Author: Alexander Fawn

He sat peering out of his seventeenth-floor window.

It was a place of inspiration for him. From his twenty-story block he had a clear view of the matching tower opposite. With his favourite, comfy chair drawn up close to the glass he would miss nothing. Daytime viewing could be interesting, but it was now, when all was dark, save for the illuminated windows, that the view provided the best results. With his own room in darkness, visibility was perfect and gave the added advantage of allowing him to watch unseen. Those that dwelled behind their own windows; windows without blinds or curtains, were on parade. They went about their activities oblivious to the writer’s keen scrutiny. Naturally, for the most part their mundane comings and goings were not ideal fodder for a fiction writer. For him, it was only the occasional glimpse of something of note that could be expanded into some new, gripping narrative.

Of course, there was the entertainment aspect of what he did, he couldn’t deny that. After all, he did use the binoculars that sat on a low table beside him. He had wondered, on occasion, whether his nocturnal activity came anywhere close to voyeurism. Since he was the only person who knew about his nightly hobby, other viewpoints simply weren’t available. Regardless of this, any festering concerns he may have had on the subject were abruptly swept away the night his pastime ended. It ended, never again to be a part of his evening viewing… not ever again!

He had been sweeping the building with his powerful binoculars, moving from window to window, when a tall figure walked into one of the rooms. It was only one floor higher than his own, giving him maximum clarity. He dialled to a higher magnification setting. It was not only the height of the man that caught his attention, but the very distinctive clothes he was wearing. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He adjusted the instrument to the highest setting and focussed on the man’s face. It wasn’t possible, was it? His entire body was trembling.

Quickly releasing the cord, the blind came down with a thud.

He stood, looking around the kitchen.

The time will come, he thought, when everything in here will be determined and controlled by AI. Some awfully clever mathematical process that will conclude, then manipulate and put into effect, just what it thinks is needed. Everything being determined by artificial intelligence based on algorithms. Like the timing of the microwave, the speed of the mixer, the eco setting of the dishwasher, the cold of the refrigerator, the boiling speed of the kettle, the browning setting of the toaster, the temperature of the deep fryer, the level of filtration of the water purifier, the coarseness setting of the coffee grinder, the filter setting of the juicer, the heat of the hot plates, the flow of the taps and the brightness of the light…

He wondered, just how much personal input will I have? Again, everything being determined by artificial intelligence based on algorithms.

He sighed and put the kettle on…

The room suddenly fell silent.

The body laid still, very still. Very still, because it was dead. She had been pretty once. Her dead eyes had sparkled once upon a time; before she met him, that is. Before they had made the really bad decision to move into the flat together. They had done a lot of fighting; here in this very room. What had been the argument about? Who knows? Does it really matter? Something about money, of course. They had so often argued about that. His drinking didn’t help. He was looking down at the knife, the one he’d often used to cut up their tomatoes before frying, when the full realisation of what he had done came crashing in on him. Now, questions began to swirl around in his head. So many questions, not least of which was, what he would do next.

You could say that the scene was commonplace. There was a hell of a lot of this sort of thing going on. Going on all around the world, that is.

Nothing really notable happening here, if you think about it.

Let’s face it, it’s just another story.

The boy was thrilled to bits.

He had not long attained his Piano-Forte certificate. He would often spend time on the family piano, just tinkering around, but with the prestige of the certificate now up on the wall, his attitude had become a lot more serious. He would love to compose scores of his own. He had often thought about it, but with a newly acquired qualification, he felt that the sky could well be the limit. He had been working on a piece for a couple of days, when it all came together for him. Going over it one last time, he could hardly wait to call the family to the piano for him to play his very first creation. He was very excited.

They were gathered around and he played his new piece.

When it was finished, they all stood in silence.

His father pulled a face. “Sorry, son, but that’s Peer Gynt Suite number one, by Edvard Grieg.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s from Grieg’s Peer Gynt; it’s a classical piece.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am, sorry, son.”

With that they all scattered to other parts of the house, leaving him alone.

He would have to look it up on the Net.

His dad could be wrong…

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.