Medallion

The safekeeping of it had been entrusted to her on her twenty-first birthday.

This arrangement had been the case with her mother, and her mother before her. It was not known, even by the few who knew of its existence, how far the hidden knowledge went back. She carried it on her person, wherever she went. It was a tiny flash drive. Currently, and for the past two generations at least, it was disguised as an oval Saint Christopher Medallion, suspended on a robust chain of gold. It was waterproof and she never took it off. It was also only a few who knew that the nature of the secret itself was truly sensational. In the wrong hands, it would be enough to dismiss governments and bring about a totally new world order.

The woman now wearing it, maintaining the natural lifestyle of a member of the aristocracy, was holidaying in Venice, when it happened. Along with many other tourists, she and her friend were making their way through Saint Mark’s Square, when she tripped.

Basically, you could say that it was a simple fall. Her partner at the time, certainly an athletic type, was only a few paces behind her when she tripped and fell. It has to be said that at great speed; he made up the distance between them and knelt down beside her to help her get to her feet.

Neither of them realised in that moment that the chain had been broken when he brought her up to a sitting position. It was another second or so before her hand flew to her neck. Knowing it was missing, she looked around frantically, just in time for her to see the last piece of chain slide into a grating.

The full ramifications of this event are not known.

Smile

He only ever had eyes for her.

She was unaware of him staring at her across the breakfast table; just watching her. It had always been that way. Ever since that evening at his friends birthday party, all that long time ago. Was it his eighteenth? He couldn’t remember. He could remember her arriving that evening, unaccompanied. My word, she was lovely! She was more than just pretty, but radiated a loveliness that had him staring at her from across the room. The thrill of that moment when she became aware of his attention and smiled back. That was it, the moment she looked across and smiled. He knew in that moment that his life was about to change…

She looked up and he snapped out of it. She smiled that same smile. “Is everything all right, dear?”

Momentarily, his eyes glazed over.

In that moment, thoughts began to tumble through his head. The kids are gone now. It’s just them. Two pensioners trying to make ends meet. Her snoring that has never let up. Her pills: the daily ritual of counting them all out. Her overprotectiveness and showing so much affection for her toy poodle. Her taking so long in the bathroom…

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“Oh! Nothing. Just a bit slow waking up. Would you like another tea.”

There was that smile again. “Yes, please.”

Disagreement

The two men sat chatting.

Their meeting was both surprising and unusual. The room that they occupied was not known by either. As to the time they met, that too was quite irrelevant. The Greek, as a philosopher, was regarded as a foundational thinker, with his bringing about the concept of a theory of forms, while the Italian, regarded as a political philosopher was undoubtedly best known for his political treatise. The Greek was saying that the others notion that it is far more effective to rely on the attributes of virtue and prudence rather than allowing fortune to take its own course, to be quite thought provoking. The Italian, on the other hand, found the idea of there being three parts to the soul, with each one having its own object of desire, most interesting.

At first their conversation was quite amicable, with both conceding that the other had made huge advances in their own fields of study. However, this didn’t last…

Within only a few short minutes the tone of their discussion became positively acrimonious.

It should be noted that many modern-day scholars, should they be asked for an opinion, would say that they considered that the two men had philosophical views that were diametrically opposed.

It seems that Plato and Machiavelli would never really have hit it off!

Cafeteria

The elderly couple sat in the small cafeteria in one corner of the hospital.

They were holding hands across the small table and talking quietly. The young intern sitting nearby was watching them. After a while, he saw tears well up. Wanting to make a good impression, without being too intrusive, he got up and as he was passing their table, he paused and said, “The doctors here really are the best you know.”

The man looked surprised at first, then chuckled. He said, in a whisper, “We’re not here for treatment, although we do live locally.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. You looked upset and I thought…”

The man held up his hand. “No. That’s all right, we were talking about our cat that got hit by a car last year, that’s all. We were very fond of it.” He smiled conspiratorially. “We only pop in on the odd occasion.”

He pointed across the room. “Do you see that barista over there?”

The intern looked and nodded.

“He makes the best cup of cappuccino in town”.

Denied

He was sick to death with everything that was going on.

He missed his chair, back home, in the corner of his green garden. This place was so white! Outside of visiting hours, it was hard to find anybody wearing everyday clothes… it was all uniforms. Naturally, he wasn’t thrilled about having an inoperable tumour, or being told that surgery wasn’t a treatment option. Hearing long descriptions about the size and location of his unwanted growth wasn’t much fun either. He wasn’t even going to think about some of this other stuff… there was nothing exciting about chemotherapy or radiation!

It was all becoming too much for him.

Then, on top of it all…

He wasn’t allowed to smoke!

Survival

He was settling down for the night when it happened.

The weather was cold and he was swaddled in two blankets. With his warm, woollen beany pulled down tight, only his eyes could be seen. As rough sleeping spots went, this one, nestled between the two large rubbish skips and out of the wind, was one of the city’s best. The lane was fairly long, with a number of large bins running down both sides. Most of them took the waste from several eating places along the main street. At night, the lane was rarely used. Although it didn’t bother the man settling down for the night, the unpleasant odours that this caused was another reason that nightwalkers generally gave it a wide berth.

It was for this reason that he was kept from getting off to sleep by footsteps approaching. These stopped close by and two men could be heard whispering.

“Are you sure they are still in the office?” said the first.

“Positive. It’s just the boss and his two henchmen in there at the moment,” said the other.”

“OK. You can make yourself scarce,” said the first.

“Roger that,” said the other, then quickly walked back the way they’d come.

After listening to footsteps fading away, the man in the blankets snuggled down. It was only a couple of minutes later, when he was suddenly woken by three rapid gun shots. He lay awake listening to footsteps returning back down the ally. He watched as the man paused for a moment to wipe the gun, then toss it into a skip on the other side. He was about to move off when he saw two eyes peering up at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, the gunman raised a finger to his lips.

The homeless man, being something of an expert when it came to survival, slowly pulled down the blankets. With a smile, he copied the gesture. With this, a mutual understanding was implied.

The man walked on and the other went back to sleep.

Shops

She sat at the kitchen table finishing her shopping list.

It was unusual, in that most of the items were for other people. Despite this, she would need to visit a number of shops. There were only five items on the list, and they all needed to be ready for later. More specifically, during the early hours. The first three should be purchased some distance away from the area. The others needed to be ready, waiting for her, in the cupboard and the fridge. These she would buy from her local convenience store, on her return. For her, a can of red spray paint. For him, a small container of brake fluid. For them both, a large kitchen knife with a sharp point. Naturally, she knew where her boyfriend lived. She had recently carried out an internet search to discover the address of the girl he was two-timing her with.

For her, the paint, to be used to write something large and unpleasant on her front door. She didn’t know what, but was sure to think of something when the time came. For him, the fluid, this, she’d been told was particularly good at destroying a car’s paintwork, because of its extremely corrosive nature. She would target the car’s hood. For both of them, the knife, to puncture a back tyre on each of their vehicles.

For herself – a small bottle of her favourite Babycham and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

These, by way of a being a brief, yet thoroughly enjoyable celebration…

Bully

The old, dried-up wishing well stands in a quiet corner of the park, hardly ever visited.

The old man visits it from time to time. Usually, on his way back from the shops. Neither the children playing on the equipment in the central play area, nor their mums watching them, ever took much notice of him. They never noticed how he would pause momentarily to look at it, before moving on with his shopping bags. Why would they? None of them knew his secret. In fact, nobody did. Not his late wife or his children had ever been told about it. He simply couldn’t tell anybody what had happened that day, so long ago.

It all started in the school playground. He must have been ten years old. The school bully came up to him one day, totally out of the blue, and began pushing him around. This went on for a while, before he fell over and the nasty kid had walked away, laughing. He remembers the shock of it, rather than the pain. That was just the beginning. He must have been an easy target, because after that first incident, it went on and on for weeks!

He remembers telling the old pensioner, who lived a few houses up the street from where he lived, all about it one day, on his way home from school. The old man had never hidden the fact that he thought of himself as a wizard. Most people thought he was potty, but as a boy he had always liked him. He would call in and chat with him, at least once a week.

On the afternoon he had let the old guy know what had been happening at school, he was given a token. It looked like any other penny he had ever seen, but the man had told him that it was a powerful artifact, quite capable of granting a wish, if the wish was strongly felt. He listened intently as the old man had explained that using the wishing well in the park would do the trick. He went on to describe what needed to be done before tossing the coin in. Although he didn’t know at the time, that was to be the last occasion the two of them would spend time together, because the old man would pass away that night.

So, with all these instructions in mind, he went home knowing what he was going to do at morning break at school, the next day.

When the time came to confront the bully with the offer the old man had told him to make, using the exact wording to do it, he was amazed at how interested his tormentor was. The thought of the wishing well allowing the boy to become wealthy within only a few short weeks had easily done the trick.

It had just so happened that on the day in question he had left home without his lunchtime sandwiches. This meant that by the time the boys got to the park he was feeling desperately hungry. Not wanting anything to distract him from carrying out the instructions he’d been given, he concentrated on what he had to do. At the well, they stood on opposite sides, both leaning on the wall.

With the token in his hand and peering down into the dark water, he let it go. At that same instant, he felt his stomach rumble and he was momentarily distracted. First, he heard the plop, this was followed quickly by an even louder pop. What happened next, he had never fully understood. When he looked up, the boy was gone! In his place sat a small, individual pork pie, just like the ones his mother buys.

What followed was a bit of a blur. He remembers how, in a daze, he had walked back further into the park, where he found a seat. He recalls sitting there looking down at it for a long time.

Then, he ate it!

Essay

For his homework he had to write a short essay on City Governance.

He began to write:

Anna had to get the civic stats on human migration done by noon. Wow! she thought. That particular tenet, pushed so hard by the council, defied all logic and took pedantism to a whole new level. Her boss was such a ‘madam’! Her face grew redder when she thought about it. If she couldn’t listen to her favourite pop music radio station, with its regular feature of guitar solos with her Bluetooth earbud, she’d go nuts! She thought back to a time when she had dreamed of becoming a nun, but that was no longer on the radar. Even her mum agreed that it was all an unnecessary saga. Well, she’d do the deed, if that was what she had to do in order to keep her job, but she would refer to the matter in her next staff report.

He looked at what he’d written, in just eighteen minutes!

he knew it didn’t make much sense, but he just loved palindromes!

Oso

It was nighttime and they were some distance from the coast, when their engine failed.

The two men began to worry when they realised that they had no flares onboard. They had deliberately set sail without their mobiles. It was to be a ‘complete getaway’ for the afternoon. A complete disconnection from the world at large. No outside intrusions or interruptions, just a few hours of peace and quiet. They had been planning the afternoon for several weeks. The only thing they did have was a torch, that luckily had been left behind on a previous occasion. This would be the only way they could attract some attention to their plight. It was only a small torch, but they thought it would be bright enough to send some kind of signal.

The older man asked the other if he knew morse code.

“Not really,” said the other. “Why, don’t you?”

The older man shook his head. “Never had any need for it, I suppose.”

The younger man remembered something from his student days. “When I was studying Chronology, I do recall some interesting statistics about morse, but it wouldn’t help.”

“Really? What was that.”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t help.”

“Well, tell me anyway.”

“OK. As I said, I was studying Chronology… that’s the science of arranging events in their order of occurrence in time. Anyway, this interesting stuff came up about the units of time spacing when using morse code. There are five basic points regarding this. The length of a dot is one unit, while a dash is three. The space between parts of the same letter is one unit, between letters it’s three and between words it’s seven units.”

The older man just shook his head.

The younger man shrugged and said, “I did say it wouldn’t help.”

Getting frustrated, the older man said, “Look, you must remember some of it, just give it a go. We don’t want to be stuck out here all night.”

The other picked up the torch and sat thinking for a few moments, before sending out a sequence of flashes

Meanwhile, two late night beach anglers became aware of the flashes. One said to the other, “See that? Do you think they’re in trouble?”

“No. they’re probably just signalling to a friend on land somewhere.”

“Who are they talking to?”

“Dunno… You don’t know anyone called Oso, do you?”