Author: Alexander Fawn

The room was dark, with only a soft glow coming from the bed.

Daisy was reading her book under the bed covers with a tiny torch. Her mother didn’t like her reading this late, and this was the only way she could manage it. It was very hard not to keep reading as the characters and the stories were so good.

She felt her eyelids getting heavy. She stopped reading for a moment and wondered what would happen if…

…it was a beautiful sunny day.

There were brightly coloured flowers everywhere. It was an idyllic pastoral scene, but somehow more than a little unreal. To tell the truth, the whole place looked as though it had come straight out of some child’s picture book.

The only people to be seen didn’t help either. They were certainly an incongruous group. Had anybody been there to see it, not that there was any nobody else around, it would have been seen as a very strange little gathering.

They all sat round a large wooden table, and to add to the oddness of it all, they all appeared to be half asleep.

Heads were nodding, eyes were barely half open and the man would snore gently from time to time. He was rather well dressed in a business suit, with one arm resting on a large leather bag that looked very expensive. The other five sitting there were much younger, in fact they were all children; three boys and two girls.

One of the girls had a long, wooden stick with a hook on the end, lying on the ground behind her, while the other had her hands cupped around a bowl.

The boys didn’t seem to have anything other than themselves, except one did seem to be holding something, this small object was also made of leather. He was the first to wake up. “I don’t have a penny to my name!” he said, looking at his purse, breaking the silence and causing the others to stir and slowly open their eyes.

The all sat looking around in bewilderment.

The man spoke. “My trousers are wet! How did any of us get here? I’m a doctor and I’m sure I have house calls to make”.

One of the other boys said “I’m not sure who I am but I have jam on my hands!” He went back to licking his fingers.

The third boy piped up with “I’m very good at jumping”. He had taken off his shoe and was looking at his sock. “Although, I think I’ve burnt my sock!”

The girl with the bowl giggled. He turned to her and said “Why are you holding that, it’s empty?”

She stopped laughing and looked down at it. “I’m not really sure, but I’m quite certain it tasted very nice”.

The final one to speak was the other girl. She had been sitting quietly, looking as though she would burst into tears at any moment. They all stared at her, waiting for her to speak. “I’ve lost something and I’m probably going to get into a lot of trouble”. She took out a handkerchief and began to sob.

“I think I can help… if you don’t mind”. The voice seemed to come from nowhere.

Slowly the image formed. Daisy was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the table. She stood up and looked around at all there amazed faces. “I’m sure I can” she went on. With that she jumped down from the table and started to walk around them in a wide circle. One by one there heads turned, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Grown-ups first, that’s the rule isn’t it? You are Doctor Foster, it was raining in Gloucester when you went there and you didn’t watch out for puddles”. She shook her head, as if she were telling him off; pretending to be a grown-up herself.

She moved on. “Hello Jack. I know you, you’re Jack Horner, and you’ve been eating Christmas pie!”

She next laid her hand on the shoulder of the girl holding a bowl. “And you Miss Muffet; you’d still be eating, if spiders didn’t bother you so much”. She patted her shoulder to console her, then added in a very grown-up voice, “I don’t like them either”, and moved on again.

“Jack, you really must be more care when you jump over candlesticks!” she told the boy holding his sock. “But you are a very good jumper”. She smiled and gave him a friendly nod.

“As for you Simple Simon” she said, as she went round a little further, “You really shouldn’t expect to be sold a pie when you have no money!”

She came now to the final person at the table, one of her favourite characters. She had always felt very sorry for her and had so often wanted to make her feel better.

“And you are Bo-peep. It’s your sheep you’ve lost, but you shouldn’t worry you know… you shouldn’t worry…”

Daisy’s mother crept into the room leaving the door open a little. She made her way to the bed in the half light and pulled back the covers. “Oh! Not again!” she whispered, and smiled.

The girl’s eyes opened and looked up. “Mummy, what do you think would happen if… if…” the eyes closed again.

The mother switched off the little torch and pulled up the covers. She took the book of nursery rhymes and stood for a moment, running her fingers across its pages. It was an old book now, dog-eared with fading colors that had once belonged to her. She smiled again as she closed it very softly.

Who would have thought that a particle could have a mind of its own?

This particle was aware that there had never been a proper name for itself. It was, after all, a tiny piece of something. It was a body having a finite mass. It was an extremely small constituent of matter. You really had to be aware of the existence of a thing before trying to come up with a name for it. Although not being completely accurate, the word particle seemed to do well enough.

It had never become apparent to the Earth-dwellers that particles actually had a thought process, indeed one that never stopped running. Like the thought processes, particles simply don’t just stop being particles. Someone came up with the idea concerning the conservation of energy. Well, they got that right. It had recently learned, and one can only imagine how, that something called the God Particle was all the buzz in the world of science. Of course, the particle had no sense of humour; if it did, it would laugh.

This particular particle felt it self rather fortunate, it had travelled widely. Some particles hardly moved at all. Some lay buried deep in the earth, part of a coffin or a tree root or clinging to a stone. Hey! Who could tell? There had never been a lot of communication between particles, but there was some.

This particle had been fascinated to learn about one of its kind being intravenously injected into, and then travelling through, the body of a woman. It had been carried to the brain stem where it sadly observed the loss of her involuntary functions, resulting in her demise. Luckily, not wishing to spend a long and uncertain period of enforced hibernation underground, that particular particle had managed to find itself on a tissue sample, removed during the autopsy.

At this point, our particle… it can now be referred to as our particle, since enough has been revealed about its very existence for the term to be used with a sense of familial comfort… our particle had been soaking up the late afternoon’s sun of a summer’s day, on a cheese and pickle roll, on a paper plate, on a café table, in a small country town, a little south-west of… well, a little south-west of somewhere.

Our particle is about to be eaten by a girl who has never liked the food they serve up in either airports or on the planes that fly in and out of them. She has left the nearby dress shop where she works early today, and is about to join her friend in a taxi. She has been saving up for ages to go on holiday with her girlfriend.

Our particle waits anxiously, whether or not giving such an emotional attribute is reasonable, it does however find itself nestling between the atoms that once made up the flesh of an apple that has since been chopped and mixed with other ingredients that now form the relish that is spread across the slices of tasty vintage cheese being held in the remaining portion of two buttered halves of a crusty sesame seed roll.

She looks up as the taxi honks and her friend opens the window and waves excitedly. She stands, gathers her belongings along with her suitcase and pauses momentarily, looking down at the remainder of her food. She takes a moment to pop the remaining piece of roll into her mouth and runs to the waiting vehicle.

Yay! The particle is on its way to Majorca!

“Enlightenment can be a thing of great beauty” the man said. “When natural science can become the norm and thrive in an environment where people let go of religion and dogma”, he paused and fingered the book he held. He looked up at his visitor with a smile and went on. “When the authorities are seen to be working for the people and the people in turn start to think for themselves.” He swung in his chair and looked out of the window.

He admired the spacious courtyard below and the fringe of green treetops in the distance for a few moments before turning back to the visiting professor.

“We, of course, are mostly concerned with physics. We both know that the whole thrust of physics is to discover truths about the nature of the physical universe, with nothing assumed or presupposed. Everything we see now and discover later has to be based on irrefutable evidence. It is true that occasionally our personal views or considerations may unduly influence our choice of a particular theory, but in the final analysis…” his voice dropped off as he studied the shapes of the shadows spreading across the great area below.

The visitor coughed softly to bring his friend back. “I agree, there is certainly a much greater uunderstanding of our work thanks largely to your brother…” The man bit his tongue as he realised what he had said. “I’m so sorry! I can’t imagine what made me say that. I… I…”

The physicist raised his hand, “Don’t apologise my old friend. He was a talented journalist with a very persuasive style of reporting. My brother is at peace now. The thing is done and that’s that.”

The visitor relaxed. “I’m sure you must be feeling a great sorrow….”

“Not at all! No; not a bit of it.” replied the other. “Don’t you bother yourself in that regard. As I said; he’s at peace at last.”

The men sat in complete silence for a while, until the visit was interrupted by approaching footsteps and a rattle of key at the door of the cell that announced the arrival of the priest, bible in hand, ready to administer the man his last rights.

He had walked a long way that day. He couldn’t put a distance to it. This was wild open country. It was without measure. He reached the crest of yet another hill; he felt weary from the day’s trek and found a rock flat enough to sit on. This was freedom. This was sanity, at last. Far from the madness of a poorly managed insurance office. Far from the whining and coping of two ungrateful children and a partner who no longer cared.

His life had gone downhill fast. First there was the guy next door learning to play the saxophone, then the leak in the toilet that he couldn’t fix; both his kids were hooked on drugs, his wife was now a full-blown alcoholic, his car was in for repairs, his eczema had come back, and now he was plagued with the Hopkins account. His eyes watered as his thoughts settled on the Hopkins account.

Heaven preserve us, he thought. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere he was thinking about the Hopkins Account. He felt the tension build up again; a weird, unreal sensation. He felt as though he was on the edge of something. Not perched here on top of a hill, but teetering on the edge of a precipice; the precipice of reason, on the very threshold of madness.

He squeezed tears out and kept his eyes closed as the cool drops tracked down his cheeks. He sat, like that, not moving, but in a kind of lonely oblivion. He knew what he was doing… knew he was shutting it all out. The job, the debts, the family, the neighbours, the car… it was endless. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? That’s why he had contrived to disappear for the last two days of that stupid seminar; the group-bonding drivel he had been sent to. Sent… by a manager who had never bonded with anyone in his whole, God-forsaken life! No. He wouldn’t think about the Hopkins account; Higgins would have to look after that. Poor old Higgins; what a fool! A typical old retainer… gets all the dregs of the office work and never complains.

He kept his eyes tight shut. He was aware of feeling tired; tired from the cross-country walking, weary from all that he has, for the time being at least, left behind. Solitude took hold again, and he straightened his back and sat in a monk-like pose.

Suddenly, from nowhere, there was a rush of something moving past him. He tried to open his eyes, but found that he couldn’t. They were clamped shut; held closed by some strange force that was alien to him. Neither could he move. It was as though he had been drenched in some fast setting glue that had hardened and held him fixed. It, the something, went past and around him again and again with a great swirling of wings, yes that was it… wings! They now stroked his face, fluttered against his neck; great feathered wings. He sat with amazing calmness as, without opening his eyes, he saw the angel stand before him, still flapping, still creating soft, soothing eddies across his whole body. As he took in the visage, he noted that the wings were black. He felt something stir in his chest; a sting. His hand went up to feel for an answer. He toppled off the rock and lay very still. The flapping of wings grew faint.

It was several hours before he was discovered in that lonely landscape, and several more before he was lying on a stainless steel table, being looked at by two men dressed in greens. They were momentarily startled by a strange noise; a flapping. Then some unseen thing moved across the room and they looked at each other; neither wishing to appear foolish. At first they made no comment, but this was followed by a murmuring sound.

“Did you hear that!” said one. “I certainly did” came the whispered reply.” It sounded to me like ‘whinging bastard.'”

Who has strolled in a garden

With the magic that it weaves?

Who has ever wondered

At the myriad of leaves?

–

They appear in so many stages,

Some shining and bright when unfurled,

Some barely beyond an opening bud,

Some slowly fading and curled.

–

They come in a vast variety of shapes,

Some broad, some tapered, some scaled,

Some oblong, some forked, some bristled, some fanned,

Some wavy, some barbed, and some tailed.

–

There are crescents and ovals and diamonds and spears,

Serrated, truncated, and starred;

Pleated and pointed, spiny and narrow,

Crinkly, radial and barbed.

–

They are old; they are new, either many or few

Filling canopies overhead.

Sometimes no match for the driving winds,

Holding on by just a thread.

–

One can lose oneself in leaves,

With their kaleidoscope of shades;

Breathing gently as they dance and sway

In so many hidden cascades.

–

There comes a fancy notion that many would dismiss.

A sadness felt by very few,

By those who would dwell on things they miss.

A thought that a poet might pursue.

–

How rare to look at a single leaf;

It’s just part of a blanket of green.

It may pass through its time, so grand in its prime,

But never even seen!

Doris wasn’t sure about this; her neighbour thought it was wonderful.

The yoga instructor was saying. “Let all of your thoughts just melt away, leaving an empty place to create a tranquil lake. See how each wave washes over the tiny pebbles, glistening in the warm sunshine.”

Doris concentrated really hard. Yes, she could see it; a beautiful spot.

Someone coughed and she wondered who it was. No, you mustn’t let yourself get distracted. She wriggled on her mat.

Concentrate now, watch the lapping of the waves as they roll up the beach. I think I’ll add a couple of palm trees. Am I allowed to do that? Of course I can. This is my place; my special place where I can… palm trees, dam! I didn’t tell Colin… No, distraction. But Colin doesn’t know about the neighbour’s pruning does he? He’ll be worried about the dog! Oh! For goodness sake; just tell him when you get home. Now, the lake…

  

 For several minutes Doris was by her lake. It was very nice, but at the same time rather boring. She imagined herself making a little garden to spruce the place up a bit. She was now wearing her old gardening clothes. Her jumper was in a pretty sad state. It has several holes and loose bits hanging off. I should fix it. After all, I knitted it in the first place. Do I have the wool in that colour?

She rolled her shoulders. Should she be thinking all this stuff? She didn’t know.

Someone coughed again. I bet it was that old guy who came in blowing his nose.

She moved around and made herself more comfortable. I wonder if Dad’s cold is better.

Should I be thinking all these things? I’m not sure. Nobody knows what I’m thinking do they? So, it doesn’t really matter does it?

“Mrs Weller? A pause, then “Mrs Weller!”

She opened her eyes and looked up.

“Yes. Yes, I was by my lake, it was very comfortable.” She smiled. “I was very happy there.”

“Yes, we know. You were snoring!”

Mr Adams didn’t have much time for fairgrounds.

Nevertheless, he always went along with his wife to keep her company. The show swung around every year, making some kind of circuit right around the country. She liked to go along for the spectacle of it all, while her husband found it all rather noisy and pointless. Despite this, they had a few shots at the rifle range, had a go on one of the gentler rides, and now stood in front of Madam Griswold’s tent.

“OK. Go on” he said wearily. “I’m sure you want to know what your future holds for you.”

“No. You know I never throw my money away on this sort of thing.”

He was reading the sign. “Look at this. She doesn’t tell the future, she tells the now! What the hell does that mean?”

She read the sign. “Well, I suppose I’m interested, even if I don’t know what it means.”

“Go on. You’ll never stop wondering if you don’t go in.” He sighed. “I’ll wait right here for you.”

As she entered, a little old woman sitting behind a tiny round table looked up with a toothless smile. In a voice hardly above a whisper she said “Please sit my dear.” She looked very frail and not at all well. Her customer sat with a sense that this going to be rather ridiculous and a complete waste of money. But then she thought, he did talk me into it.

“I don’t tell you about your future. You read the sign?

“Yes.”

“Good I can only tell you about your now. Where would you like to start?”

“I… I have no idea.”

“Well then, well concentrate on your home. Is that alright?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Alright then.” The old woman closed her eyes. “Oh! Yes, it’s a nice home dear. You do keep it well.”

She felt her face flush and replied “Thank you. I do my best.”

“It’s a pity about the crack at the bottom of the bathroom mirror.” With this she opened her eyes to gauge her visitor’s reaction.

Mrs Adams gasped, “The… the bathroom… what do you mean.”

“No matter dear; it just seems a shame in such a well-kept bathroom. Everything neat and tidy. Matching towels. Everything in its place. You’ve just never got around to it I suppose.”

“I noticed that the box of tissues on your dresser is almost empty.”

Mrs Adams sat dumbfounded.

“The banjo your husband’s father gave him is beginning to rot around the hole.”

She looked bewildered “Banjo?”

“It’s in the loft.” She went on “If you do decide to move the couch in the living room, you’ll have to do something about the carpet stain. Shall we go somewhere else now?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“Your son’s flat. In Toronto is it? The missing teddy bear fell down behind the bed in the spare bedroom. Your uncle’s white utility vehicle has been resprayed, but the original colour, blue, is starting to show through; he may not have noticed yet. I should mention that there are two buttons missing from your husband’s spare, clean shirt; you know, the one he keeps at the office.”

The old woman stopped and passed a bony hand across her face. “Sorry dear, but I’m getting a bit tired. Is it alright if we stop now?”

Mrs Adams was still in a state of shock and could only nod. She staggered back out of the tent and fell into her husband’s arms. He saw she was close to fainting and sat her down on a nearby seat. A man came over from another stall and asked if everything was alright. Mr Adams asked if he could get a glass of water and he hurried back with it.

“I’m afraid my wife was in with Madam Griswold and had a bit of a turn.” The man puffed out his cheeks. “Not surprised. Silly old biddy. I’m not sure what she tells them in there but I’ve seen a fair few wander out like lost sheep. I’m going to get Alex to have a word with her.”

Mr Adams said “Alex?” The man replied saying “The manager, I’ll be back in a minute; you look after her, she doesn’t look too good to me.” He was back within minutes. They seemed to be arguing. Alex was saying “You look for yourself.” The man went into the tent and came out saying “I don’t understand! We’ve been here all the time and this lady went in and saw her not long ago. I saw her go in, while this gentleman, her husband, waited outside.”

Alex explained “We received a call from her daughter telling us of her passing away last week. I gave orders to remove the tent from the grounds.” He looked around saying “This was obviously ignored.”

Mrs Adams was still not speaking, only mumbling to herself. Her husband said “I think I should get her home. “Of course” said Alex “…and I apologise for any trouble this has caused.” Mr Adams moved his wife quickly to one side, smiling and nodding, as two workers began pulling down the tent. He took her away as fast as possible.

He really didn’t have much time for fairgrounds.

The two women in the Despatch Office had one very specific thing in common; they were both utterly bored with their lives.

It seemed that the only thing of any possible interest was the behaviour of Bernard, the recently appointed expeditor who shared a corner of the office, who was currently out doing his rounds.

“He’s a bit odd” Sarah said.

Her co-worker, Brenda, looked up from her desk. “Creepy! I’d call it”.

The pair looked around the office; making sure they were not being overheard. The room was empty, but Brenda lowered her voice anyway.

“D’you know, yesterday we were talking about my photo of cute little Billy, when he used the phrase the production of children. It seemed a strange way of putting it, I thought. You know, a bit weird!”

“I know.” Sarah replied. “He told me that he thought people had lost any reason to be nice to one another; and when I asked him if he was talking about the office he said no, he meant the world!”

Brenda, who occasionally had to visit other parts of the company, said “I was talking to Barry in Transport last week and he said Bernard had been asking questions all morning. Nothing to do with work; just questions”.

“What sort of questions”.

“Well, apparently he had asked several of the drivers about nuclear proliferation”.

“Proliferation?”

“You know, the spreading of nuclear arms”.

“Oh!”

“Anyway, Barry says he had asked him if he had any idea about whether the global population was sustainable”.

“What did he say?”

“Just told him to get lost, apparently”.

Sarah shook her head. “He gave me a hard time yesterday, when you were over at Engineering, going on about climate change”.

“What did he want to know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he wanted to know anything really; he just went on about the threat, and how hard it would be to do anything about it because it had been ignored for too long. I got the feeling he was having a go at me!”

“I know, I often get that impression”. Brenda dropped her voice even more. “Where did he come from; do you know?”

“What town, do you mean?”

Brenda shook her head. “No. Where did he work before here?”

“No idea; but it’s really peculiar because Tom in HR told me…” Sarah stopped abruptly as the man in question came into the office.

He placed a couple of folders on his desk with great care and slowly approached the women. He seemed even more nervous than usual.

“Sarah. Brenda.” he said, standing awkwardly, and shifting from one foot to another. “I have a question… Would either of you know when the food is predicted to run out?”

“Food?” said Sarah. “Canteen food, do you mean?”

“No, world food; you know, the sustenance of the global population… for the planet I mean.”

The two women eyed each other.

Sarah said “These questions you keep asking…” She paused, not wanting to be completely rude, but at the same time being happy to let him see that she really didn’t like him. Her faced was flushed. “These questions,” she repeated, “should you be asking them? I mean, you keep going on about how there are all these problems in the world, and I can tell people are really getting sick of it!”

Bernard’s jaw went slack.

At first Sarah wondered if she had gone too far. No, she thought and straightened in her chair. It was about time somebody told him!

Brenda’s eyebrows shot up, then she nodded encouragingly at her friend.

“Look, the fact is Bernard” she went on, “there isn’t anything wrong with the world, it’s just fine. It’s just hunky dory. So, just give it a rest will you?”

“Hunky dory” he whispered.

“Yes, it’s all just peachy”. Sarah was red in the face now, and her hands were shaking. “For God’s sake Bernard, everything is fine!”

Suddenly, a look of terror flashed across Bernard’s face. He staggered back against a filing cabinet. After a moment, he slowly reached into his inside jacket pocket and brought out a small spherical object. Holding it up to his lips he whispered the single world “Irretrievable”.

At this same moment the room filled with a great flash of brilliant light and the man before them promptly disappeared, leaving only a small puff of purple smoke.

The two ladies sat wild-eyed and trembling. Then, they both began to scream.

Although it was not immediately appreciated by the ladies in the Despatch office, the events that were to follow would not only have a profound effect on their humdrum office routines, but more generally, their lives were about to perk up a bit!

Several crudely dressed men stood around gazing at the newly formed axe-head. Its maker was being patted on the shoulder. He was nodding his thanks and obviously very pleased with their appreciation of his talent.

Although they were the scientists and engineers of the future, their deliberations were mainly transmitted with body language and hand gestures. They only had a few words to express their thoughts and opinions.

Suddenly, a younger man entered the clearing in an agitated manner, waving his arms and beckoning for the men to follow.

The head man and well-respected elder was clearly annoyed by the interruption. He growled “What?”

“Come. Come see.”

“Come see what?”

“Come see!”

Reluctantly, the group followed the elder, some shaking their heads, others grunting and laughing.”

They entered the cave and looked around. They could see nothing.

The elder shrugged and raised his hands in an impatient questioning gesture.

The young man pointed to the wall of the cave with a great beaming grin.

They all gathered around in silence staring at the wall. After a minute or so a few whispers started up and two of them were trying very hard to supress a fit of giggles.

The elder shushed them and turned to the young man saying “Drawing.”

The other nodded enthusiastically saying “Um, drawing.”

The old man said “Spider web is all.”

“No spider web – wheel. I call wheel.”

The old man sighed and said “Spider web”.

“No! No, for moving – wheel”

The old man said “What is wheel?”

The young man took up a pose and thrust his hands forward repeatedly, saying “Moving; moving along.”

The old man looked around at the others and said “No wheel – web!”

The young man opened his arms in an embracing gesture “Wheel!” he cried.

“No, web, nothing new. You crazy. You ever crazy!”

Despite the fact that deep down within himself somewhere the younger man felt that the future would see so many of his kind be forever grateful for his revolutionary invention, but all he could say was “No. Wheel!”

So they all jumped on him… and beat him up…

In a slower and more ordered world

There was thinking in between.

Now news reports come thick and fast,

Flashing on the screen.

To analyse what’s gone before,

While new things intervene,

The brain now forced to take the next,

With no thinking in between.

–

A person standing deep in thought,

Something rarely seen.

A weighing of past and things to come,

Thinking in between.

–

Office workers in the street,

So often can be seen.

Are they only wasting time,

Or thinking in between?

–

Issues cascade one by one

With up-comings unforeseen.

Future planning only works

With thinking in between.

–

So, when next you see a person pause,

Taking stock of things unseen.

Give them space, proceed with grace…

They’re thinking in between.