Author: Alexander Fawn

Both the power of life and time are ruled

By and within some unseen structure.

No heed ever fully paid to the power of them,

For an echo of them is only whispered.

Just ghosts of things.

No magic or mystic signs to guide the way.

Unawareness of their true state persists.

Therefore, rendering them unable to be forgotten.

Their depth unfathomable,

An undefined paradox.

Their existence verified by self-evidence alone.

The mesh is a unique structure of life and time,

A thing not observed.

Its apparency looked straight through and beyond.

A phenomenon, not avoided or ignored, but shrouded in shadow.

Something hiding in silence.

A something, unseen,

It taunts like a hidden offering.

A scattering of thoughts may offer clues.

It is a nearby thing, a concept out of sight,

Undefined in darkness,

Buried in the abyss.

Unable to fully reflect upon it, while it silently hides.

Unrequited questions instantly fade.

Recognition of it barely glimpsed.

These are mysterious things…

Life, living in a shadow,

Its origin yet unknown.

Life in its many forms.

Much still unseen.

Time, felt but never held,

Untouchable and fleeting.

Sensed, but unable to embrace.

Time in its many forms.

Much still undiscovered.

The power and nature of these allude.

The issue had been bothering him for some time.

He had no idea about what he should do about it. He wondered whether he should seek advice about it. It had been a continual worry for him. Here he was again, first thing on a Monday morning, getting ready for work. He was staring at himself in the mirror. Moving his head around. He sighed. It was always there, niggling him. He had a doctor’s appointment after work; he would bring it up when he was there. However, when he brought the subject up with his doctor, he was told that there were products that he could buy, but was reticent about actually recommending any of them.

On the Tuesday, he called in on his uncle to return a book he had borrowed. While there, he spoke to his uncle about it. He told him not to worry about it.

During the morning tea break at work, on the Wednesday, he broached the subject with his workmate. He had just laughed and made a joke about it.

He was at his friend’s house on the Thursday evening, playing video games, when he asked him for his opinion on the subject. His friend seemed embarrassed by the question, so he waved it off.

On his way to the bus stop on Friday morning he stopped briefly to talk to the neighbour, just a few doors away. He had been clipping his front hedge, but he happily stopped to chat. Although he was a lot older, he certainly had the same issue. Bringing the topic up didn’t go well, so he said he had to hurry on to catch his bus.

Coming out of the cinema on the Saturday evening, they went to the late-night café, where he carefully brought the issue to his girlfriend’s attention. Smiling, she told him it didn’t matter.

On the Sunday, he went to church with his parents, as usual. After the service, he stayed back to talk privately to the priest. He showed the holy man how he was going bald on top. His priest only said that if it was the Lord’s will, so be it.

Having said that, he moved closer and whispered, “Get a life.”

It could be said that he swept her off her feet…

She met him at her friend’s birthday party, a little before Christmas. He was entertaining a group of guests with one of his stories, when he saw her. Their eyes met, and it was soon after this that he appeared beside her and began chatting. It made her feel quite special to think that he made time to introduce himself and offer to refresh her drink. Especially, when considering that most people who knew her would say she was a bit of a wallflower. Some would say she was an introvert. It was true, her normal preference was to happily remain on the sidelines in social situations, such as the one she was in. Anyway, that was when they started dating.

Wherever they went, he would tell jokes. He obviously enjoyed being the centre of attention. He was continually striking up long conversations with people, and usually did most of the talking. Even when it was only the two of them together, she found it difficult to get a word in edgeways. Despite this, she admired his never-ending love of life. Because of his bubbly personality, and her lack of it, she found the ongoing swirl of nightclubs and parties a thrilling diversion from her true nature.

It was sometime during the second month of their going out together that the extreme difference between their personalities came home to her. Although she didn’t want to break up with him, it had come to the point where, more and more, she found herself wishing he would just stop talking!

It was around this time that she came up with a strategy. In fact, it was more of a mission. She decided that whenever they were together, either alone or with others, she would simply stop talking. She would do this on an ongoing basis, until he noticed. She was thoroughly convinced that her silence would make a statement. At which point, they could have a really meaningful conversation about the whole thing.

This situation continued until the day they were in town together. They were each doing some Christmas shopping for family and friends. It was when leaving one shop and making her way to another that the horrible truth came crashing in on her.

He simply hasn’t noticed, and her mission… it had been going on for the best part of a year!

It was getting dark as he drove into the lane.

He didn’t like driving around these narrow, unsealed roads, but orders were orders. Once committed to the cause there was no turning back. For his part, he was only a delivery boy. Just one, small cog in the machine. Nevertheless, he knew how important his part was. There was a time when he was just an ordinary, everyday person, working at the bottling plant. Of course, he is still that; but much more. He had been approached and the nature of the cause had been explained to him. This, in itself, had changed his life radically. He was a part of it now. A small part, but part of something special and without doubt, worthwhile.

He briefly rested his hand on the package that sat on the passenger seat beside him. It was wrapped in brown paper, just like any regular parcel. There were no visible markings on it, and it had been shrink-wrapped with plastic. It was around the size of a kitchen toaster, but heavier. He had no idea what was in it. That wouldn’t be necessary.

Just a few days before, a key to a private post box that was located in a nearby town, had arrived by mail. It was in a stiff envelope, along with instructions. These told him when to make the collection; picking up the parcel was easy. It also told him how and where to store the item in his house; this was not a problem, either. Finaly, it gave the day and time to arrive here, at his present location.

It had told him to park, and wind down the passenger window. Then, exit the car and walk back down the lane in the direction he had come from, for several car lengths, and wait.

He was early, and as instructed, he drove along slowly, peering out of his side window at the open fields. He was looking for a large, stand-alone oak tree. This was where he was told to wait. Seeing it, he pulled up onto the grassy verge adjacent to it, switched off the engine and cut the headlights.

After a short wait, and at the appointed time, a second car came from the opposite direction. It pulled up next to his. In the poor light, he could just make out a man lean in through his open window, retrieve the package and return to his car. Moments later, the car passed the spot where he stood. He watched, as its rear lights disappeared into the darkness.

He slowly strolled back to his car and got in. He sat for a moment, thinking about it all. Another mission completed, he thought, and smiled to himself. It was a cold night and he was looking forward to returning to the warmth of his flat. Not that he really minded.

After all, the cause was everything!

He was standing in what seemed to be a very long queue.

Nobody else that came into the place seemed to think there was anything strange about what they were doing. Was coming here to register a normal thing to do? Apparently, they were all there for the same reason. Was he the only one thinking that it was such a waste of time? Goodness knows, he really didn’t want to be there. He felt it was completely unnecessary to have to line up like this. He was getting bored with just standing there. The queue was hardly moving at all! He looked around and realised that the queue consisted of other kids. All of them seemed to be around his own age. Are they all from his school? Do they all have learning difficulties, like him?

His teacher says he has a thing called aphasia. She says he writes down and sometimes says things that don’t make any sense. Was it her or my parents that sent me here?

All of a sudden, he was at the counter. The lady smiled and said, “Can I have your please name”.

“My what?”

“Your please name. I need it for computer you on the finding”.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t understand.”

“What is it you are understanding trouble having?”

“Well, just about everything you are saying is confusing me. I mean, it’s important that I get my registration right, right?”

“When you say, registration right-right, I find your confusing of speech most mode.”

He was about to say “Most mode?” when his alarm went off.

It had all seemed so real. It had been as though it was really happening! He laid there for a while, just thinking about it all.

His mother called out again, saying if he didn’t get a move on, he’d be late for school. He jumped out of bed.

There was something odd about the dream, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He knew he needed to concentrate on getting ready now.

He would think about it on the bus.

He just happened to glance out of the window.

A light was there that wasn’t there before, he was sure of it. Not a light, really. Just a faint glow. It was like looking at a picture; a ball set against the black. He stopped what he was doing. It could wait. He moved closer to the glass. He rested the palm of his hand on it, and stared out. He kept watching as a second glow, slowly and faintly, appeared on another side of the ball. He turned to look around. It was all so useless. It no longer had purpose. It had been strange, living here.

Looking back, bit by bit, the ball was burning.

His brain, his mind, his thoughts, were all slowly being gripped by an inevitable madness.

For him, it would end here, on an International Space Station.

He had always dreamt of playing the piano really well.

However, after years of practice, he knew he would never be anything beyond mediocre. Knowing this hadn’t stopped him for putting his name down for the local piano competition that would take place in the town’s concert hall. He would have to admit that he had put the best possible spin on it, regarding his playing ability, when filling out the application form. He would go for broke; give it his best shot. What did he have to lose? It must have worked, because a couple of days later he received a letter from the organisers letting him know that his application had been successful. This came together with further information about the event in a glossy brochure.

His foray into the world of performing, both with and against others, made him understandably nervous. Especially as he had stretched the truth to the limit on the application form. So much so, that he found himself discussing the whole thing with a perfect stranger the following evening.

Nevertheless, he was determined to play ‘La Campanella’ by Franz Liszt, a Hungarian composer. It was a particularly difficult piece to play, but he figured he would at least earn brownie points for giving it a go.

Now, the night before the event, he couldn’t help wondering whether the conversation he’d had with the odd character in the pub would actually help him to play well. He had certainly been extremely positive about how well he would do once he was on the piano stool.

On the night, he was told that he’d be the fifth of six pianists to perform. He sat in the wings with others. He hoped that nobody noticed the tremendous surge of anxiety that swept over him while he waited.

When his turn came, he walked onto the stage wondering whether he should even attempt the piece, but there was no turning back. He sat, and for a few unbelievable minutes, watched, as his hands moved around the keys, giving a perfect rendition of the piece.

There was a short silence, followed by thunderous applause that seemed to fill the entire building.

He left the stage in a state of complete bewilderment

When the last performer had played their piece, there was a short interval, leaving the audience murmuring amongst themselves.

It was as he was receiving the first-place certificate, together with an unexpected bouquet of flowers, that he felt an unusual tiredness come over him.

It was while taking a final bow the he suddenly collapsed.

As his last breath left his body, somewhere in his head, he heard a gleeful voice whispering, “It was only a verbal contract, but it holds good, you are mine now.”

There was a story going around about the three little pigs.

Let me tell you, very few know what actually happened. In fact, the pigs were real enough. However, it was because of the legend that said that there was a large, evil wolf on the prowl, huffing, puffing and blowing, thereby destroying homes; just because he could, that started the whole thing! Anyway, as a result of this, these animals set about building homes to protect themselves. It came about that the first little pig decided to build a home out of bricks. This turned out to be a very time-consuming venture. The business of finding and sieving enough soil for the job alone, meant that he had a slow start.

On the other hand, the second little pig, who had decided to build his home out of sticks, had a much easier task in front of him. He set about scouring the woods for trees with fairly straight branches that could be cut to size for the walls. This, together with much thinner sticks to create sections for the roof, all took time.

While he was out doing this, the third little pig had considered that straw was all that was needed to build his house. He made tight bundles of straw, held together with string, to make enough panels to create the entire structure. This would be an even quicker thing to build.

Meanwhile, the first little pig was making brick moulds out of flat lengths of wood. After this, he began mixing soil and water to create mud. This he then poured into the moulds and scraped off the top to produce a flat surface. There were dozens of these that were then left in the sun to bake hard. Then, bricks were removed from moulds and stacked. When he had a sufficient number of bricks, he was ready to start building.

You can well imagine what the other pigs thought of all this unnecessary extra work.

Several months had passed, before the first little pig began building, using mud as mortar. Whereas the second little pig, and the first little pig, were safely living in their new homes.

All went well, until the bad weather came. The first thing to happen was that the strong winds made short work of the third little pig’s flimsy structure. This was followed by the second little pig’s building being flattened by a huge storm, with its even stronger gale winds.

After a short spell of being homeless, the first little pig, out of the kindness of his heart, took the two homeless little pigs into his permanent dwelling for a small rental fee. This he also did as a result of his discovering that his somewhat substantial building was now attracting rates and taxes.

All three little pigs lived a very happy life there together, ever after.

As for the legend about the wolf, it was just that, a legend.

Some would say that it’s positively disgraceful how these nursery stories, completely unsubstantiated, and without any kind of collaborating evidence to back them up, find their way onto the bookshelves!

The elderly man at 47b was not happy with what he was reading.

He was not at all happy with the unkind way people were treating each other. He knew that this was a generality, but what he was reading in the newspapers and seeing on the TV news every night, all served to bear out the notion. There were so many wars going on around the world. In some cases, people were starving; even dying through lack of food. He just couldn’t understand how this sort of thing could be done to others. He put the newspaper down with a scowl. All this was true and he had to get out. He grabbed a bag. He would take a stroll down to the corner shop; there were a couple of items he needed and the fresh air would do him good.

When he was opposite the store, he had crossed the road too quickly, and lost his footing when mounting the pavement on the other side. He fell quite heavily onto the footpath. He laid there for a moment, more out of shock than anything. He hadn’t broken any bones, as far as he could tell. He was wriggling around to confirm this, when a young man with a concerned expression appeared, quite out of the blue.

“Are you ok?” He asked.

Still a bit dazed, the old man peered up at him.

“Are you ok?” he repeated. “I saw you fall”, he went on, holding out his hand.

It was a bit of a struggle, helping him to his feet. Once he was up, the old man said, “Thank you young man, that was very kind of you.”

“Not a problem,” said the other, looking quite pleased with himself. Then, smiling, he walked away down the street, giving the old man a wave as he entered the shop.

Inside, he got what he needed and went for his wallet… It wasn’t there!

He was halfway to the door, when he found it in another pocket. Returning to the counter, he apologised, put items in his bag and paid.

When he finally got back out onto the street again, he paused to take in the fresh air. It felt good. He may not understand why the world is the way it is, but he did know that there was still some kindness in it.

He stood, looking around the yard, thinking about the events that brought him here.

So much had happened of late, he thought, but in fact it was only a few months ago that his friend had made him a most unexpected offer. At the time, it wasn’t at all surprising that he would leap at the opportunity to get involved in a new hobby. His work in the finance company was pretty mundane and the thought of taking an interest in something that normally, only a few wealthy people could enjoy, would have been hard to resist. He remembers the time the idea was first put to him. Having been invited, as a guest, to the Inventers Club one evening, his friend had come up with the proposition.

It was there that he said he could modify an out-of-date model of a time portal for him to play around with. Of course, there was no instruction manual. He only had a few written notes that he’d made, based on what his geeky mate with the science degree had told him.

It had been a few months after that, when it had been built, that he brought it to his place one evening. He spent an hour or so going over the basics and reminded him that he should not let anybody know he had it. His friend had broken a couple of laws by doing what he did.

When the big breakthrough in time travel technology was discovered, back in the late 2030s, it was only possible to go back. Soon after this, a worldwide prohibition was placed on creating portals capable of future travel. This was mainly due to both ethical and legal reasons. As it was, there had been several cases of unresolved disappearances. It was generally accepted that the loss of the control device or a dead battery would explain this. Knowing this, he always had a spare battery with him.

It became obvious that this old model that his friend had cobbled together was more or less what was available today; a simple tabletop box that the user had to stand in front of, when switching it on, along with a portable hand-held control device. Its time range went far beyond the relatively short-distance trips that he would take. He did go back to his schooldays a couple of times, but mainly limited his travel too recent years.

Over the following couple of weeks that it was installed, apart from an occasional crackling sound that the box emitted, all went well. He certainly enjoyed his short forays back and forth during most evenings.

He was well aware of the fact that he was something of a dilettante when it came to using his portal. It was so often the case, that when he travelled through time, he’d have absolutely no idea where he would end up. Fortunately, the device had a ‘Home’ button, for an instant return. This, in itself, added an extra thrill when using the portal.

This was the case until his precious evening’s choice of entertainment became a nightmare in a single moment.

He found himself standing in what appeared to be the foyer of a hotel. There was something immediately strange about it. It certainly had a futuristic feel to it. The general décor was like nothing he had ever seen before. He was looking around at this, when he realised the place was deserted.

Suddenly, his attention was jolted by the sound of a door opening. It came from behind the empty reception area, and the woman that emerged made her way towards him. She was strangely dressed in clothes that were of an odd design. Her very appearance in the place made him nervous about her purpose in approaching him.

She came to him with her arm outstretched. She had what looked like a large, coloured marble, the size of a tennis ball, held out in the palm of her hand. She nodded at it frantically, as though she was insisting that he take it. The thing was glowing and something decidedly weird was moving around inside it!

It was at this point, just like any computer user who had got completely lost in several screen menus, he clicked on ‘Home’.

That was yesterday. Today he hoped his guru friend would understand. He probably would. After all, he was a good sort.

Anyway, that’s what brought him here.