It was a small group that started the private club.
They were seven likeminded people, five men and three women. They all agreed with the idea that they would create a regular time and place to gather. Their sole purpose was to ignore the usual restrictions people place on themselves in everyday society and enjoy conversations based on complete openness. Their goal was to cut through the tethers that others place on themselves and speak freely about anything they wanted to. They were creating for themselves a unique environment, where anything and everything could be discussed between them. On their initial get together, their mutually agreed upon complete openness of it was heart-lifting and positively therapeutic.
During the two hours that had been set aside for their weekly discussions, what was dealt with went way beyond the topics of politics, religion and personal finances. In fact, during that first meeting the use of social media, race, ethnicity, gender, medical problems, intimate relationships, family issues, therapy sessions, past crimes, and private fantasies were all covered.
By the end of the evening, after all members had spoken openly with no topics avoided and no holds barred, they all agreed on how much they looked forward to their next scheduled meeting.
What actually transpired over the following weeks couldn’t have been predicted by any of them.
Their first two meetings went really well.
It was at the third meeting tensions began to build, with bad feelings creeping in.
During the fourth time they came together, things became a great deal worse, with two threats of legal action being made.
It was at the fifth gathering that it was mutually agreed that all future gatherings be terminated!
The disgruntled man through the newspaper down with disgust.
He sat thinking about how much trouble there was in the world. He thought about how people are going hungry, about the endless wars that were going on, and the spread of corruption, the polar ice rapidly melting, more and more fires to put out, poverty, and a failing economy, and of course, there’s that dog next door that barks at night. There’s climate change and crime statistics climbing, soaring temperatures, people still dying of Covid19, exploitation, floods, lying politicians. I did ask the woman if she could keep her dog quiet. There are school shootings, widespread pollution, torture, child abuse, greed, officials on the take.
The man who lived in the last building of the dead-end street was extremely quiet. Nothing was known about him. As far as anyone knew, he never spoke to anyone. People in the street never heard anything coming from the house; no sound of a television or music. So much so, that his surrounding neighbours were fond of trying to guess what he did for a living. Gossip about him was rife. He would be seen loading his suitcase into the boot of his car and going away for several days at a time. Most thought he might be some sort of travelling salesman. Although not seen so much anymore, there were still those who worked for brush and mop companies that travelled around, going door-to-door, selling their products.
As it happens, in the quietness of his room, stripping down and cleaning a Remington M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle made hardly any noise at all.
Now, sitting on a small settee, with the case next to him, he looked around the unfamiliar room trying hard to clear his head. He needed to think. He’d travelled through the night to get there, many hours and a great distance from his home. Far away from where it had all begun. He’d not stopped shaking all the time he was driving. It was all he could do to go the distance without crashing the car. He thought back to how he had seen the large, black suitcase tucked between two bushes the previous evening, while on his regular walk home from the bus stop to his flat. It was a very odd place to leave such a thing and he figured it had been dumped there because somebody just couldn’t be bothered to dispose of it properly.
He was going to ignore it at first, but on second thoughts he’d decided to take it to the rubbish skip behind his block of flats. He could be a good citizen. He wouldn’t be going out of his way by doing it, would he? However, everything changed when he tried to pick it up! It was incredibly heavy. Out of a growing curiosity more than anything, he managed to drag it out and tip it onto its side. Surprisingly, when he tried the catches they both popped open. When he lifted the lid there was just enough light from the street lamps to enable him to get a brief glimpse at a layer of banknotes.
He had surprised himself at how quickly he came to the decision to fall onto the wrong side of the law by taking the case home… as quickly as possible. Although it had only been a two-minute walk, it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Fortunately, only one car had passed by when he was struggling with the weight of it. He must have looked a bit odd, but the vehicle had just carried on without slowing at all.
The thing had obviously not been simply dumped. It was placed there for a later pick up. There must have been a very short time frame between it being put there and the time it was due to be collected by someone else. It had to be a major robbery that had gone wrong and the money had needed to be stashed briefly while other arrangements were made.
Now, in this strange motel room, he sat for a while. Despite missing out on a night’s sleep, he could think. He could think fairly clearly. He had to, because he needed to plan ahead. He could relax. Nobody knew he was there. He felt safe for the first time since finding it. He needed to disappear. He had to start a new life elsewhere.
He looked back at the case. He had just finished counting it all… for the fourth time. The case held exactly two million, all in used notes, each bundle held with elastic bands, layer after layer.
He was sitting there with his eyes closed, considering his next move, when there was a loud knock on the door…
The dental receptionist had asked her to take a seat.
She sat, looking around the waiting room. Two others; presumably going in before her. She was glad of a few quiet moments; the morning had been busy so far. She was tired, it hadn’t been a good night. The neighbourhood dog had gone on yapping into the early hours. She sighed and picked up a magazine. Letting it fall open anywhere, she was confronted with a colourful spread about a charity-driven prize on offer. It was an all-expenses-paid-for cruise around islands she’d never heard of somewhere in the Caribbean. She’d often dreamt of going on a cruise. Maybe she would buy a ticket… in an instant, she was gazing down at the white, bubbling water trailing past the side of the liner. It was a beautiful sight. The white of it against the blue. It was hot. A waiter was asking for her drinks order, and she was saying a Margarita with ice would be good, thanks.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she mumbled, “Plenty of ice, thanks.”
He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a good day the moment his alarm woke him.
He seemed to be in a rush from the moment he got up. Things simply kept going wrong. Eventually he was standing next to his car in the garage, checking the time. He could take a brisk walk to the bus stop or take the car. The bus would save him petrol, but the car was a more comfortable ride. He decided to drive to work. He had only gone a short distance down the street when the car sputtered and coughed, then completely conked out. Getting out, he lifted the hood, he couldn’t see anything that would have caused the problem. Closing the hood, he checked the time again. He stood, thinking about how he now had no chance of busing in, when a neighbour came out to see what was wrong. After hearing his tale of woe, he offered to help push the vehicle back to the driveway.
This was accomplished, and having thanked the man for his kind help, he put a call through to a local breakdown service. The man on the end said he could log the call and assured him of prompt service. He then proceeded to gather information, such as name and address, the location of the vehicle, number plate registration, type of vehicle and the time of it breaking down.
The man checked the time and said, “It must have been around ten past nine.”
The man taking the call said, “That can’t be right, sir. Could you check again?”
He took his phone out again and checked. “No,” he said, “within a couple of minutes, I’m sure it was ten minutes past nine when it happened.”
“But sir, it’s only eight-forty-five now, are you sure your watch is telling you the right time, sir?”
“Well, it’s a mobile phone, actually. These things operate on the world clock.”
“In that case, sir, I’m afraid the system won’t allow me to book you’re request.”
“Why not?”
He heard a sigh, followed by the man saying, “I’m sorry, but the software we use here won’t allow me to book a breakdown until it has actually happened!”
He was a philosophy student, when his own belief system was tested.
‘Tested’ may not be the correct word for it, but for him, something happened that challenged his way of looking at life. As a philosophy student, he had no time for the concept of past lives. Of course, this was only his personal belief, and would play no part in his studies. The fact that ancient philosophers like Socrates, Plato and Pythagoras all expressed a belief in reincarnation, carried no weight for him. His father had always maintained a strong case for majoring in philosophy. That was enough for him. However, the strange happening he experienced was brought about by three quite separate things, a bad head cold, an old remedy, and a metronome in a shop window.
His head cold had caused him to take a break from his studies for several days. He was recovering slowly when he had a call from his grandmother, one of his favourite relatives, to pay a quick visit, provided he wear a face mask. A short bus ride was all it took to end up in her kitchen, with mask on, discussing his health. She explained how a particular ancient remedy had always worked for her. That was good enough for him. She had prepared it before his arrival, saying that it was a compound of several herbs, the juice from berries and two kinds of mushrooms. These she had mashed into a purée on her blender. He drank this before he left.
The music shop that he would often visit was only two doors away from his stop. On this occasion, he was looking at the window display, while keeping an eye out for his bus. The latest feature was a large metronome in a wooden case, ticking away as a central feature. He was mentally trying to calculate how many beats-per-minute it had been set at, when the bus came.
At home, in his bedroom, he lay on the bed exhausted. It had been a tiring exercise making the trip out, for someone getting over a cold. It was then that he heard the occasional ticking. He sat up and found himself staring at a metronome, ticking very slowly on his small study desk. As he watched, the room seemed to fade away, being replaced by the sense that he was flying a light aircraft! It was so real! The vibration and drone in the cockpit, the panel of instruments in front of him, the surrounding clouds… Then, after two more clicks from the instrument, the environment snapped into something else.
He was in a field, using a hoe to mound up soil around rows of green plants of some kind. He barely had time to take in his surroundings or to gauge how hot the weather was, before it all changed again.
Now, leaning over someone in a bed, he was instantly aware of the smell of disinfectant and the sounds of noises commonly heard in a hospital… It occurred to him that he had no idea how he was being presented in any of these scenarios; how he was dressed, his age or even what sex he was. He only knew he was there for those few brief moments. He was distracted by these thoughts when the scene changed again.
He was standing on a platform, high up on the outside of a tall building, fitting a window frame. He was aware of the wind moving the boards beneath his feet and the sound of traffic coming from below… but, there was another noise, quite different. It was faster than the tick of the metronome and more immediate somehow. He heard his mother’s voice, asking if he was all right. In that moment, he looked back at the empty desk and fell back onto his pillow.
He called out, “I’m OK.”
She opened the door, saying, “I didn’t want to disturb you, if you were asleep.” She approached the bed. Looking down at him, she said, “Are you sure you’re OK?”
He nodded. “Yes, just had a weird dream, that’s all.
She pulled a face. “I’m not surprised. A head cold can do that. Visiting your grandma may have been a bit much for you. What you need is rest.”
He did his best to smile. “Thanks mum.”
As she left, closing the door gently behind her, he wondered whether it really was just a dream.
He sits late into the evening with his thoughts swirling around the story.
On the large desk in front of him a covered typewriter rests at one end. On the other end, a closed laptop. In the corner of the room, the latest addition. A machine, chosen and paid for by a well-meaning relation, who really should have known better. It is an M-R-407, the most recent model of muse robot. It had taken a long time for researchers working in the field of artificial intelligence to come up with a writer’s muse that would occasionally prompt their companion with ideas and suggestions regarding whatever the writer was working on. The metallic figure sat motionless. It was turned off.
Immediately in front of him lay a pad of writing paper and a pen. He was looking at the blank page, allowing his thoughts to run once more over the scene in his head.
He sat back momentarily, thinking about videos he’d seen of people tapping away on typewriters. Of course, way back, there was a time when laptops were very popular. He didn’t want to think about the figure in the corner.
He leant forward and picked up his pen.
In the silence of the room, came a soft, almost inaudible scratching sound of pen on paper.
Both past and future were being lived out under the same roof.
Their lives had been lived together, but now they lived in two different worlds. She looked forward, while he looked back. Being unaware of the present can create problems. On the positive side, he had no negative feelings about any of his past mistakes, while she harboured no fears about what the future might bring. On the contrary, she enjoyed seeing things change, while he was happy remembering passed times. Whereas she spent time imagining those events that the future held, and he was forever lost in those long-gone memories.
Neither was fully aware of the present, but it was in the obscured here and now that the earthquake came. It was in the present moment that the house shook and the roof caved in.
Sadly, this meant that both past and future no longer lived under the same roof.
At least a dozen rugs were laid out as families picnicked a cross the park.
The late afternoon sun was still warm and the scene was idyllic. This, he thought, was a typical event during the summer. Apart from kids running around, kicking balls and playing chase, picnic blankets were covered with food and drink. There seemed to be so much food; pieces of cold chicken, cheese, ham, sandwiches… it just went on. Plastic containers were opened and flasks of hot drinks were poured into cups. He looked on, enjoying the view with no intention of joining in. It was his place to no more than watch the activities. After all this was his place of residence and all these others were visitors.
Finally, the day began to fade. He kept watch as, one by one, the visitors packed up and moved off. He noticed with interest where blankets were shaken.
