Author: Alexander Fawn

He sat, looking around the room, imagining.

How long had it been? He’d lost count. She was gone; he knew that. He stared at their picture, where it always sat, on the small table near the window. The window they’d had double-glazed because she had always felt the cold so badly. The picture; their wedding day, in front of the church. The day that they both felt that they would be together, forever. His attention turned to the magazines on the coffee table, some left open to keep her place. The book with a bookmark, sitting next to the part-used box of tissues. He couldn’t help wondering if she missed him. He reached for a tissue and blew his nose.

He heard something at the front.

Then came a voice, calling out. “Sorry love, traffic was murder!”

He relaxed.

Roused from their sleep, the couple stand looking out of their bedroom window.

Hastily dressed in their dressing gowns, they look down. It was gone two in the morning. Distance sirens approaching had been the first disturbance. Within minutes, the ruckus of the police car and the ambulance sirens pulling up opposite shattered the night’s silence. This, together with every dog within several blocks around were noisily doing their own thing. All this had brought several, warmly-wrapped neighbours out into the street to find out why their slumber had been so alarmingly interrupted. They watched as police tape was strung around the building, while people in hi vis jackets stood around conferring. Although the street lights had gone out earlier, the scene was lit by a number of blue, red and orange lights, all blazing brightly.

Then, just when you’d think nothing could possibly add to the growing chaos, a fire engine arrived, with its wailing sound and bringing even more flashing lights. It parked in the middle of the street.

The couple at the window had no intention of going out into the cold night air when they had a perfectly good bird’s- eye view from where they stood.

It was a mystery to them.

As far as they knew, number eighteen across the street had been unoccupied for several years…

He had been there three months when he made the request.

Just about everybody had a name tag that gave their title and the role they played within the company. He had never been offered one. After a week or two, he dropped the occasional hint, but this hadn’t done any good. As a result of him not having one, he had been showing a special interest in those worn by others around the place. He was beginning to learn people’s names and see what role they played. Doing this for several weeks made it even more crucial that he wore one himself. When his manager came into sight, he approached him.

However, before he had a chance to speak, his boss said, “I understand you’ve requested some sort of name tag, is that right?”

“Yes, I think it would be nice if people knew who I was and what my job is.”

“Nice?” He paused. “Why not, I’ll see what I can rustle up. We should have a few spares somewhere.”

On the following day, he was handed a small plastic tag.

Frowning, he said, “This only says ‘Spare’!”

“Yes. Well, we didn’t have any more badges in the cupboard, so I had that one printed.”

He looked back down at it. “What about my name?”

“I didn’t think your name was really necessary, considering.”

There’s my role… what about what I do.

Becoming agitated, his boss said, “Look, you just keep doing what you do now. You know, keep sweeping areas when you are asked to, help out with loading the trucks and help the ladies in despatch when they need a hand shifting boxes and packages, the way you do now.”

Thanking his manager, he went back to mopping the floor. He thought about his place in the world. He’d had a similar experience in his last job, when his main battery had run low. They hadn’t had any spares there, either. He’d been switched off for three days while they recharged his original battery.

Squeezing the mop out in his bucket, he sighed. He really had to accept his place in the world.

The fact that everybody else was doing it, didn’t help.

He could remember, even as a kid, he just didn’t like wearing a mask. Other kids didn’t mind. In fact, most of them thought it was great fun. Now, in these troubled times, most people around him were wearing them. At least he had often heard how those wearing them had tried a number of types to lessen the discomfort. People had tried a number of different styles and brands, but their complaints continued. They were either too hard and felt tight on the face or they were too soft and kept slipping down. People said the things made them sweat or itch. Some couldn’t stand the elastic around their ears, while others simply struggled to breathe properly.

None of this actually made him feel any better. He could only tell himself that his need was far greater than most. The one he had made for himself was as good as it got, even if it did receive a lot of looks from other customers as he entered the bank.

The masked teller’s eyes widened as he slid the canvas bag and the note across.

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.