Author: Alexander Fawn

It had been a morning like any other at the station.

He looked at the platform’s clock. He was comfortable for time. In three minutes the city to city express would come through, followed five minutes later by his regular train. It seemed to be more crowded than usual with his platform packed with commuters all waiting for the same train. A number of passengers were standing a bit too close to the edge for his liking. Especially a small boy, who was deliberately jumping up and down at the very edge as a way of taunting his anxious mother. The first rumblings of the nonstop express were heard when the boy fell and his mother started to scream.
Pushing people aside and jumping down after him was the man’s immediate reaction. The boy had knocked himself out and lay across the rail when he scooped him up. The train was nearly on them and there was no time to make it back up. The man held the unconscious boy tightly close to him, as he crouched against the wall below the platform.
When the thunder of the express faded, the man lifted the boy to the waiting arms of his mother. The commotion that followed with people crowding round the mother and the boy while others were calling for an ambulance and giving medical advice at the same time. It was when a large woman pushed her way through the crowd loudly proclaiming to be a nurse that the rescuer managed to make his way further back along the face of the wall and almost completely unnoticed, quietly slip away. It was several minutes before people began asking if anyone saw were he went. Nobody could honestly say they did.
The man in question didn’t go in to the office that day, but called in to say that he had a cold. Not true, of course. However, what he did have was torn clothing, a number of severe scrapes and several nasty bruises. He realised that this meant that his cold was going to have to last a few days.
The incident went viral on the day, with lots of clips from people’s mobile phones being watched across social media platforms and the internet. He was positively uncomfortable with the exaggerated praise that was being heaped on the missing celebrity.
He winced at the thought of being caught up in the whole thing. He didn’t want cameras on him. He didn’t want to stand there holding the award or a medal, saying how humble he felt or how he didn’t see himself as a hero, or how he was sure anybody would have done what he did.
No, he didn’t want that.
Being humble really didn’t come into it and of course he was a hero. Also, he knew that not too many would have the courage to do what he did.
It was enough to know this… the rest he could avoid.

The school was always a leader when it came to new ideas.
The principal had read an article about a new method of categorising children. He called a meeting with the teachers and it was debated. He proposed that they create two separate areas within the school building. One was for those kids that were learning well and showing promise. The other was for those who were struggling. He suggested that the two areas be kept physically separate, with doors on either side of the school. The gifted children’s’ door would be white, while the other children’s would be black. All of this, he suggested, would need to take place without any consultation with the parents, as this would only slow things down.

The teachers deliberated on all aspects of the proposal for some time. Eventually, when everyone had expressed their personal views about the idea, the principal called for a vote. They all thought that it was a good idea and voted ‘yes’.
All of the discussed changes were put in place and the new system began to operate. As you can imagine, this caused a great deal of anger among the parents. The children themselves found this method of dividing them up unsettling and it inevitably brought about a lot of mischievous name-calling. The terms ‘smarty-pants’ and ‘dummies’ and a lot worse, were not uncommon. The only area within the school premises not subject to this version of apartheid was the playground.
It was there, on the third day, that things came to a head. Phones had been running hot throughout the local community and beyond. The parents and the relatives of those parents were very unhappy. Rivalry and protest were building from within the body of school children. A large angry crowd of adults were milling around in the playground when the bell sounded for morning break. The kids spilled out and the area was full. After a while, a chant started up with them calling on the principal to come out.
Otherwise…
The teachers deliberated on all aspects of the proposal for some time. Eventually, when everyone had expressed their personal views about the idea, the principal called for a vote. They all thought that it was a bad idea and voted ‘no’.

She and her mother had always had such long conversations.
From the time she was a small girl she had sat talking to her mum for long periods of time on a daily basis. They had always been perfectly comfortable with it. It came so naturally to them both. Later, when she was older, there were times when she needed to go away for short periods, mainly for her work. It was during these occasions that the telephone came into its own.

Then came the incident in the car. It started with a small disagreement and built up gradually to a point where they were yelling at each other. She was driving much too fast. It would have been the anger building. Fortunately, it happened when they were on a quiet stretch, but she had nearly run off the road. There were trees she could have hit. She braked heavily and came to a stop, with her hands trembling on the wheel. In fact, her whole body was shaking. It was then that she sat for a long time, taking stock. She turned the whole thing over in her mind. So many years she’d been doing this… but when did the recent conversations start?
She thought back and realised, it had started a couple of days after her mother’s funeral.

The boys had always played well together.
Hide and seek was their favourite. Because the farm was spread over several acres, it was an ideal place for the game. Therefore, every time the youngster visited with his parents, every couple of weeks or so, he and the slightly older boy, the farmer’s son, could hardly wait to play. They would walk for several minutes, until they were somewhere close to the centre of the property to begin playing. They would take turns hiding from each other. Despite the difference in their ages, they were evenly matched. One would stand facing a large tree in a paddock, counting slowly to a hundred while the other hid. Owing to the size of the property a single game could well go on for over an hour.
This particular visit had started like all the others, with them both being excited about the prospect of the game and the chance for each of them to try out some new hiding place dreamt up between visits. Unfortunately, things turned sour when the younger boy cheated. The older boy had hidden in a spot that was not far from the tree. He witnessed the other as he began looking around long before his counting was finished. As a result of his parents having strong views about the evils of cheating, the boy was furious. He came out of his hiding place and confronted the cheat. This resulted in a terrible fight, with a ghastly outcome.
A couple of hours went by before the farmer’s boy went back to the house reporting that the other was missing. It was late morning when the boy, along with the parents of both youngsters, spread out over the farm’s extensive fields and buildings, calling out and hunting for the missing boy. After several hours, the police were called and with half a dozen local officers, a much more rigorous search of the grounds was conducted. Because the boy stated that the last time he had seen his friend he was running towards the far edge of the farm, the search was widened, going into the night.
In the days that followed, several more searches were carried out without success and the boy was eventually listed as a missing person. Naturally, the farmer’s son was extremely upset by his friend’s disappearance.

Meanwhile, the disturbed soil covered with straw in the far corner of the little-used barn remains undisturbed.

Balance – a humble notion,
But made to do so much.
Multi-dimensional and misunderstood,
No determination of ratios, as such.
–
Based in the nature of antiquity,
Ongoing symmetrical reflections.
Seen in mirrors through eternity,
Subject to endless corrections.
–
Does balance ever falter,
For the greater good?
Should we move the single point,
The way mathematics would?
–
Can balance emerge as a force,
From a weighting misaligned?
Isn’t the beam of chain and pan,
Of a different kind?

So often balance is sought,
When a geometric progression is there.
A force eternally determined.
How many know that it’s there?

He knew that timing was everything.
The small figurine sat where he had positioned it. It rested there, unmoving. The timing had to be perfectly accurate. The dark powers that waited to do his bidding would only enter into his world momentarily at exactly midnight. He watched as the minute hand jumped towards the twelve, minute by minute. As it approached the point with only a minute to go, he positioned himself. He raised his arm, and with his newly acquired ring on his finger, while holding his breath, he pointed at the thing.

The moment the minute hand became vertical, in the softest whisper, he spoke the incantation that he alone was privy to.
It didn’t move.
The figurine remained motionless.
With a sigh of disappointment, the youngster switched off the bedside light and was soon fast asleep.

He really couldn’t complain.
All those years of study. All that specialised training. He had enjoyed it all. Now, floating here in this black void with the craft getting smaller as it drifts away, with the now barely visible tether-cord trailing behind. This would have to be… no, this is… just another part of it. He heard the hiss the moment the tether snapped. The gas was being slowly released inside his suit. He could smell it, bringing relief. He was recalling the jokes about it during training. One of the recruits called it euthanasia in a spray can. He smiled to himself. Pretty good description, he thought. Back then, it was regarded as just one more aspect to learn about in the field of space pioneering. He could just let it all go now, allow this to be the inevitable end to his career. He would probably feel no pain. He knew the oxygen was running out. He could feel it growing harder to breathe. He was growing a touch heady. Was that a lack of oxygen or the tranquillity spray?

He had no idea how long he had. Not that it mattered. The senses don’t seem to keep track of time when you’re gliding out of control in space; a space that is so unimaginably vast that there seems little need to record its passing. It felt like only seconds ago that the umbilical snagged and parted, but it was probably hours.
Suddenly, he heard a second, louder hiss and a stronger more immediate smell. It was a lovely fragrance. He couldn’t remember any mention of this. He felt a wave of tiredness come over him. This must be some additional feature, he thought. Designed to provide a… a what? Some measure of kindness, no doubt.
He would sleep now…

When he came out of the shop his car was gone.
He had only been in the shop a few, short minutes buying a box of candles. It was in no way an expensive car, there was nothing fancy about it at all. However, the thought that it was this particular car that had been stolen troubled him greatly. He decided to make no mention of the incident to the shopkeeper, and being only a short distance from his home, he decided to walk there and consider what he should do about it as he went. By the time he arrived, he had reluctantly made up his mind to report the matter to the police in the morning. For a man in his position, this was going to be a hard thing to do.
Meanwhile, the two boys that had taken the car and spent an hour joyriding around the outskirts of the town, finally tired of it. They were in the process of dumping the vehicle somewhere, just a short distance from the road, so that it could be found easily. They decided to leave the keys in the ignition, where they found them. Thinking about fingerprints they were wiping things down when the older boy, the one that had done all the driving, noticed something white in the foot well in the back. When he picked it up, he swore. He went to the glove box and found the car papers. His friend asked him what he was doing. He held up the collar.

“What’s that?” asked the other.
“A priest’s collar, of course; and these,” he waved them, “are the car papers. Look at the name.”
“That’s…”
“Yes. That’s the priest, that’s our priest, from the church we both go to.”
The younger one’s eyes began to tear up. With a tremble in his voice, he said, “What are we going to do?”
“Fix it!”
They both fell silent. The older boy said, “I can’t help thinking about those recent lessons.”
“What lessens?”
“Bible lessons. The one about God pouring out his wrath with fiery anger and bringing it down on their heads!”
After calming the youngster, the older boy explained what he had to do. He drove to a nearby town where he drew out money from his savings account, went to a petrol station and filled the tank, put the vehicle through a car wash and drove back. They sat waiting until it was almost dark, then, as silently as possible they parked it a few doors from the vicar’s house.
It had a simple note under the wiper. It read: ‘Sorry! Car cleaned with full tank.’

I just love my coffee mug.
It just sits there waiting for me, as regular as clockwork, in the mornings. It takes the granules of coffee and sugar so nicely. Then, it’s ready for the hot water and just sits there, steaming. The milk stirs and swirls beautifully when the spoon is applied. It accepts it all so well. My mug is decorated with a sketch of a bird. It has a smooth flared lip and a handle just the right size. I’m glad it has lots of siblings because I have broken it twice. Each time, I have found one in shops where its brothers and sisters are sold. Even when I am not drinking from it, it is my companion.
I just love my coffee mug.
Is it so wrong to have special feelings about an inanimate object?
I think not!

The two elderly ladies sat in the back garden enjoying the warm weather.
There was something special about them. Although getting on in years and not related to each other, they had grown up together. They could easily be sisters, but they aren’t. Despite looking very much alike, one had grey hair, the other’s was white. So much had happened in their lifetimes. Today seemed to be a good time for reminiscing.
“Do you remember what we were doing ten years ago, to this very day?” Said grey.
“Go on.” Said white.
“You must remember!” said the other.
“Oh! You know, the old brain box isn’t what it used to be. Ten years you say?”
“Yes, to the day.”
White shook her head and stretched. “There were a lot of people dying, I know that. The virus went global that year, of course.”
“Yes, but what were we doing?” asked grey. After a pause, she went on. “I’ll tell you. It was the day of the move.”
“Oh! Yes. The day we came here to be closer to the factory,” said the other.
“That’s right,” said grey. “We moved here and things changed big-time for the boss. I remember all he used to talk about was how he had shut down all his production lines… except for facemasks, of course.”

“I suppose he became rich, doing that,” said white.
“I think he did. Just think about how our lifestyles improved around that time.”
“Yes. Weren’t we lucky?”
Grey thought for a bit. “We were… not like some.”
“Ah! Memories… yes. Weren’t we young!”
Grey yawned. “We certainly were, we were only kittens then.”