Author: Alexander Fawn

He considered his new method of writing to be of the ‘embedded’ kind.

Having recently come into a sizeable boost to his bank balance, and being a writer who enjoyed writing a story or a poem about just about anything, he thought he’d try something different. It would be something similar to that of a journalist being assigned to go with some sort of military unit, as it goes into battle. Although, his own intentions were far safer. He would simply travel to those parts of the world that would allow him to soak up the ambience of the place and the earth-shattering events that took place there. This would inspire either a story or a poem to flow freely from his pen.

With this in mind, he had sat with an atlas book opened to show the world spread across two pages. There were three places that immediately came to mind. At the time, he had sat thinking about the sequence he would take.

His plan was to fly to Christchurch in New Zealand first, were there had been an earthquake in 2011 that killed 185 people. From there he’d fly to Mulitaka in Papua New Guinea, where, more recently, a huge landslide had killed anything up to 2,000 people, or more, while they slept. Finally, he would fly to America and visit the place where the Twin Towers were attacked by planes being flown into them, killing nearly 3,000 people all told. As far as possible, he would talk to people who were there when it happened and probably write either a story or a poem that would describe the event.

This was his plan.

On the day, he was crossing the road to get to the taxi rank, to have a car take him to the airport, when something unexpected happened…

When he woke up, he was not embedded, but bedded. To make matters worse, he was suffering from memory loss. He had no physical injuries as far as anyone could tell. The hospital staff were all very nice, but weren’t at all clear about the circumstances that brought him there. It had been suggested that a sudden heart attack had caused short-term memory loss.

At this point, he could only lay there, thinking about what might have happened. He could only remember crossing the street. Had he nearly been hit by a vehicle, with the shock causing a heart attack? Was his large suitcase too heavy to carry, bringing about the same medical condition? Maybe he had remembered something he should take and suddenly turned back, and fell, or did he simply fall and hit his head? Were there any witnesses? How did he get here?

He had no memory of any of it!

Whatever happened, he was definitely embedded in it. One thing was for sure. When he regained his memory, he would definitely write a story or a poem about it.

For the man, it was just another night full of dreams.

They were so regular, so insistent, that it became quite a normal occurrence to wake up with a head full of them still buzzing around. Dreams about power. Power over others. There were lots of people he didn’t like, several groups of them, in fact. In his dreams he had ideas regarding a solution to the problem of ridding himself of the unwanted. People that he considered to be inferior. He had explained all this in his book, although he has often wondered whether that was a good idea. He could do much more than just write about it; so much more, but did he really want to do any of that? Let’s face it, he wanted the top job. He knew he could make a difference, but for the good, surely! He could sweep the place clean; promote the idea of toleration between the groups. There had been a number of electoral victories of late. Maybe the time was right. Maybe his time was right, for him to do good.

There were dreams he’d been having of the mass extermination of particular peoples. He had to be realistic; they were just dreams. There were definitely groups of citizens that he had no time for, but the idea of genocide didn’t really sit at all well with him. Not now, in his waking hours, thinking about it seriously. No, he wanted to be remembered for the good that he’d do for the country. He had no idea why he had fostered such evil thoughts of mass murder. Absolutely not; he didn’t want future generations to remember him for that!

The fact was that in just a few short weeks he could be made chancellor, and after his time in the post he would like to be remembered as Adolf the Good!

In the bathroom, he stood giving extra attention to the small moustache beneath his nose.

He paused, looking at himself in the mirror. He thought again about being remembered as Adolf the Good.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he murmured.

He was on his way back home.

Home for him and his machine was an underground bunker, accessible by a tunnel coming from beneath the old workbench in the corner of the disused shed behind the derelict farmhouse at the end of a pot-holed lane on the outskirts of the small hamlet. He’d been traveling back through the Andromeda Galaxy, when his small craft hit a series of dangerously high levels of radiation. It was bad enough to make his instrument panel flicker. It had to be caused by galactic cosmic rays, probably emanating from a supernova exploding somewhere nearby. Increasing his external radiation protection field, enabled him to use the panel to give precise readings. It was obvious that it was a recent event and the levels were increasing exponentially. In fact, he would barely make it before his time craft became irreversibly disabled!

In his vessel, there was no way to accelerate through time, only pass through it. It was on that basis, that he was literally holding his breath as he typed in a warning for future flights. It was quite obvious that this sector of space would cripple his vessel if he ever came this way again.

He only just made it through and was greatly relieved when, after uncloaking and dematerialising, his machine came to rest on the pad, in the bunker. It was not uncommon for him to feel exhausted after a long flight. On this occasion, even more so. In fact, before climbing out, he fell asleep in his comfy bucket seat. He snoozed for a couple of hours before coming to. It was also the case that his memory of any flight details often seemed to fade on his return.

Running a final check of his panel, he saw what looked like the beginning of some kind of cautionary note on the recording screen. It was both incomplete and disturbing. He had a vague memory of the instrument lights flickering, but had no idea what could have caused it. Whatever it was, it had caused the problem with the recorder.

Still feeling tired, he really wanted to call it quits for the day… but, it was a warning and he shouldn’t ignore it. He had the feeling that it may be important. The only way to find out what it was would be to reset the coordinates in order to precisely retrace the outgoing and incoming route of his last journey.

So, punching in what was required, he launched again.

He was just sitting at the bar minding his own business

The Cuba Libre tasted good, He needed that. Breaking off with his recent girlfriend was still hanging around like a bad taste. He was still not sure why she’d ended it, but he missed evenings like this, after work, catching up in town somewhere before going back to her place. Looking around, he realised how much he missed her. More than anything, how much he missed her company. He was thinking about this when the girl came in and sat at the far end of the bar. She was a real looker, no doubt about that. She ordered something and sat peering around. That’s when she spotted him. Sliding off her stool she approached him with a big smile and perched herself down next to him.

“Hi!” She said, just like that.

Not sure what was happening he returned the smile, saying “HI!”

She looked him over. “You’re the guy from the garage who fixed my puncture last week.”

He was confused. “Puncture?”

“Yep. You did a good job. No trouble since.” She casually looked around.

He pulled a face. “I hate to tell you, but that wasn’t me.”

She laughed. “Of course, it was.”

“No, really,” I’ve never worked in a garage.”

She laughed again. “Of course, it was you, silly. I’m not making it up, am I?”

Her drink came and she sipped at some kind of elaborate cocktail. Putting her drink down, she frowned at him. “Don’t be shy,” she went on, “I hope you don’t mind me coming over like this. Perhaps you want to be alone. If that’s the case, I apologise.”

He looked into her gorgeous eyes, seeing that she was quite serious.

“Look,” he began, “no, not at all. No need to apologise. It’s just that you have me muddled up with someone else. I work in a nearby office, have never met you before and I certainly never fixed your puncture, or anybody’s puncture for that matter.”

“OK.” She whispers, finishing her drink. “I get it. I’ll leave you in peace with your drink.”

Looking disappointed, she gets up and leaves.

It was kind of magical that it happened on that very day.

It all began innocently enough. Just a smile across the counter. Nothing more. Just a smile… but what a smile! She must have looked really dumb, just standing there ogling him. It was when he asked her if everything was alright, that the pounding in her chest started. Anyway, that’s when she surprised herself by licking her lips and apologising, saying how much she was looking forward to her break when she could go up to the café and get a coffee. He smiled again, saying what a good idea. She had watched him go, weaving his way through the shoppers. It was a busy day in the department store. She had quickly pulled herself together and moved along to serve her next customer.

When her mid-morning break came, she was relieved by another lady assistant and she made her way to the café. The moment she entered; she saw him. He gave a polite wave along with the smile, of course. Her heart had begun thumping again as she approached. He immediately began apologising for taking the liberty of waiting for her to appear. She had just smiled back, shaking her head. Next thing; she had just sat, while he ordered their coffees…

The rest of it was a whirlwind.

They talked for the best part of an hour, making her late back to her department. Her fellow worker was very understanding when told why she was late. Then came the meeting after work, in the Italian restaurant they had decided on. Finally, he had driven her home. With a brief kiss, she had gone in. Behind net curtains she had watched him drive away.

Now, she was lying in bed thinking about it all, for an age.

It had been all she could do, not to invite him in. That might have put him off; giving him the wrong impression or something.

…and to top it all; all this, on her forty-fifth birthday!

Visiting the old second-hand bookshop in town was something he did whenever he had the time.

Today, he had at least twenty minutes before the next bus, so he wandered in and began strolling through the aisles. He was browsing through the titles of books along a shelf of tatty-looking paperbacks, when he came across it. He pulled it out and stood staring at the front cover, with old memories flooding back. It was one of the books his class had needed to study, some twenty-odd years ago. It looked grubby, with part of the front cover torn off. Inside was no better; lots of dirty marks and some faint scribbling. Out of nothing more than curiosity, he moved to a spot where the light was better, trying to read what had been written.

The first thing that caught his eye was the date. It was during his own school years. Then, with difficulty, he read the owner’s name. He recognised the boy immediately. This very nasty kid had been in his class. He had never liked him. Apart from being a show-off, he was a bully. He continually picked on school kids younger than himself. More than once, the rotten kid had stolen things from his school desk. He had done this with anything he liked the look of. He was forever getting into trouble.

Thinking back, he remembered how he found himself having to try as hard as he could to keep out of his way. He also remembered, not so long ago, reading an item in the newspaper about him being given time in prison for attempted murder. It seems he shot the owner of a convenience store he was trying to rob, who had nearly died. At the time of reading this, he hadn’t been at all surprised to find out what had become of him.

Turning back to the ruined cover, he read the title again, ‘The Moral Path to Take’. He remembers studying it. A book, in which the author makes a powerful case for morality in all walks of life. He bought the book.

When he got home, he went straight to his computer to see what more he could find out about the case. One article indicated which prison the man was serving his time in.

After including a short inscription above the original pencilled notes, he wrapped the book up in brown paper. Adding the man’s name and the prison’s address, he took a casual stroll into the village post office, where he sent it off. He was sure they would open it at the prison for security reasons, looking for drugs, weapons and the like, but after a short delay, he would get it. In fact, he was convinced that they’d be happy to pass it on.

His only regret being that he wouldn’t be there when the prisoner opened the parcel. Particularly, when he read the message, written in large, clear block capital letters. It read, ‘NO BENEFIT GAINED FROM THIS BOOK, I NOTE, DUMMY!’

Visiting hours were almost over

And he needed to catch his bus.

The old man in the bed nearby,

Was waving and making a fuss.

–

The visitor was willing to pause for a bit,

He quickly pulled up a chair.

The old man thanked his distant son,

So grateful that he could be there.

–

The approaching nurse questioned the scene,

As the old man slipped away.

She asked if he really was his son.

He shook his head, sighed and said,

“The truth was too hard to convey.”

–

It was sad, she said, that the son wasn’t there.

“All is well”, he said, smiling, “because…”

Letting go of the hand, he began to stand.

“For one brief, precious moment, he was.”

He was one of many rescuers that worked their way through the building, following the explosion.

It had been a gas leak somewhere in the basement, he’d been told. It had brought down the entire multi-level apartment block. People were still being found alive. Much of it was unstable, with an occasional subsidence throwing up clouds of dust. He had climbed up a slope of building rubble to investigate a sound coming from a dark cave-like crevice. It had been formed by two giant horizontal slabs of concrete coming down, almost on top of each other. He peered in, but the dark, dusty environment hid any real detail. Despite the safety-hardhat, face mask and heavy protective clothing making moving around difficult, he switched his helmet torch on and crawled a short distance into the gap.

Moving the beam around, he could just make out the face of the man he had so often seen in the pub with his dog. He was barely conscious, groaning and looked to be completely trapped. He only knew him by sight. Nevertheless, he knew him to be a brute of a man, a heavy drinker and not a particularly nice person to know. He had seen the ruffian kick his dog on a number of occasions. He had to remind himself that part of his training was to keep personal emotions out of it; the rescue mission was what it was all about.

Then he heard a different noise; a soft whine. It was the dog, crouched beside its master. The animal didn’t look pinned down in any way that he could see. It was surely free to move, he thought. It could only be the animal’s loyalty to its master that made it stay by his side.

He called softly to it, and despite it having a slight limp, it managed to crawl out into the daylight. The man picked the animal up, and cradling it in his arms began to carefully make his way back down. He paused when he heard the rumbling behind him. Looking back, he saw that the two great slabs had come together, with plumes of dust billowing out.

Moving more quickly, with a firm grip on the dog, he made his way down to the street where the emergency response vehicles were gathered.

It was his mask that concealed his satisfied grin.

The one thing he knew for certain was that the precious stone was hidden in the building.

The building in question was a derelict, twenty-room mansion. Unlike most buildings of this type, this one was surrounded by relatively small grounds. The entire property had been fenced off for years. For the first two nights he kept watch on the place. He slept in his car, tucked away in the trees, some distance away. He needed to be sure that it was empty and that nobody else knew of its significance. The precious jewel would be a life-changer. He knew that once the stone was in his hand, with the proper fencing, he was about to become a multi-millionaire. He knew that through a new private owner, it would never be seen again.

Once inside, the hunt began. Working his way slowly from room to room, he carried out meticulous searches.

It was on the third day that he found the drawer. He was in the smaller of the two studies when he came across it. The wall behind the desk, like the main study, had wainscotting on the lower half. Here, the panels were much smaller. After tapping each panel in turn for several minutes, one of them popped out part way. Finding a groove beneath, he managed to pull it out with his fingernails.

For him, who had been convinced that the building would be the treasure’s resting place, the well-deserved excitement was growing by the second. In the hidden drawer was a small jewellery case. Lifting it out carefully, he opened it.

It was empty!

Looking back in, he saw that something had been placed underneath the case. It was a piece of paper folded in half. On it, written in pencil and using block capitals, he found the following message. ‘First, congratulations, you must have searched the building thoroughly to find this secret drawer. Unfortunately, I got here first. Secondly, ask yourself whether I found it empty. If so, I wish you luck as you continue to search…’

He looked around and sighed…

She regarded herself as an oddball.

It was during her final year at university studying human sciences that she felt that the need to conform with the sorts of things that young women of her age were supposed to, was not what she wanted. The whole business of fighting for the attention of boys and the trouble it caused with other girls was so pointless. There was also the endless struggle of going through clothes shops trying to find things that would make her look trendy at all times. Added to this was the ongoing issue of always having to be so very cool. It really was quite silly. None of this was the way she wanted to live.

It was shortly after getting her degree that she discovered a different way. Not far from where she lived there was a nunnery. Curiosity drove her to research the place along with the general subject of taking orders. She saw that, although young, she was just old enough to be accepted. She learnt that this would involve spending time in daily mental prayer, giving time to daily spiritual reading, completing designated chores and observing the rule of silence.

Her enthusiasm made her want to share what she had found. However, she soon realised that discussing this with any of her friends was well-nigh impossible.

These same friends would often wonder what became of her.