Author: Alexander Fawn

He was on the bus when he saw her.

He had a feeling that she reminded him of someone. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He never could. In truth, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had this feeling before. There was something haunting about it, whenever it happened. They were only glimmerings. He looked across again. Of course, it couldn’t possibly be her; whoever her was. The woman must be in her late twenties. It seemed strange that he was well into his fifties and finding these incidents were occurring more and more often. He would see a woman in the street, in a supermarket, standing at a bus stop, or just sitting on a park bench, and the sensation would come over him again.

Maybe, some day it would come to him; the truth that he’d been supressing for such a long time. These passing strangers where in some peculiar way reminding him of an eleven-year-old girl…

The one that stole his heart.

She sat watching the cat’s eyes streaming passed the car.

The weather was terrible. Neither of them had thought about a taxi. She was barely awake as she stared out through the dark at the line of illuminating reflective studs embedded on the road, looking like a set of lights on a landing strip. They reminded her of their recent overseas holiday; looking out onto the runway, landing at night. It may have been the drink that made her now reminiscent about the time they’d spent on the beach, soaking up the sun. Occasional sheets of rain hitting the windscreen obscured the image. She felt like complaining. Looking across at him, she laughed softly at the thought of him climbing up onto the table in the restaurant. He’d never been much of a singer. She giggled, thinking Elvis did it better.

She had tried to stop him ordering that second bottle of Champaign. She hadn’t tried very hard, after all, it was his celebration. Head office had named him salesman of the year. The bonus was very generous. No one could sell life insurance like him!

It had been the blazing headlights that came out of nowhere that bewildered him.

It was during the few short seconds between the tyres leaving the verge and the tree, the impact and the great ball of flame, that he had time to think that the children would be well provided for.

It was a dark night when she entered the woods.

She always looked forward to her visits, although following the narrow path was a lot easier in the daylight. It was rare that she visited the old lady so late in the evening, but she had been sick. They had often suggested that she move to somewhere much closer, but she wouldn’t budge. She could be very obstinate. The old girl was bedridden a lot of the time. The basket was heavy, but she would definitely be hungry. She’d had trouble with her teeth, but she was sure she’d be pleased that she was bringing food, she thought. As she approached, she could see smoke coming from the chimney. It surprised her that she was well enough to get the fire going, considering her condition. There again, that had to be a good sign, she thought.

As she entered, she found the place was dimly lit. She called out, “Just me Gran. It’s dark in here.”

Gran croaked, “Yes. I’m saving the lamp oil, dear. I’m still in bed, come on through.”

She doesn’t sound at all well, she thought, as she went in. The bedroom was not a lot brighter, but she could see straight away how dark her face was.

“Oh! Gran, you don’t look at all well!” she said. “I’ll put this food away for you.”

She heard, “Thank you, dear,” as she entered the tiny kitchen. She could only just see well enough to put the basket down. She began putting things away in cupboards, with the sick woman going on about her eyes and her teeth. She couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.

When everything was put away, she went back into the bedroom and said, “Sorry Gran, you were saying something about your teeth?”

The figure, slowly getting out of bed, said, “I was saying that my big teeth are all the better to eat you with, my dear!”

It was at this point, that the young maiden pulled her red cape aside and whipped out the pocket-sized Glock 42 handgun, and emptied it into the nasty creature.

So there!

To say that he was bookish didn’t tell the half of it.

He had a great passion for losing himself in a wide range of literature. Although people would generally have no issue with his ongoing commitment to such intensive study, they may well hold the opinion that he was actually more immersed in what he had read, than real life. He had an overstocked bookcase in every room in his small flat, except for the bathroom. Some did wonder about him. A good example of this transpired the day he found himself to be in a low mood when he walked through the front door. The man who greeted him could see that there was something wrong.

“You all right, mate?”

“Ah! To take up arms against a sea of troubles.”

“Eh?”

“Shakespeare, Hamlet.” He sighed. “Woe is me, for I am truly undone.”

“Pardon?”

“The Unhappy Plumber, Bridlingsworth.” He shrugged. “I’m truly sick of it, Clarence.”

“Excuse me?”

“A Slow Death, Shovronenski.” He gave another long sigh. “Sod it! What’s the point of it all?”

“Do what?”

“A Broken Heart, Millingstone.”

“Look chum, this is a patisserie, what can I get you?”

He’d always had a problem with the word puce.

He remembers the time it first popped up. He was crossing the river on the ferry, a short ride from his residence to work. Two girls were arguing about the best colour for the shoes one of them was about to buy. They were looking at photographs that showed the outfit that one of them had on. The shoes would have to go with this. Their conversation was all about colours, basically. That was when that word came up. Because it was the colour eventually decided on, the word ‘puce’ came up several times, leaving him perplexed. First, he wondered whether it had any connection with vomit, then dismissing the thought, he looked it up on his phone. It really was an actual colour! Staring at the sample given, he saw it as a sort of poor cousin to maroon. It was really ghastly!

When they got off, he watched the girls make their way into town. He whispered to himself, “Good luck with that.”

Anyway, that was the first time. After this first encounter, the shock of it wasn’t so bad. When the bedspread and the eyeshadow came up, he felt only mildly nauseous.

Nevertheless, on all following occasions, he held the view that the person who had originally mixed the colours to create and name it, was probably in league with the devil!

He had been ready to retire, when they made him an offer.

Retirement wasn’t compulsory, of course. He’d given the company a good number of years and he figured someone at the top felt they should give him a promotion and a nice corner office with magnificent views across the city and beyond. He’d work diligently in the role of Accounts Manager, and was now being offered the position of Negotiations Advisor. He wasn’t at all sure what that entailed, but it sounded impressive. Naturally, he had been involved in some decision-making discussions from time to time. Obviously, someone figured this was qualification enough. It was generally known that he’d lost his wife a few years back and they never had children. Was this being taken into account?

All of this transpired a few months ago and he’d accepted gracefully and had gone straight out and bought himself a new suit. He was now fully ensconced in a daily routine. He was offered a secretary, but he figured that would be pushing it. When not staring out the window, he would turn his chair so that passers-by could see he was on his phone. Once or twice a week he would make a three-minute call to a supplier or customer, giving his best impression of someone deeply involved in some sort of negotiation, for anybody looking in. That would be it. That would be his only self-imposed duty for the week.

As for the remainder; three things. He had taken up listening to audio books through his local library, he had found a channel that ran podcasts that were of particular interest, and finaly, a classical music channel.

He could enjoy most of these things while watching the traffic below, the pedestrians waiting at the crossing, and the ongoing antics of pigeons fighting over who gets to sit outside his window.

He sometimes feels that the role he enjoys was some kind of horrible mistake, some sort of horrendous administrative blunder, and has wondered whether asking about it would be the right thing to do.

He would have to think about it…

Night was falling, making it harder to follow the tracks.

The tiger was last seen heading this way. He wasn’t going to stop until he had killed the beast. The carnage left behind in the village was motive enough to confront and spear the beast without mercy. The heavy undergrowth was making it particularly hard going, as he fought his way through bushes. It was slowing him down, but allowing the creature to get away, only to return and cause more misery for the people in the village was not an option.

Suddenly, he heard a noise; something moving. He stood perfectly still, holding his breath. It was close by. He made sure he had his spear ready. The noise came again, this time, from behind him.

Swinging his garden rake around, he came face to face with her. She looked really angry!

“What are you doing, hiding in the bushes?” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve called you twice, teas on the table, and it’s getting cold!”

It was a long time ago.

She would return; go back after three decades to the place where it happened. She had a couple of days off work coming up, she could use one of them. She wasn’t going to tell any of the ladies in the office what she was doing; no need. This was for herself alone. It would be a four- hour drive with just one brief stop to stretch her legs. It wasn’t a big thing; there and back comfortably in a day, with no nighttime driving. She could revisit that very spot. Surely, the place is still there, she thought. She doubted whether that part of the town had changed much. She would be there in broad daylight instead of late evening, but that couldn’t be helped.

She began to remember.

She remembered coming out of the cinema, choosing a café, sipping coffee and chatting about school. They were both only weeks away from leaving. Then the walk to her bus stop. She recalled how tightly he held her hand. It was a lovely feeling. Then they had stopped, and gently pulling her into the entrance of a dark alley, he had kissed her. Just once, that was all, nothing else, and they quickly moved on. She recalls how nothing was said after that. From the bus, she had waved and watched him wave back, with that lovely smile he had. She had kept watching as long as she could, as he made his way to his own stop.

Then, that horrible memory came… She remembered catching up with an old schoolfriend, only a few weeks after leaving school. She had told her that his whole family had migrated.

On the day, she arrived around noon, to what was a bustling town. After parking her car, it took only a couple of minutes to find the spot. She stood looking across to the lane’s entrance for a while, before crossing. Once there, she found the exact location, a few steps in. Then, putting her mobile phone to her ear, acting as though she was on a call, she turned her back on the main road and closed her eyes. She stood perfectly still, for several minutes, remembering…

Back at the car, she sat wiping her eyes. The experience had been wonderful. She had really enjoyed the thrill of the whole thing.

No one need ever know what decision she made on the drive back.

She would do it all again next year.

He heard a rattling sound at the front door.

When he opened it, the girl through the keys down in a temper and ran up the hall saying what a terrible day she’d had at school. Although momentarily shocked, with a firm voice, he told her to slow down. At this, she collapsed on the floor, sobbing. Pushing her back up against the wall, she drew her knees up under her chin, still crying. As he went to her, she looked up and squinted through her heavy-lensed glasses and explained between sniffles that the horrible boy in her class, the one that she was always having trouble with, had taunted her for the entire day. It was the usual thing, he called her names, most of the time it was ‘Froggy’, because of her appearance. When she finally went quiet, she looked up at him, expectantly.

He had very mixed emotions about how he would respond.

Despite this, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he didn’t have a daughter.

The brave goblin would ask the goblin queen for her hand in marriage.

He had a plan and sufficient savings to purchase what he needed. First, he would visit the witch, who lives in the cave behind the cascading waterfall, to purchase the map he would require to safely enter the forbidden wood. This would show him how he could carefully navigate his way around all of the hidden dangers and lead him to the cottage of the wizard. From the wizard he would learn and pay for the secret location of the mystical blacksmith who could forge the magic sword that could slay the dragon. With the sword strapped securely on his back, he would swim across to the island of the dragon, climb the mountain, enter the dragon’s lair and slay the beast. He would then search through its plundered treasure. He would work his way through the great pile of ill-gotten gains looking for the grandest diamond ring that he could find.

His plan went like clockwork.

Having accomplished all this, he returned home and made himself presentable by putting on his finest clothes. Then, with the ring in his pocket, he entered the goblin palace, where he sought an audience with the queen.

There, he bowed down before her. Holding up the magnificent, sparkling ring, he asked her for her hand in marriage.

She said no.