Author: Alexander Fawn

The balcony outside his apartment on the fourth floor was nothing short of ideal.

On either side there were wings of wall that provided privacy in both directions. His small table and chair were not overlooked. This level of isolation gave an added sense of comfort, while he peered into the lives of others. The park spread out before him with all it had to offer. The scene was busy. A great variety of characters and endless scenarios, all quite unique and never the same. Repeats were never on the menu that was being presented before him. On the table lay a writing pad, together with a ball-point pen. It was a little after noon, an ideal time for his musing.

He sat quite still, taking it all in for several minutes, before picking up his pad and noting the date.

His first subject, the man on the bench, eating from a small container. Despite the warmth of the day, he was wearing a suit, but no tie. Was he an office worker, or a store manager, perhaps? Either way, he could well be something else. Waiting for a contact. Being in a designated place at an agreed upon time. Would this be some agent from the world of law enforcement or a go-between from some criminal fraternity. He scribbled a number of notes, then looked back up.

The young girls that sat cross-legged on the grass seemed to be laughing and confiding in some dark secret. Was this about some fellow worker who was about to be given their severance pay, or maybe the movie they had both watch on the internet that their parents knew nothing about? He preferred the former idea and made an appropriate note.

The solitary youngster sitting on the swing and only moving slowly, half-heartedly, caught his attention. Had he run off from his parents to sit their sulking while they were left worrying about him, or was he a perfect cover for an alien placed here from some far-off galaxy, with the sole purpose of reporting back on what he sees and learns?

After a long period of scribbling down all that he had gathered, the writer stood and stretched.

He took one last look before turning and going in.

He had enough to be going on with…

He was walking his dog, as usual.

Because he lived at number two, in a street that was both fairly long and a no-through-road, walking the length of it and back was about right for their daily routine. On this occasion, he couldn’t help noticing a large bunch of flowers and a card laying at the front door of number fifteen. He had seen the elderly lady doing things in her small front garden often enough. They sometimes chatted. She was nice and always looked quite sprightly. He later found out from his wife that she had passed away. She had seen the ambulance during the day and was quite shocked, as she knew how active she was.

This incident was followed by a similar event a couple of days later. Again, he was taking his dog for a walk, when he spotted flowers and card at the door of number twenty-two. This was a particular surprise, as he knew the young man who lived there. He was single and in his twenties. He had passed the time of day with him whenever he’d bumped into him at the shops. It had to be a very sudden thing!

There was growing speculation about who was providing the flowers and cards, as nobody seemed to know where they came from.

Regardless of this, in the days that followed, the dog-walking routine kept going, despite him first checking his own front doorstep, and then setting out with his dog for an anxious stroll…

He was peering out of his bedroom window when he first saw it.

In the dawning light it was difficult to make it out. It seemed to be something laying in the middle of his back lawn. It looked like a bundle of something; something dark. He went downstairs to the kitchen for a better look. From the window he could see that it was definitely something. Outside he moved closer. To his amazement, it appeared to be a body. Moving forward showed that it was a man with one arm lying across his chest. He had something in his hand. It shook him when he realised the thing being held was a gun. The light in the garden had brightened enough for him to see the face. A sudden searing burst of reality swept over him as he gazed down at it.

It was him!

Entering the real estate agency, she knew exactly what she was looking for.

But… would she find it? Her needs were quite specific. For several years now she had felt the desire grow. It had got to a point where she simply didn’t want to go out. Her dream home needed to be a basic one-story house, in some rural setting and extremely remote.

Having listened to her description, the man in the office was most understanding and said he knew just the place. With that, he delved into his desk’s bottom drawer and took out a tatty dog-eared file. That was it! That was how it happened. The house was ideal. It had been on the market for as long as he could remember. It had been all but forgotten.

Meanwhile, the house certainly felt forgotten. In fact, it was lonely. It had been so long since people had moved around in it, making all the noises that a house should hear. Now, knowing that a new owner had moved in, it was determined to establish a status quo. It felt the new presence and was delighted. It would certainly suit the house, never to be lonely again. For her, it was a dream come true. It would certainly suit her, to no longer have to go out.

She stood for a moment in the lounge, the room itself was ordinary enough, but she was most comfortable in it. It would be her favourite. She sat down in the comfy armchair.

It was then that she heard a series of clicks and thumps as the house shut itself up, tight.

Maybe their desires were mutual.

He called again before he left.

How many times was that, he thought, before getting into the car, four or five? He wasn’t sure. Of course, he may have been calling at a busy time. It was only a short drive out of town and into farm country. Halfway up the narrow lane, he pulled up outside the cottage. The place certainly looked quiet. The garage door was closed. No way of knowing whether there was a car behind it. She may have sent a text while he was driving that he hadn’t heard over the noise of his engine. He took out his mobile again and checked. No message. He called her again. No, just her soft, calm voice giving the usual message; an apology, followed by her being unavailable, right now.

After watching cows eat grass in the field opposite and birds flitting from tree to tree for a few minutes, he moved on. Driving slowly, he cruised to the end and turned right. He did this twice more and entered the lane once more. He came to a stop at the same spot as before. The light was beginning to fail. Even in the gloom of early evening, the surrounding countryside was beautiful, but it didn’t compare with the magnificent view from her rear bedroom window that looks out, all the way to the distant hills.

He took out his phone and tried again; still unavailable.

Was it a vain hope that she’d pick up eventually? he hoped not. After all, it was only a silly misunderstanding.

If it was only to hear her soft voice, he was happy to call her over and over again…

As a schoolboy his favourite subject was maths.

He really liked numbers. They were solid. With a number, any number, you knew what you were dealing with. They were somehow set in concrete. They were always true, never misrepresenting, never pretending to be anything else. This being the case, all the way through his school years he excelled in the subject. It was when he left school and began his first job that it happened. That was when he found out how easily numbers can be made to lie. Although the numbers themselves could not be blamed, nevertheless, it was the time when his love of numbers came crashing down.

He felt sure there were times when inadvertent errors could be made, but that apart, the fact that out-and-out intentional fraud could be carried out, corrupting their credibility, was simply more than he could take.

He felt he could no longer rely on them.

He left the law firm and moved into graphic design.

She was in bed when she heard the noise.

It sounded like the front door was being forced open. The house had been in complete darkness until a light came on. She lay there thinking. She suspected that the intruder had to be a burglar. Whoever it was, they expected the place to be empty. This would have been the case if she hadn’t decided to cancel her trip away at the last minute. Somehow, the robber must have known about her original intentions. He would also have to have known that her husband was away on business at the same time. She lay thinking about all of this, when she suddenly snapped out of it and made her move.

She quietly got out of bed, slipped on a dressing gown, then went to where she knew her husband kept a gun. Standing across the room from the partly open door, pointing the gun, she waited. When the thief entered the bedroom and switched the light on, the shock of seeing her with the gun pointed directly at him, had him immediately turn and run back through the house.

Racing after him, and shouting a warning that she was within her rights to shoot him, made him run even faster.

Then, out of sheer anger, she aimed carefully and shot him in the leg as he bolted out through the open door. To her amazement, she saw that this only put a wet patch on the burglar’s trouser leg.

This was when she realised, she’d been waving a water pistol around!

Thankfully, the ruffian didn’t notice this.

In his world, a pistol is a pistol, is a pistol.

It was the most dreaded doctor’s appointment she would ever have to attend.

She squirmed a little with pain. She knew she had cancer, that was a given. It had been well documented, medically. There had been tests and scans and all sorts over the previous weeks. She had lost count of the number of times she had gone back and forth. The only positive aspect was that it had been diagnosed. At least it was being looked at. There would be a report ready for her to hear just how bad it really was. She had booked the earliest possible time available. There were so many questions going through her head, but she decided that she would let the doctor read the results first.

She drove into town and arrived early. She sat in the surgery carpark for several minutes, psyching herself up. When she finally went in, the receptionist cordially greeted her and asked her to take a seat. If she knew anything, she wasn’t giving anything away. Moments later she was called.

The first thing she noticed when she sat down was the brown stains around his fingertips, as he shuffled his paperwork, looking for the report. He grunted as he found it and began to read. After turning the first page, he dipped into his pocket and produced a cigarette case. She sat, mesmerised! Opening the case, he took out a cigarette and lit it with a lighter. He went back to reading, taking occasional puffs and blowing smoke at the ceiling. From time to time, he coughed…

She squirmed a little with pain. With a great effort, she climbed out of bed. She slowly and nervously made herself ready to leave.

It was the most dreaded doctor’s appointment she would ever have to attend.

On occasion, my neighbour has a habit of dressing up to improve their sense of wellbeing.

It’s a personal thing. Not everybody accepts their inalienable right to do this. In fact, there have been occasions when members of the public show complete distain for what they see. The costume they most enjoy wearing is the leprechaun outfit that his mother bought him, while acting in a play when he was attending playgroup. The bright green jacket with gold buttons and long coat tails with its black lapels and cuffs, together with the knee-length pants are all particularly striking. The extra tall hat with the shamrock motif sets the whole thing off nicely. It goes without saying that the beard that his mother made for him and the walking stick that his father fashioned out of an old broom handle complete the ensemble.

Unhappily, despite the trouble taken to look jolly in the outfit, people still sneer.–

On the other hand, the fact that he’s pushing forty and still lives with his parents doesn’t help.

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Monday’s child prefers a Wednesday,

While Tuesday’s child prefers a Friday.

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Wednesday’s child prefers a Monday,

While Thursdays child prefers a Saturday.

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Fridays child prefers a Tuesday,

While Saturday’s child prefers a Thursday.

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And the child that is born on the Sabbath day

Is apparently content with what they have…

–

Go figure!