Author: Alexander Fawn

It is only the briefest of moments that run their course.

These are full of seen and unseen things. Amid the noise of scraping chairs and washing up, a scene of three generations plays out. Somewhere, in the corner of the room, an unseen, brightly coloured, plastic toy, continues to play its merry tune. Elderly caretakers strive to capture the joys of youth. Two aerosol cans are shaken. Two dollops of chocolate fudge foam squirt onto a large party plate. There are giggles. A small hand scoops up the larger portion. Brown stains are formed around a young mouth and face.

A woman smiles.

There is nothing sadder than a passed over grandfather!

He must watch the blue checkered leaf twist and flutter as it falls.

This is what the goblin has to do. He must be sure to see where it lands. He has to pick up and keep hold of the leaf. He then needs to gently part leaves and soil and dig down carefully until he finds the small key. He must then look around and look for the oak with the dead, drooping branch. There, he is to snap it off. This will reveal the tiny keyhole. Turning the key will partly open a door in the trunk. He must remove and keep hold of the key. Opening this fully will allow him to see the steps going down. These need to be taken until he finds himself at the beginning of a long corridor. At the very end there is a door. The door is locked. He must use the key to unlock the door and enter the secret chamber…

He cannot do any of this, yet.

He is watching for the blue checkered leaf to fall…

He lay in bed thinking about how he had hidden things from her.

He could hear her in the kitchen preparing breakfast. They had only been married a couple of weeks and the fact that he was deeply in love with her meant that it was becoming harder and harder to keep secrets from her. These were things that she really should know. He began to list them in his mind; he had five secrets. The first went way back to the time he poisoned a neighbour’s dog. The woman across the road all but accused him of doing it. She got the police involved, but nothing came of it. Second, the was the money he was taking from the till on a regular basis, only small amounts. The owner of the shop and his employer suspected him, but again, nothing could be proved. He’d decided to leave, before things got more serious.

He rolled over and thought about the third. That was a hit and run, with the couple in the car he crashed into being badly injured. He’d found out later that he’d only received minor injuries, while she had ongoing physical problems, probably for life. Of course, it was an accident, but he should have stopped and not taken off the way he did. The fourth thing hidden was the night he shot and killed the drug dealer in the carpark. He didn’t care to think about that one too much, he’d come much too close to being found out.

Then, there is the more recent, fifth secret. He wanted to dwell on that even less. He had not told her about his medical condition or his recent visit to the doctor when it was confirmed that his brain tumour was inoperable.

She’d be telling him breakfast was ready soon.

He thought, I really should tell her something…

Is my muse here today?

You do not need her,

I hear you say.

But I need her come what may,

No stories form when she’s away.

–

Could you, would you, write one on a bus?

No, I couldn’t, too much fuss.

–

Could you write one in a canoe?

No, too much paddling would never do.

–

Could you write one at a fair?

No, I couldn’t stand the glare.

Could you write one on a plane?

No, the cost would be a drain.

–

Look, not on a bus or in a canoe.

Not at a fair or in a plane.

I need my muse back again!

Several centuries ago, an alchemist sat making a number of final adjustments.

The miniature globes on their thin stems, representing the Solar System, remained motionless as he carefully performs a final tweak here, another there. There was a complexity of connected cogs designed to drive the orrery; a small model that showed the relative positions of the planets and moons. This was something he had been working on for the better part of his entire lifetime. He carefully releases the minute counterweight and smiles with deep satisfaction as the entire configuration noiselessly begins to turn… backwards! After watching the array of interconnected movements for a while, and with the greatest of care, he attaches the back plate. Sitting back, he looks at what he knows is his ultimate work.

At long last, it was time to take it to the only people that would have any understanding of what he had created, his fellow members of the alchemists’ society. He slowly lifted, what was now a completely sealed item, and set it down onto a thick blanket. Wrapping all of the material around it, he slowly made his way out into the street. He was mindful of the delicate nature of what he was carrying.

Holding the bundle tight against his chest he began the short walk that would take him to the meeting place. He was certainly wise enough to realise that the sheer thrill he was experiencing had to be tempered. What he was about to do needed great care, lest all of his many years of hard work should undoubtedly come undone.

He knew only too well that the slightest disturbance of the device, now that it had been set in motion, could easily bring about an irreversible alteration to the current state and future performance of the Solar System!

As he approached the building, his foot caught on something and he fell over…

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. People that he considered to be inferior. He had explained all this in his book. He could do much more than just write about it; so much more. Let’s face it, he wanted the top job. He knew he could make a difference. He could sweep the place clean. There had been a number of electoral victories of late. Maybe the time was right. Maybe his time was right.

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

He paused, looking at himself in the mirror.

“I have an idea,” he murmured.

She was terribly sorry about burning a large hole in his shirt.

The shirt in question was, without doubt, his favourite and the most precious item of clothing that he had ever owned. There had always been this element of clumsiness about her, as far as ironing, cooking, cleaning and so on were concerned. When these little accidents occurred, she would always follow up with the most profuse and heart-rending apologies. As a general rule, you could say that he had learnt to live with it. On this occasion however, despite telling her she was forgiven, something inside of him snapped. Knowing this, he decided to let a bit of time pass before dwelling on it too heavily. Three days later, she was still apologising, saying that she was sure that he hadn’t really forgiven her.

He saw that the time was right to convince her by providing her with a treat. He said he would give her a private showing of the latest rooftop landscaping project he had carried out for the owners of the new twenty-story tower in the city. She was certainly impressed with the idea. It would be the first time he’d given her a private tour of any of his work.

On the day, using the keys provided, they walked up a very grand set of marble steps and walked in through the main entrance. In the foyer, a huge space that she was very impressed with, he then gained access to the elevator and they rode up to the roof.

After several minutes of looking around at what he had created, she said how surprised she was and how lovely the whole landscape was. She said how it made her so proud of him and the work he does.

A few minutes later, he called to her from the front side of the building. “If you come over to this side and look down you get a good view of the fronts steps.”

She walked across and stood next to him.

He said, “You need to lean forward a bit, but be careful, none of the safety rails have been installed yet.”

He watched as she peered down.

It would only take the gentlest of nudges.

However… he just couldn’t do it.

The train pulled in as she reached the platform.

It was a cold night with a sharp wind that chilled her to the bones. People were stamping their feet to keep warm. The wind that blew through the station was becoming stronger. The carriages, as they slowed, showed warm brightly lit places with comfortable seats and windows that gave easy views out to the lights that twinkled in the night. It looked very inviting. As it stopped, it seemed to say ‘come on in, it is really cosy in here. As you can see, there are several empty carriages if you prefer a little privacy. I’ll give you a pleasant ride, honestly, I will!’

It was all too much, and quite sickening, she thought.

She turned away.

She would catch the bus.

They had an agreement that whoever goes first would do their best to come back.

However, when she became ill, all such thoughts were no longer on their minds. Their time was consumed with him caring for her over the final months. When she finally passed away, it was left to him to make all the necessary arrangements. When the funeral was over and all the consoling friends and relations left the house where he had put on a short reception, he was suddenly left alone. He would need to consider the future, a future without her. Meanwhile, she, as promised, was making a concerted effort to return. Eventually, she found a way.

It was late one evening, only a few days after the funeral, that she managed to visit their home, where she made her way to the bedroom, fully expecting him to be asleep. She wasn’t sure how she would make her presence known. She didn’t want to frighten or upset him. She decided that she would take whatever steps were appropriate, when the time came.

When she entered the bedroom, she discovered an empty, unmade bed. Despite this, she felt his presence. Without understanding how, she instantly found herself in the noisy, local pub where she discovered him fully drunk. He was standing with a group of pals singing bawdy pub songs.

It was her first and last visit.

She was busy in the kitchen.

She had always liked cooking. She read through the recipe one final time, then assembled all of the ingredients needed. Her friend had given her the recipe that she’d found on the dark web. There were two cups of not getting Covid, one cup of falling in love with the right person, half a cup of finding a well-paid job, half a cup of staying healthy, two tablespoons of fond memories, two tablespoons of being nice to people, one tablespoon of staying in touch with her parents, three teaspoons of late-night partying and half a teaspoon of regret. That should do it, she thought.
She would let it cool before putting it in the fridge.
She would consume it tomorrow, on her twenty-first birthday.