Author: Alexander Fawn

Have you ever stopped to think,

Imagine if you can,

How much work went into

The crafting of a man?.

–

All that blood and sinew,

With all those twiddly bits.

With nerve-ends sparking in the brain

And the notions it transmits.

–

Chambers that continually beat;

Sacks that keep filling with air.

Orbs that take in the world we’re in;

Slowly growing hair.

–

All those hinged connections

With lubricant, just enough.

The strength of bone and tendon;

Quite apart from the mental stuff.

–

Why, there are teeth and feet, chests and ears;

There are groins, temples and eyes.

Elbows, arteries, cuticles and glands,

Navels, pupils and thighs.

–

There are backs and loins, throats and spines;

There are skulls, knees and veins.

Thumbs, shoulders, toes and napes,

Fingers, kidneys and brains

–

There are hearts and cheeks, calves and thighs.

There are tongues, heels and arms.

Mouths, livers, nails and jaws,

Legs, necks and palms.

–

Not to mention the hip and the lip,

As well as the hand and the gland.

Where would we be without chin or shin?

No need to further expand.

–

It’s all made to fit together;

To work as a total thing.

Cells that fight invading germs,

Chords to talk and sing.

–

Just imagine the initial design,

And the development of the plan.

What an awesome task to undertake;

The crafting of a man!

 

The young girl came into the living room, washed, dressed and curious.

Her parents had obviously been waiting for her. Her mother gave her a hug and said, “We have a special treat for you today.”

The girl looked around and said “It’s not a wrapped present is it?”

Her mother smiled. “No.”

“Are we going through the tunnels again Mummy?”

With a shake of her head she said, “No. Come on, we mustn’t be late.”

In the city they entered a huge building she had only ever walked past. Her father handed over a ticket and they made their way to a row of large shiny cylinders. As they approached, one of them opened and they stepped in. Her father handed his daughter an information leaflet and the car began to move. As they rode she read. The lift stopped and the door opened onto a foyer. She knew what was happening now, she had heard lots of stories about it.

She waved to her parents as she entered the cubicle and changed into skimpy top and bottom, hat and dark goggles. She stepped back out into the foyer.

A man in a uniform came forward.

“A special occasion for you miss. Just some simple rules; when the glass panel opens, go through to the chamber and stand inside the circle you can see on the floor there. When the canopy opens you have one full minute. When the bell rings, return through this same door. Any questions?”

She glanced across to where her parents had been sitting. They were getting up now and moving closer. She was shaking with excitement. Her mouth was too dry to speak, she shook her head. The door slid open and she walked forward nervously and stood patiently in the circle.

She heard the rumble of the canopy opening and looked up to see something she had never seen before. She raised her arms above her head and bathed in the sun’s rays. This was like nothing she had ever experienced before; not like anything she could have imagined.

Tears of joy and bliss welled up inside her goggles, and she could just make out her parents calling to her from behind the panel.

“Happy Birthday!”

Morris was only really killing time when he met the girl selling capsules.

He had arrived in town much too early for his interview. He was turning over a new leaf. He recently lost his last job through constant lateness and one morning had turned up late again for the last time, and had been told not to come back. He had never been a good time-keeper but the sacking had shaken him up. This was the reason for him being more than an hour early and following the sound of the fair.

After strolling through the stalls and rides aimlessly for a while, his eye was caught by a grubby-looking caravan drawn up at the back of the fairground. It looked kind of isolated, with nobody going near it or taking much notice of it, despite the fact that the grounds were bustling with people. There was something curious about it. Morris looked at his watch, he had time.

The door was hanging slightly open and he began to doubt whether he should be there. He climbed a couple of steps and tentatively pulled the door open. The interior was well lit and almost completely white.

A girl sat behind an enormous desk covered with plastic trays, each containing little blue capsules. She was very thin, with plastic features and completely bald. She was wearing a white trouser suit, zipped up to the chin. In a strange way she was attractive.

As he entered she looked up from what appeared to be some kind of tablet screen and said, “Hello, how can I help you?”

Morris looked around, then along the display of capsules. He looked up at the girl, who had gone back to her screen. “Unusual set up, I must say. Do you come with the fair?”

“No. Not really.”

“Ah! But you travel around from place to place I guess; this being a caravan, I mean.”

“Oh! Yes. From place to place, but never the same place twice.”

“Just fairgrounds?”

“Mainly fairgrounds, yes.”

“But surely, there are only so many. You would run out sooner or later?”

“No. We move to other cities; other countries.”

Morris looked surprised and said “Other countries?”

“Yes, other countries.” She went back to her screen.

“No vehicle I see.”

She looked up “Vehicle?”

“You know, a Jeep or something, to pull it I mean.”

She shook her head, “We don’t use one.”

He frowned and looked around the interior again. “If you don’t mind me saying, this is quite a set up for someone as young as you to be in charge of.”

She raised one hairless eyebrow. “You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been nineteen.”

“Oh? How long would that be?”

The girl almost smiled. “Like I said. You wouldn’t believe me.” She put her tablet down. “As I said before, how can I help you?”

“Well, it does depend on what you’re selling in here.”

“Time.” Came the enigmatic reply. “Please feel free to browse.”

Browse didn’t seem the right word somehow, since all he could see was lots of tiny blue capsules, oblong and no bigger than a small fingernail. He was beginning to think the whole thing was some sort of joke and looked around for hidden cameras.

“Oh! I see, you’re selling time are you?”

Before she could answer the door swung open and three teenage boys trudged in sniggering and whispering to each other.”

“There you are, told you it was open, I saw this dude come in here” said the oldest boy; who was obviously the ring-leader. He grinned at Morris. When he saw the girl he paused before saying. “Hey guys, check this weird chick out will yer?”

Morris stood back to let the boy go forward and pick up a couple of capsules. “What are these?” he demanded, doing his best to impress his mates.

“I don’t think you’d be interested” said the girl, and went back to her screen.

The boy was embarrassed and said in an angry voice “Hey girly, I asked you a question.” He looked at Morris. Morris said nothing. He repeated “Come on, what the hell are these stupid things?” He held them up.

The girl stiffened. “They are ten-minute time capsules. They are placed under the tongue, they dissolve very quickly. Are you going to buy those?”

The boy scoffed. “Under the tongue, yeh, right.” With that he made a show of dropping them on the floor and treading on them. “Come on guys, this bird is a whack job. Let’s…” He was cut short by a ring on his mobile. He saw the caller ID and answered it. “Yes Mum, what’s up?” There was a long pause. “But you said…” Another pause. “But you said we could stay until five and we’ve only just got here. OK! OK! I’m coming!” He looked at his mates and said “Sorry.” They both groaned. He kicked the door open and they left.

Morris said “Wow! That was impressive. So, I take it from that little charade you not only give it, you can take it away.”

She nodded.

“How much did he lose?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Difficult to be accurate but around two hours.”

Morris checked the time, no rush he thought. “How much are they?” he asked.

“Five dollars each.”

He pulled out his wallet. “OK. I’ll take six. You just never know when the odd hour’s going to come in handy.”

Doris was an avid story listener.

She regularly plugged herself in to her latest book.

It was a great pastime and she would often become thoroughly engrossed in the stories being told. For this reason, she would listen every chance she got, from the time she left home to the time she arrived at the shop. Then, after the day, she would listen all the way home. She worked behind the counter of a top-draw jewellery shop in the city.

There were times when it would be quiet for long periods and she could discreetly use just one earplug to keep the story going. She made sure this didn’t impinge on her duties. She had been there for several years and was careful to keep the job that she enjoyed.

She was very fond of thrillers, stories that would keep her guessing, stories with lots of twists and turns.

On this particular occasion she was well into a chase sequence between two men running a money lending syndicate, trying to track down a potential victim in the form of an innocent young woman who had accidently witnessed something that has put her in danger. Although Doris had heard such scenarios many times before, it didn’t lessen either her enjoyment of it, or her becoming fully immersed in the plot.

As soon as she was out on the street the earplugs when in.

The woman in the story, Betty, was now running. If she could only make it to the underground station without being spotted, she could catch a train and be well clear of the criminals with little chance of them being able to track her down further.

As Betty entered the crowded entrance to the station she looked over her shoulder to see whether the two men were there when she collided with a man coming out. His briefcase caught her on the knee and sent a shot of burning pain up her leg. She hurried on, limping now, but she had to get out of sight as quickly as possible.

Once Betty was down on the platform, she hobbled to the quiet end of the platform and found a seat, where she could watch the passengers coming down the escalator. She was exhausted. Had she given them the slip? She didn’t know. Her leg hurt. She sat waiting nervously for the train. It seemed to be taking a long time to arrive. She waited and waited…

Doris’s head bounced. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up. She was sitting at the end of the platform in an underground railway station, out of breath… and rubbing her sore knee!

Yesterday he had stood on the balcony with his eyes closed.

She had only been gone three or four days, but the time had been drawn out for him, painfully. The recording of their final blazing row had not stopped replaying in his head. He could see that there was nothing left for him. It had all been blown away with the slamming of the front door.

He gripped the rail and leaned further forward. Eyes still shut, he let out a slow breath… and toppled.

The surgeon was telling her that the operation went as well as could be expected but the brain damage was extensive. In his view, it was remarkable that he had survived the fall.

“I have to tell you,” he went on, “that these cases commonly result in permanent memory loss; the patient literally has to start again as it were. The scans we have taken indicate that he will almost certainly suffer from what is known as Retrograde Amnesia; resulting in a loss of those recent memories prior to the trauma.”

He pointed the way. “Shall we?” As they walked along the corridor he said, “The police are treating it as an attempted suicide, but they’re not ruling out the possibility that it was an accident; apparently, there were no witnesses.” As they entered the ward he dropped his voice and said, “I should warn you, he may not know you. I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned and went back up the hallway.

She suddenly felt very alone and more than a little nervous. After a few paces she saw him. She went forward with the best smile she could muster.

His head turned on the pillow as she approached. “Justin, you poor thing, how are you?”

He frowned and said “Who are you?”

“Rosie. I’m Rosie your girlfriend. Don’t you remember?”

A sudden change came over him. He wriggled around and sat up straighter. With a big smile on his face, the smile she had always loved, he winked and said “I don’t think I would forget a looker like you!”

Her tears welled, as she realised that they had been given a second chance.

We have a tree; it’s plain to see.

It stands aloof at the front.

It’s old, but healthy, just like me,

But its upkeep makes me grunt.

–

Leaves and twigs come tumbling down

With only the slightest breeze.

It’s a basket case! But with a saving grace;

My innate love of trees.

–

It has stood throughout the seasons

Giving shade and looking grand.

In truth, its stance is a work of art,

As it holds its steadfast stand.

–

There must be a host of tiny creatures

Nestling in its bark and leaves;

Weathering all, from a blustering storm

To a gentle evening breeze.

–

Hardly a day passes by

Without things that flutter and drop.

And the lawn gets dappled with all manner of stuff,

And it’s really not likely to stop.

So, while stooping and bending and gathering bits up,

My admiration still remains.

While tending this wonder of nature,

My true love for a tree never wanes.

This was not going to be a good day for Cindy.

It was an accident; surely they would understand that. Well, Mrs Rogers probably wouldn’t, she could get very angry sometimes. Betty would understand, she and Betty had got on from the time they had first met; they just sort of hit it off from the word go.

She stood looking down at the pieces, little white fragments with patches of blue. The noise it made when it hit the floor was terrible. She kept hearing that sound in her head. But this really was an accident. It could have happened to anybody.

She found herself wandering from room to room, waiting for them to get back from the shops. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t allowed in the front room when they were out, but the door had been open and Cindy had gone in just to have a look around.

She was sitting in the armchair when she heard the car pull into the driveway. This was it; there was no getting around it. Betty would understand. She went to the window and watched them taking bags out of the car. She heard the front door go. She heard Betty yelling “Cindy, we’re home” from the hall.

Cindy didn’t go through to welcome them home the way she normally did. She just stood in the room next to the scattered pieces and waited.

The door was pushed fully open and Mrs Rogers came in. When she saw what had happened she just stood, wide-eyed, with her hand over her mouth. Cindy thought she looked kind of funny.

“Oh! No! Just look at this will you?” she cried.

Betty came in asking, “What is it Mum?”

“Look, Grandma’s blue Willow mug” she cried. “How did she get in here?” pointing at Cindy.

Betty went over and picked her up. “It was an accident Mum, she didn’t mean it”.

She knew Betty would understand. She had always loved her, from the time she was a little kitten she had loved her.

George Smart woke late.

He stared across at the clock’s numbers, realising he would have to hurry if he wanted to catch his usual bus. George didn’t like hurrying. He didn’t like being late.

It had been just one more night of tossing and turning; an event all too common with him and he could see no obvious way of fixing it. He mulled it over as he shaved. Maybe it was those images; he knew they disturbed him. Well that was natural wasn’t it? Dead bodies lying in the streets, buildings turned to rubble, smoke rising up out of shattered cities, towns and villages…

He had considered what he thought was a silly notion – just avoiding the TV news in the evening, but that didn’t make sense. That would just be burying his head in the sand, wouldn’t it?

He locked the door of his tiny apartment. Since he was single now, his home was small but it suited him very well. He reflected on how much it really did suit him as he made his way to the main road. It was just such a pity that he could not enjoy decent sleeps in his little haven. His single bed was actually very comfortable.

The traffic seemed unusually heavy this morning. As he reached his stop, he was shaken by the sudden roaring of a car engine, accelerating towards the far cross-roads. He stopped and watched it speeding towards the lights, which had just turned red. It got faster and faster, and then slammed on its brakes.

George just stood and stared. He didn’t move. One or two fellow travellers walked past him and said something, but he didn’t hear what they said. He was transfixed. He was having an epiphany…

George missed his bus and had to wait for the next one. It didn’t bother him, as it gave him time to take in the full meaning of what he had witnessed. This was the answer; but he was trying to work out exactly what it was the answer to. He knew it meant something really important to him. If he could only figure it out… His bus came and he managed to come out of his trance long enough to climb on.

The ride was only a few minutes, but it was time enough for him to see and figure out that the car, rushing towards that red light the way it did when the traffic lights were clearly red, said it all. It had shown George what was going on in the world; what people were doing, why those buildings were falling down with bodies scattered in the streets. Would anybody else see what he sees? Would it make any sense to others?

He was a little nervous now as he got off and made his way to the office. How would the people in the office take it? Although he was smart enough to know that his fellow workers and a small group of friends saw him as a quiet person of sober habits and a simple life style, how would they take to being told what he had just this minute discovered? Would he lose friends or respect in the workplace?

It didn’t matter! It didn’t matter at all; there was no way he wasn’t going to tell anybody that would listen. He knew what people were doing; he could see what was happening in the world. He had to tell people, he couldn’t keep it to himself.

He spent the day convincing others that he had seen something that meant, well something… It was hard at first, but after talking to three or four of his fellow colleagues he got into the stride of it. By the end of the day those around him were beginning to give him funny looks, occasionally he had caught people smiling and winking at each other, but he had always been generally liked and such an easy person to get along with that nobody really took too much notice of his ramblings.

That evening he watched the news. It was there, the same, the buildings, the bodies and the smoke. But he knew why. He suddenly realised that he was watching it, and he was almost OK with it all, because he knew why it was happening. He could see what was happening in the world; were people were going, were they were heading – were everybody was heading!

That night George slept well.

They came out of the cinema and stood for a moment, deciding on which café to head for.

A few minutes later they sat nursing cups of coffee, pulling the movie apart. They didn’t do this very often and they both enjoyed the catch up. Ellie and Naomi had been at school together a decade earlier. Ellie was now at University, while Naomi was studying hairdressing. Although it was rare that they got together, it was always good when they did. After discussing the merits or otherwise of the film, they settled down to personal chit-chat.

Naomi said “Somebody told me your Dad writes stories, is that right? He should publish.”

Ellie smiled.

Naomi said “What?”

“He doesn’t write to sell them, he writes them, well… because he likes to write them, I guess.”

“Does he make any money at it?”

Ellie nearly chokes on her coffee, “Sorry, No, not really. If you knew my Dad, you’d understand. It’s not what he wants to do. He’s not interested in making money out of them, he’s only interested in writing them.” She leant forward. “He published a book once you know.”

“Did he?”

“Yes; but he doesn’t like to publicise the fact.”

“Did he sell many books?”

“Well, he doesn’t really know. He’s got access to a website where he can see whose buying things. He never looks at it. You’ve got to sell quite a lot of books before you get any royalties coming through. He’s never had any of those as far as I know.”

Naomi frowned. “Why did he publish it?”

“I think he was under quite a bit of pressure. You know, people kept telling him he should publish. I think in the end he did it to shut them up. He told me once that from that point of view it worked. He also said that over a number of months there was a lot of work involved in actually getting a book published… said he wouldn’t do it again.”

“So, he just writes for writings sake?”

“Yeh, much like me and my jewellery I suppose. I don’t make the stuff to sell. I just like making it. When I think of it, I am really enjoying my studies and seem to be getting good grades, I think the two things go hand in hand. You like the work you do, don’t you.”

“Oh! Yes.” Came the instant reply.

Ellie looked pleased with herself. “Well, there you go then.” she said. “I think we’ve established a pretty firm principle there don’t you? You can never make a good job of something if you are under duress.”

Naomi nodded.

She never found out what it was she was meant to look at.

She was tired; they both were. It had been a long day. The birthday party had been a lot of fun; great for the kids. Her seven year old had swelled with pride when he handed over his school-friend’s present. He had saved up for months to buy it. He was slumped in the passenger’s seat now, staring sleepily at the road ahead.

It had rained earlier, leaving the roads shiny. It was getting dark and she switched on the lights.

Out of the blue, he shouted “Mum, look at that!” pointing through his side window. When she glanced across she saw nothing of interest, just shops.

Before she could focus on anything the whole world stopped with a deafening explosion.

The car was still. Somewhere there was a hissing sound and the lights of another vehicle were blinking orange, lighting up the car’s interior. She saw what had been done to her son. She had never been firm enough with him about wearing his seat belt properly.

She sat back with her eyes closed, aware of the warm trickle running down her face.

Just before she let out one slow and final breath, she murmured softly.

“Look at what dear?”