremely annoyed about it.

The old man was sitting on a seat watching people go by.

It was one of those handy benches, scattered down the main aisle that ran the length of the shopping centre, for shoppers who need to take a break. He’d been there a while. He was sitting with his eyes closed. Not sleepy, just trying to shut the world out. Although he’d been homeless for some time, this was just one of those days when his troubles seemed to get on top of him. His life had gone downhill from the time he’d been fired from his job and his wife said she wanted something better. She left and eventually he lost the house. He was surrounded by the noise of the centre, the constant music, people chattering as they hurried passed; he was finding it hard to think.

He wished it would all just stop!

At that moment everything went silent, no noise at all. He opened his eyes. He tried to look around, but he couldn’t move. Only his eyes shifted from side to side. Everything and everybody was still there, but motionless. Like him, all of the shoppers were stopped in their tracks. He was looking at a frozen scene. It was a terrifying sight!

Inside his cluttered mind it came back to him slowly. His wish. His desire to have everything stop… and it had! He started to panic. What had he done? How could he undo it?

Then, there was the sudden sting; more like a prod, to his shoulder. He blinked and looked up. The security guy had noticed the top of a bottle protruding from under the old man’s jacket.

He ignored it. Instead, he said, “Move along ‘Pop’. Store closes in five.”

For her, it had started when she was very young.

At first, it was hardly noticeable. Being only a few millimetres off the ground was, as she came to realise, barely evident. For her, it became apparent that when walking on flat, solid ground, she made no noise. It was a source of amusement that most of the time she could do it without her friends knowing that she was actually doing it. At that age it was evident that her peers would poke fun at any kid that was a little bit different. She had supposed this went with childhood. So, having witnessed this nasty attitude being carried out by those she regarded as friends, it was seen as compulsory that she keep it to herself. Anyway, that’s how it started. In fact, that’s the way it was going to be as life went on.

This code of silence once set, stayed in place without her giving it a second thought. As she grew up none of her friends or parents or relations knew what she could do. In fact, there wasn’t a living sole who had the slightest inkling that she was a floater. Throughout her teenage years she had dived into the occasional bit of research, reading about everything from the writings and recordings of African Shamans to everyday people, who claimed to be able to levitate.

Looking back, it was during her late teens that her abilities had progressed to a point where she could rise several inches off the ground. It wasn’t until her late thirties that she had fully mastered the method of drifting up from a horizontal position. Once this was attained, it had become her favourite activity. This was followed by a long stretch of status quo. Through her forties, fifties and sixties, there had been little motive to take the thing any further. To float up, a meter or so from her bed was such an enjoyable experience that she had never asked for more.

The fact that she’d always lived alone and had never married allowed her to continue to privately practice and revel in the attribute, while maintaining the secrecy that had always surrounded it.

Now, in her eighties, and knowing that her life was coming to an end, without offering any practical proof, she considered asking a friend to write a short story about it and have him post it on his blog…

The nature and use of language,

With its labyrinth of rules to wend,

It being so widely scattered,

All hard to comprehend.

It’s a librarian soup of book fillers.

A kaleidoscope of oft uttered noise.

The verbalised phantom of words,

With all of the mood each employs.

–

A salad of words we mix and use,

Like patriotic, mathematic and robotic.

We’re shackled to such, either fluent or halting,

Like permissive, dismissive, neurotic.

–

A complex trove, riddled with thoughts,

Each group a meaning uncovers.

Each collection giving life to some theme,

And several billion others.

–

The joy of uttering sounds with tones,

For any that want to hear,

Despite within each mother tongue,

There’re changing from year to year.

When she came out of the shopping centre, she found something under her wiper.

It was an old envelope being reused. It contained a handwritten note and two tickets. The note read: ‘Sorry, scratched your door. Find two tickets to a show we can’t attend. Sorry again’. That was all it said. ‘She looked around at the doors and sure enough one had a scuff, where something had scraped passed it, probably a bumper. The damage was minimal and she felt sure that her husband could polish it out. She thought the whole thing was a nice gesture and couldn’t wait to tell her husband about it.

He was equally impressed and looking at the tickets they decided to go to the show, but they would eat out before the performance, as a way of celebrating the turn of events.

This is what they did.

When they returned home they found their house had been burgled.

The business was based on the fact that saying sorry was difficult for some people.

Their services were constantly in demand. Basically, a client would come to them and explain what was required. The customer describes the situation, explaining what had happened and how they had ended up owing the injured party an apology. Most times it was a simple matter of writing up an appropriate apology and handing it to the client, who would then go away and apologise. Sometimes the service extends to delivering the apology on behalf of the client. The fees varied according to whether this was done by sending a phone message or by sending an email or even typing up and posting a letter. In all cases a sincere apology was always provided.

The most expensive and most effective method of saying sorry, when the client simply cannot face the person, is to create a hologram of the client and have it make the apology in the client’s place. The expenses that build up for this type of operation can be fairly astronomical. This being the case, there are times when the client refuses to pay.

When this unfortunate situation occurs, we send the hologram back in order to retract the apology and to say something extremely rude.

This follow up strategy results in the client relying more heavily on the company’s services in order to come up with a really big apology!