Author: Alexander Fawn

The two consultant psychologists stood looking into the waiting room through a one-way mirror. The man they were looking at was in his mid-twenties. He was sitting nervously. His whole body twitched from time to time.

“You’d like me to see him?” asked the first specialist.

“Yes. I’d appreciate that, if you wouldn’t mind,” said the other.

“Certainly. You’ve seen him, how often?”

“Just the once, but like I said, he presents with some strange notion that he’s some sort of hand-me-down. He says that he’s tired of being second-hand.”

“Hand-me-down?”

“Yes. I think he feels that he’s not new, not original in some way.”

“Ah! Was he adopted?”

“No.”

“A case of rivalry with brothers or sisters, maybe?”

“No. He’s an only child.”

“Nothing significant about his parents, I suppose?

“Not that I can make out. His father owns a shop in town, selling clocks mainly, and he does repairs. She’s a housewife. Everything normal there, I’d say.”

“OK. I’ll see him,” he said and went to his room, where he had the receptionist send the patient through. They sat together for some time, the psychologist asking questions and the man giving perfectly logical answers.

Finally, the man slumped in his chair. “I just don’t want to be a second hand,” he mumbled. “Life just moves much too fast and it never stops!”

The psychologist wasn’t quite sure what he’d heard. “Let me get this clear. Did you say you don’t want to be… a second hand?”

“No. I certainly don’t. Second hands just keep moving… all the time! At least a minute hand only has to move once a minute.” He thought for a moment. Then, as though the idea had only just occurred to him for the first time, he said, “What I’d really like to be is an hour hand. That only moves round a few times a day. Do you see?”

“I do. So, you find that all of life has become intolerably busy for you. Is that it?”

The man smiled and giving out a long sigh, he said, “Yes.”

“I think we can help you,” said the psychologist.

The boy stood, looking down the back garden, wondering whether his father had meant it when he promised to build him a treehouse, his own special place. He had a friend that had one. It wasn’t very good. Too small and rickety. His friend’s mother didn’t like them climbing into it. She said it wasn’t safe. His one, he was told, would be built a lot stronger. Looking at what trees they had, it was obvious that he’d have to wait for at least one of them to grow. It had to be big enough and strong enough for the job.

–

The young man stood, looking down the back garden. He was thinking back to a time when his father said he would build him a treehouse, his own special place. He felt a wave of sadness when he looked at the tallest tree and how that would have been the one to use. This never happened. It was around the time he left school and got his first job that his dad was diagnosed with Myasthenia, a muscle weakness that came on him fast. It was a bad time that ended with him leaving work and going onto a disability pension. He had been a draftsman, an office job, but when he could no longer drive, just getting to the train station became impossible for him. The tests and the treatments seemed to go on forever. It was a bad time for the whole family. He couldn’t remember his dad ever talking about the fact that the treehouse would never get built.

–

The man stood, looking down the back garden. He’d been an only child, but now he was married with two daughters growing up fast. He looked at the tree that could have been his own special place. His girls had never shown any inkling to have him build a treehouse. When he suggested he build one for himself, his wife quite naturally said that it wasn’t a good idea. He had to agree. Now, with both parents gone, he had to be content with keeping the garden looking nice. They had added a couple of garden seats. He would sometimes sit on one, it being no replacement for a treehouse, but gave him a sense of being in his own small, special world.

–

The old man stood, leaning on his stick, looking down the back garden. His wife, now long gone, had fought cancer and lost. She had lived to a good old age, but the loss still haunted him. The girls, now both married women, had lives of their own. Their occasional visits meant a lot to him. He looked passed the trees to the back corner of the garden, and his own special place. A few years back, when he was still able, he took on a small building project. Buying a quantity of old cleaned-up bricks, along with other materials, he set about creating the small world that he’d always dreamed of. He walked slowly down to the end of the garden. He opened the little door and entered his folly!

It was deemed to be an accidental drowning.

It had been a terrible tragedy. Although, some might say it was an accident just waiting to happen. As was so often the case, she was blind drunk when she fell into the pool. She had never learned to swim. Her husband was beside himself with grief when he found her floating face down. Her blood alcohol level was through the roof. No autopsy was required. However, someone knew better. There had been a witness. He had been there. He had seen it, but all things considered, there was not a damned thing he could do about it.

But, hey! He thinks, as long as the hand that pushed her in. keeps opening tins of cat food, who am I to complain?

He was one of the home’s oldest residents.

He was liked by all; staff and patients alike. Unlike some of the inmates, he was allowed to take bus rides into town. It was on his return from one such occasion that he came back full of the incident that happened at the bus stop, just as he was getting off. Others could see how excited he was. Several residents gathered around to hear what he had to say.

“I saw him!” he started. “I’m pretty sure it was him.” He slapped his knees. “It was Pugsley; as large as life. What a character he was.” He looked around, beaming with joy. “We had some great times together. You never knew what he’d do next. Of course, this was school days. There were times when he’d get me into trouble…” He shook his head. “No doubt about that!” He laughed. “Of course, I’m not one hundred percent sure it was him. It was a long time ago.” He chuckled to himself. “He used to make these little paper aeroplanes, you know the things, and he’d fly them around the classroom. After a while all us kids would be doing it, but Pugsley started it. It got to the point one day when the teacher… crabby old thing, can’t remember her name, stopped the class and gave us a real talking to; threatened to send letters home to all our parents. I don’t think she would have done it, but at the time, being just kids, we didn’t know that.”

He paused and looked around at his audience. “What a character,” he repeated. “I’m pretty sure it was him. Of course, he’s changed a lot. He used to where this red, baseball cap. Lord knows where he got it from. Not part of the school uniform, of course. Ah! What a character,” he said again.

He sat back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It could have been him. I’m not really sure,” he whispered.

It was having a hard time studying on its current level.

Like so many students had thought in the past, was it really necessary to learn about such things? What was the point of it? Would it improve one to know about it? The mentor would be close soon. It struggled on. Eventually, the mentor arrived.

• What are you studying?
• I’m on level 37 on strata 12.
• Yes, a difficult period to study.
• Definately.
• And you’re struggling with?
• 37.9
• Oh! Yes. Discrimination laws throughout the twentieth centuries.
• Tell me what difficulties you have found so far.
• Religion. Well, not just religion. This whole area of race, colour and creed seems to be so unreal. It is hard to learn about ideas that don’t seem real.
• It is hard, but you might find it easier to stay focused if you continually keep the concept in front of you that you are dealing with a long-gone period when beings operated in bodies…

Forgetful electrician, Samuel Sprocket,

Had just done some wiring for Mrs. Ethel Crocket.

When he got home to Bletchley Locket

He put his coat away with something in the pocket.

Now, Sam had forgotten the all-important docket,

That he got when he purchased a double-wall-socket.

When he comes to do his books, he’s bound to get a rocket,

For making no allowance for the Crocket socket docket!

The communication expert was talking to one of his students.

The professor, a regular lecturer on the Bachelor of Communications degree course at the university, saw the opportunity to unburden himself by chatting with one of his favourite students.

He was saying, “It’s all about sarcasm, you know.”

The student sat listening patiently.

The professor nodded. “Sarcasm, even before modern technology, it’s been the cause of many wars.”

The student joined him in nodding.

“You see, back in the day of punch cards, sarcasm wasn’t a problem,” he went on. “It was simple then. Just a card with holes. Any given location on the card either had a hole punched right there or it didn’t. Dead easy, right? If the card had a hole or a group of holes that represented ‘yes’ that was it! ‘Yes’ meant ‘yes’ and ‘no’ meant ‘no’. No argument there. Communicating commands that controlled automated machinery through data processing applications was made easy. Simple, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

A pained expression came over the professor’s face. “Then, some smartarse, no, a whole string of smartarses come along with things like personal computers, keyboards, mice and trackpads. Then came emails. These could be fairly dodgy. Nothing could cause as much trouble as that which came next; voice control! Now, you have to be really careful.”

The student nodded again.

“Look, we all know that when a person has swerved off the road and hit a tree, causing the car to burst into flames and then stands back watching it, he says “That went well,” he doesn’t really mean it. But when a person looks down at a shirt that has been ironed, leaving only a few miniscule wrinkles, says “Nice job of ironing,” well, it could go either way, and that’s the problem with voice control.”

The professor shuddered. “I have to tell you, the hairs stood up on the back of my neck the other day when I read an article about the next step. Can you imagine how dangerous, how even more pear-shaped the whole thing could get with the advent of thought control.” His eyebrows lifted. “Can you imagine the number of things that can go wrong when someone blurts out some impulsive thought? How great would that be, eh?”

“Sir, aren’t you being sarcastic?”

Sometimes the two boys were joined by the strange kid from up the street.

They usually played across the road in the park, just the two of them. They would climb on the equipment in the playground, one thing at a time. Sometimes competing with one another, sometimes not. Often just sitting down, talking. Today was going to be different because the weird boy was already there, waiting for them. They pulled faces at each other, but neither of them meant him any harm. He was just different! Their parents had said that; they said that they should be nice to him. They were resigned to the fact that they would include him. They waved as they approached and immediately started clambering over the colourful structures that were spread out over a rubberised matting for safety.

At first the strange kid just squatted on the grass and watched them play. After a while he stood up and wandered across the adjoining football field and disappeared from sight. They both watched him go and shrugged.

When the boy returned, he seemed to have something in his hand. He went to one of the several benches and sat looking at it for a while. Then, he got up and made his way back to where he’d been. Not long after, he appeared again with something. Again he spent time at the bench for a while before taking off again, this time walking much faster.

Of course, the other two were aware of this peculiar behaviour, but played on regardless.

The boy’s trips back and forth went on for some time, but eventually he knelt in front of the bench, as though he was arranging something. It was simple curiosity that brought the other two down from the play equipment to see what was going on. When they arrived they could see the display of grass that the boy had been forming. Several individual blades were neatly laid out in a criss-cross pattern. The boy stood up, and said, “What do you think?”

“Yeah, great!” one of them said.

The boy looked pleased with the response. “You wouldn’t believe what I found,” he said, with enthusiasm.

“What? Where?” said the other.

“I’ll show you.” Having said this, he started out across the park.

With even more curiosity building, they followed. Beyond the park’s boundary of trees, they all arrived at a point where they stood looking out at a large area of unmown grass.

The boy went forward and plucked a blade and brought it back to show the other two. He held it up with pride. “There you are, you see!” He turned back to the overgrown field. He waved his arm. “Just look at that, there are so many of them!”

The two boys looked at one another.

One sighed and shook his head.

The other said, “He’s right you know, there are a lot!”

She couldn’t remember a day in the office that had been as busy.

She was feeling completely overwhelmed. There were meetings to attend, minutes to type up, reports to send out, emails to answer, accounts to check, numerous spread sheets to update, and, naturally, endless phone calls.

She turned her face to the window and squeezed her eyes shut. In her head, she shouted, for pity’s sake make it all stop! The phone rang.

When it was time to leave, she joined the rush to get out of the carpark. She battled her way through the crowded city traffic and finally entered the freeway. As she entered, a sign lit up saying, ‘EXPECT LENGTHY DELAYS”.

Within minutes the traffic in all lanes came to a complete halt. Everything had stopped. In the distance she could see a bunch of red flashing lights.

Within just a few short moments her frustration melted away to a sense of pure tranquillity.

Her prayer had been granted.

He found her lying in the street.

He was on his way home at the time. Having just got off the bus, he was taking his usual short cut to the back of his apartment block. It was a quiet street with poor lighting, but he saw her as soon as he turned into it. She was dressed in some kind of thin, white dress; not enough to keep the cold out; that was for sure. He knew that laying there on such a cold night meant the she had to be unconscious. As he crouched down beside her, he could make out dark patches on the back of her dress. As he leant over she opened her eyes and smiled. He helped her up.

“What happened?” he asked, with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

She seemed a little dazed. “I fell,” she said.

He shuddered with the cold. “I’m right here,’ he said, pointing at the building.

She nodded.

He had a ground floor apartment and they were soon inside; her sitting, him boiling a kettle. “I’ll make us hot drinks,” he grinned, “and I won’t ask too many questions if you don’t want me too.”

Again, she only nodded.

He was arranging cups when he said, “There’s a shower through there. It’ll probably make you feel better.” With a degree of awkwardness, he put a hand to his heart. “I promise, you’d be perfectly safe.”

“I know,” she said. She got up and made her way through.

He called out, “There’s a heavy dressing gown on the back of the door, please help yourself,”

He would wait until she was out before making drinks. He sat, listening to the shower hissing and trying to imagine how it had all come about. He realised that he hadn’t asked her if she was hurt. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask.

The shower stopped and a few minutes later she returned, dressed in the gown and looking better. She sat down, saying, “Thank you for your kindness.”

He went back to making drinks. He called out, “I should have asked; how’s your back?”

There was silence for a beat. “You saw?”

“Yes, patches of something. If needed, I can get you to the hospital.”

She said, “No, thank you.”

“OK. Or a doctor, if it’s just something that needs to be looked at.”

“No, I’m fine,” she called back.

He brought the drinks through and without thinking, lifted the collar of her gown back. What he saw made him freeze. The great gashes running down her back! The congealing blood! He knew what he was looking at.

He sat down and looked hard, for the first time, into her lovely face. “I know,” he said. “I know what you are… the gashes; where the wings have been ripped off.” His eyes watered, “You’re a fallen angel.”

She lowered her head. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You committed some sin?”

She nodded.

“It must have been something terrible.”

She looked up. “No. Not really. You wouldn’t think so. You have to understand, we have much higher standards than you.”

“Can’t you make amends in some way?”

She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

He leant forward. “What happens now?”

She leant forward as well. “It’s best if you don’t know; it’s best if you don’t know any of this”. With a smile she said, “Thank you again for your kindness.” With that, she tapped the back of his hand…

…as he turned into the back street, an icy wind hit him. He paused shuddering. He walked on faster.

He couldn’t wait to get in.