Author: Alexander Fawn

He was on his way to buy her a present when it happened.

The shops were busy, it being only a week before Christmas. The idea of what to get her came to him some time earlier when he called in at her place. He had arranged a time to pick her up for going to the cinema on the following night. As usual, at that time, he’d got chatting with her dad and it came out that she was keen to get the latest music CD by her favourite group. Just between them, it was decided that he would be the one to buy it for her. He got off the bus and made his way to the store in the shopping centre where he usually went.

He had taken the escalator to the upper floor and was walking towards the shop when he saw them. Saw them and heard them. She was with a man that he felt he recognised as one of her work mates from the office. They were holding hands and laughing. As the couple moved through the crowd below he confirmed that it was definitely him. He stood and watched as they navigated their way through the shoppers, with him now with his arm around her waist and her cuddling up close and still laughing.

No longer intending to visit the music shop, he looked around for a café. After settling down with a much needed cup of coffee, he slowly allowed the swell of emotions to ebb away. He sat thinking for a long time. In a way, he wasn’t that surprised. It felt strange that more than anything he felt a sense of loss that he wouldn’t be seeing her dad again! He had really liked him. Anyway, that was the way it was.

On a far more positive note, he realised that he’d made two savings, the cost of a CD and a whole lot of future heartaches…

Do you know what

Really hits the spot,

When in the chair that I’ve got,

When it isn’t too hot,

With no flies to swat,

With the cat on the trot,

And the birds caring not,

On my favourite plot?

–

Traffic out of earshot.

A garden within eyeshot.

In my own Camelot.

It is there that I squat,

Ignoring the rot,

Not caring a dot,

Or even a jot,

In limbo somewhat…

–

I do it a lot!

It was soon after they finished their evening meal that tiredness overcame her.

After a brief discussion about her hectic day and the extra overtime hours she had spent at the factory, he suggested that she turn in early. She’d made her way to bed and he was washing up several minutes later when he remembered his car’s fuel gage. He’d noted how low it was and intended to get the tank topped up on the way home. It had slipped his mind. He didn’t want to stop in the morning and decided to go out when he’d finished drying and putting away. Upstairs, he silently checked on her. She was fast asleep. He would make as little noise as possible getting the car out.

Because it was mid-evening and there was a fair bit of fog around, the station was quiet and he quickly filled up and was on his way back when he remembered his petrol cap. He hadn’t replaced it! He’d done this before. Would it still be under the bar of his roof rack where he usually wedged it? He would have to pull over. The car pulled off onto the edge of a soft verge and he got out. He was feeling for it in the dark when powerful headlights blinded him.

The truck driver saw the car, but not the man.

The impact was quick and fatal.

At that moment, she wakes violently from the deepest of sleeps and sits up in bed. “Are you OK?” she calls.

She was taking articles out of the washing machine.

One or two of them were his. She inspected them carefully. He’d always had some funny ways. Some of them had bothered her at first. There had always seemed to be a forceful yearning inside of him that he was unable to control. She thought about how the late night wanderings had tapered off over the years. He still did it from time to time. He’d be in bed, next to her, waiting for her deep breathing or possibly snoring to indicate that she’d gone to sleep. Not that she ever was. She found the snoring quite difficult to fake, so she kept those times to a minimum. Then he’d slide out of bed silently and disappear from the room.

It was strange how they never talked about it. Never brought up the subject of his going out into the dead of night. Never a word about his climbing back into bed during the early hours. As a wife, and as someone who loved him dearly, regardless, she felt she had managed to do rather well. If nothing else she was loyal.

She held things up to the light again, smiling.

Bloodstains all gone.

She glanced out of the window.

Good day for drying, she thought.

He had carefully made the arrangements for a quiet wedding.

He wasn’t at all sure how their families would take it. For that reason, he didn’t invite them. None of their friends had received invitations either. It would be a private affair. It would be just the two of them at the registry office, way out in the countryside. Just them, their very own special day. He was finding it more and more difficult to suppress his building excitement. Despite the modest environment where the marriage ceremony was due to take place, he would be wearing an expensive suit along with top quality shoes. She would be wearing her new wedding dress. The occasion’s pomp would be brought to it by their splendid appearance. No expense was spared. She simply deserved the best.

The day came and they approached the celebrant in all their finery. He presented himself like a high-flying celebrity, while she looked absolutely gorgeous. Despite her pale complexion and sunken eyes, she was still beautiful.

Bringing her back from the dead was definitely the right thing.

More than fifty years had passed since the great tragedy.

Now, in a large room, in a secured wing of the most prestigious metropolitan hospital, a patient’s signs were looking positive. The bed was surrounded by dozens of doctors, surgeons, scientists and neurological specialists, all excitedly muttering to each other. They had been brought here from all corners of the planet to witness the event. The elderly patient was none other than the revered descendant of one of the several men, each one regarded as ‘the father of the internet’, at the time of the global tragedy. At the time when digital technology, as it was known back then, had suddenly stopped!

Nobody understood what had happened or indeed why it had happened. It started with networks simply dropping out, one by one, world-wide. The all-consuming dependency on what had been taken so much for granted, became apparent as more and more services and systems became non-operational. The planet as a whole was fast reverting to a condition where things mechanical and analog in nature took over. Rich countries got poor, poor countries got poorer and the mortality rates skyrocketed across the planet. There was still electricity, but nobody knew how to control it, and when anything went wrong with it, nobody knew how to fix it.

It was in the year 2025 when this young genius, the man in the bed, had been in his early twenties. Apparently, this super guru was tinkering in his government-sponsored laboratory when it happened. He’d been working on a project designed to improve the overall capability of the World Wide Web. Although it was never properly established what did happen that day, a number of cynical pundits at that time said that he had simply pressed the wrong button. However, notwithstanding any such popular rumours circulating at the time, it was generally accepted that, looking back, if anybody could fix it, he could.

At the time, it was considered that the young man had suffered a heart attack and had fallen into a coma soon after. Throughout the medical world there were many alternate theories about this, up to a point when it was generally agreed that arguing about it was simply a waste of time. The event, although nobody understood why, through the auspices of the world press, became known as the ‘Great Cessation’.

The frail figure in the bed stirred.

Despite clear instructions that had been given to the contrary, en mass, all those assembled moved forward slightly.

At last, with his old, faded, tear-filled eyes, and despite the dribbling, he was heard to murmur, “I want my mummy.”

He’d been homeless for years.

In the main, he stuck to the streets around town where there were places, shops and pubs, where he often got something for his trouble. Just hanging around looking down and out usually did the trick. In most cases, any of the passers-by seeing his situation, crouched in a shop doorway, would instantly see that, for whatever reason, he was destitute. Occasionally, he received derision and dismissive comments about his appearance, but not often. Of course, people didn’t know his story. Couldn’t possibly know how he’d lost his mother. How being left to defend for himself in the world had toughened him up, had forced him to take on a new life and a new sense of independence.

Whenever he got really desperate, there were places he could go, knowing that the people there were good for a handout. The bits of food he was given were often those items that would otherwise be destined for the bin. This, of course, made no difference. The truth of it was that he often felt that he’d like to show his appreciation more.

However, a simple meow always seemed to be sufficient.

The late afternoon light showed up the leg scars.

Fresh out of the shower now, standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. Body dried, but clothes scattered. Peering at the stomach bruises, received only last night. Holding back tears, stepping forward to take an inventory of face damage. One puffy eye, split lip healing nicely. Thumb prints from the choke-hold taking a long time to fade. Most things cunningly hidden by the discreet use of clothing. A scarf, long sleeves, gloves, sunglasses… sometimes makeup. Sporadic discussions about separation never seem to come to anything. What is it all about, love or weakness?

The front door was opening.

“God!” he thought, “Here we go again…”

She never liked to bother him when he was watching television.

She’d been feeling chest pains on and off for weeks, but never said anything. She didn’t want to make a fuss. That night, when the pains came on as she stood peeling potatoes, she thought about letting him know. After a while it eased and she was pleased that she didn’t have to worry him. She was pleased because she didn’t want to bother him, especially when he was watching television. He loved his television. Any way, it was probably nothing.

It was her daughter who found her lying unconscious on the kitchen floor when she got home from work. She rang for an ambulance immediately. She called out to him. The television was very loud. He didn’t respond, but she figured it was better to stay with her mother until the medics arrived.

The yelping siren of the vehicle as it pulled up was particularly annoying and he had to reach for the control to increase the volume. Then, when it stopped abruptly, he had to adjust the sound again. He found it annoying. The ambulance officers were very efficient and in no time had her on a stretcher and into the vehicle, while her daughter quickly updated her father with what was going on. He hit the pause button. Quite naturally, he was gobsmacked.

In a panic, she said she couldn’t stop to tell him more because she wanted to ride in the ambulance with her mother. He sat listening to the ambulance’s wail as it grew quieter. A short spell of self-reflection told him that watching television was something of an obsession.

He felt obliged to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

He would do that, as soon as the episode was finished.

She came out of the cinema and walked a few blocks to her stop.

She was always happy to go to the pictures on her own. She never felt the need for company, unless she had a current boyfriend, which she hadn’t. Her last one was a disaster. Why couldn’t these guys be like the ones she saw on the big screen, she thought, romantic… caring. She was thinking about some of her idols from a decade ago. Now, they were the sort of men that could really make a girl’s heart flutter! It had been a matinee show and she probably had enough time on hand to stop at a café before heading home. She was checking out shop fronts when she spotted him. He was sitting cross-legged against a wall on the other side of the street. A down and out. No cap in front for collecting coins, but definitely a down and out.

She had to ask herself why she was paying so much attention to him. He did seem familiar in a strange way. Her first thought was that he could have been one of her teachers, the age would be about right. She slowed her pace until she was opposite him. He had moved his head back with his eyes almost shut as though he was sunning his face. It was certainly a face she knew. Then it came to her. This was the actor that dropped out, the one that suddenly disappeared from the big silver screen, something about drugs. He would certainly fall into the category of heartthrobs she’d been thinking about. How did he end up here? Maybe this was always his home town; even stars had to live somewhere, right?

She stood there, with so many questions and thoughts running through her head, not least, the question as to whether she was right. Was she just kidding herself? If she was right, she would have been around seventeen and he would have been in his early twenties, back then. Call it five or maybe six years difference. Now, she at twenty-six would make him thirty or so. That all sounded about right, and he looked to be that age… but was she right?

Only one way to find out, of course. She crossed the street slowly, taking in his every facial feature. His eyes were closed now, he was probably still enjoying the sun. He hadn’t shaved for a bit, but the blemish on his right cheek was visible. Then there was that break in his eyebrow. She stood in front of him, trying not to throw a shadow. If he woke up, what would she say?

His eyes snapped open and he stared up at her.

She blurted, “Are you…”

He waved a hand, “Don’t say it.” he interrupted. “I get enough of that.”

She gawped. “You really are him, aren’t you?”

“I really am,” he said, smiling. “Did you want to take me home and look after me?”

“No, but we could start with a cup of coffee?”