Author: Alexander Fawn

The day was warm and growing hot the morning the tramp came across the empty cabin.

As he approached, he could make out a rough track leading up to it from the other side, barely wide enough for a car to come through. This was somebody’s holiday home, he thought. No doubt, an ideal getaway place for someone’s family. As he drew closer he saw that it sat at the edge of a small lake. Convinced that there was no one around he went to the front door and tried the knob, it opened. Inside he found a home. It was sparsely furnished with what looked like second-hand furniture, but it was a home nevertheless. He opened the fridge. There wasn’t much in it, but it did contain an attractive looking can of lemonade. He took it out and felt the coolness as he pressed it to his cheek.

As he came outside he noticed a small rowboat with oars laying inside, tethered to a post. He climbed in and untied. With the can stowed in the shade beneath his seat he fitted the oars and began to make his way out towards the centre. When his arms began to tire, he shipped the oars and let the thing drift. He opened the can and laid back, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. He lounged there, sipping occasionally and taking in the scenery. Before long, with the empty can still in his hand and the air growing hot, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, it took him awhile to remember where he was. He lay there thinking about the many different lives that people lived; from poverty to riches. He considered his own lifestyle, and in doing so, it made him wonder just how long this idyll would last. Not much longer, he thought. He roused himself and started paddling. Back at the shack he dropped the empty can in the bin and stood looking at the fridge. He had no idea about the price of the drink. He smiled to himself as he considered the fact that it was not an item he bought on a regular basis. He found a few coins in his pocket and stood looking around, once again thinking about how other people live.

He put the money on top of the fridge… and left.

It was just something she did, no one needed to know.

They were private times that meant so much to her. People had been very kind with offers of help in one form or other, coming from so many, after he’d gone. She preferred to carry on living at the house, on her own. The fact that they had only been married a few months when he left had caused so many of her close friends to be concerned about her well-being. Despite all this, she insisted. Unknown to any of them, her special moments would see her through.

Each evening, she would walk out into the garden and stand perfectly still, looking up, gazing into the blackness and the stars. Then, remaining focused on the night sky she would talk. She would bring him up to date with the trivialities of her day; the people in the office, food specials, TV shows, especially the ones he used to like. In short, idle chat, some of it quite meaningless. Yet, this nightly ritual, this otherworldly communication was the special connection that bonded them together.

At their parting, she was desperately unhappy, with her feelings bordering on annoyance regarding his decision, one that had affected them both, but at the same time she was so incredibly proud that the space agency had chosen him for the mission.

The silence of the evening is shattered by a loud bang.

It’s a car backfiring as it passes the house that sits in a quiet street.

Father: figures it’s only a vehicle backfiring and goes back to his paper.

Mother: jumps nervously and asks what it was and is told by her husband not to worry as it’s probably just a car backfiring.

Son: hears the noise although he has his headphones on, takes them off and goes to the window where he peers into the darkness, but there’s nothing to see, so he goes back to his music.

Daughter: the younger child has been in bed asleep for over an hour and barely twitches with the sound.

Cat: runs under the couch and hides.

Spider: the web up in the attic vibrates causing the tiny creature to investigate.

Molecule: a group of atoms moves when the soundwave hits the boy’s glass of water.

Blip: a small green dot that momentarily appears, unnoticed, on just one of a large number of screens that are mounted on the deck of the alien surveillance craft circling the planet at a great distance.

Everybody gets fed-up from time to time.

It might surprise you to know, and something not widely appreciated, that he too suffers from the occasional bout of depression. This is hardly surprising, if you take the time to stop and think about it. Dealing with death on such a regular basis is bound to get you down sooner or later. He often reflects on how he first got the job. Although he’d always been a bit hazy on the subject. It was supposed to have taken place during the fourteenth century when people were dropping like flies during that really bad pandemic. However, this was not what he really thought of, when remembering when he was new to the work. No, it was the first swing of the scythe, the first seeing off, the first putting out of misery. Of course, there was plenty of that going on back then. But, over time, the business of dispatching people left right and centre… well, it gets to you.

Anyway, what is certainly not common knowledge, is the way he revives himself when such morose feelings overwhelm him, thus depriving him of any pleasure he got from carrying out his regular duties.

It came about, in a manner most unusual, that the method of recovery and rejuvenation he employed was made known to me; possibly while I slept, but I’m not at all sure about that. Apparently, it would occur in a particular part of the world, in a particular town and in a particular bakery, during the hour between the end of the night shift, when several bakers knocked off, and the time the bakery opened its shop doors on the following morning.

It would be then that our unhappy extinguisher would unobtrusively pay a visit. Discreetly, because he had no wish to frighten the locals. He would carefully locate the specific items he sought from the many trays of freshly baked pastries. Knowing that one or two would hardly be missed, he would relax and enjoy a beef, cheese and bacon pie.

Voilà!

Next thing you know he’s back at his digs, sharpening his scythe.

The youth selling rabbits on the side of the road had a large sign to catch the eyes of motorists.

It proclaimed that the rabbits for sale were of the highest quality. It also carried the declaration that they were ‘Bespoke Rabbits’, this was in large red letters. The animals in question were squirming around in a sack. The seller, a rough-looking youth in tatty clothes and a dirty face sat on an upturned milk crate. He occasionally lifted the sign and waved it around to attract attention. He was positioned just before a layby section, allowing prospective buyers to park while negotiating prices. The English teacher from a local school, who happened to be passing, couldn’t resist pulling in. With a smug look, he approached the seller.

“Young man,” he began, “I feel you have a gross misunderstanding of the word ‘bespoke’”

The youth looked around in a shifty manner. “These are top quality rabbits, mate. They are definitely bespoke.”

The man said, “No. They can’t be.”

“They certainly are, I speak for the high quality of them personally!”

The man grinned. “Look. If something is bespoke it means that it is made to an individual order; in other words it is custom-made.”

The salesperson faltered. “Well, there you are, then. I personally placed each rabbit into the sack individually. I’m now prepared to take individual orders.”

The teacher was gobsmacked at the youth’s sense of entrepreneurship.

He bought one.

She stood in the back yard poking away at the flaming brazier when the call came.

The night was cold, but the chore of burning off rubbish had its rewards. The orange glow of dancing flames and the warmth being given off were satisfying. She had long come to the conclusion that any satisfaction she enjoyed would have to be self-made.

She answered with surprise in her voice. After all, it was evening. Who could be phoning this late? Her husband was out playing darts again at the club. She took a deep breath and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

Her friend was gushing. “Have you seen the newsflash… about the car accident?”

“Not really, why?”

“I’ve been watching it. They have a camera crew down on the beach, where the car went over. I thought I recognised the number plate. I mean, I’m so sorry, but I think it’s his!”

“No, no! He’s at the club. He’s in the darts team.”

“See for yourself, switch to the road reports. I don’t know what to say, I’m so sorry…” She rang off.

She sat down in front of the screen as a witness was saying, “…Yes, that’s right. I was travelling behind as the car entered the bend ahead of me, his break lights came on, then it began to swerve violently before continuing across the walkers track and plunging over the cliff. It was horrible!”

She switched off and returned to the fire. As she poked, she smiled at the thought that the woman who lived just down the road from the club would be absolutely distraught when she heard the news.

She stirred the embers, making sure that no trace of the vehicle manual remained.

She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was going nowhere fast.

For some time now, she felt that her existence was becoming increasingly pointless. She knew this wasn’t good and that a change was needed. Maybe a change of job, although she was happy with that. A move to another town? A new circle of friends, possibly? It was during the evening when she was surfing the internet, in a hopeful attempt to find some sort of solution, that she came across an article about the butterfly effect. It was certainly all about change and she found it fascinating. Of course, she’d heard about it before, but had never stopped to see the full significance of how powerful the idea could be.

She brewed a fresh cup of coffee and began reading in earnest. The notion being that a tornado can be brought about by a distant butterfly flapping its wings sometime earlier. This whole idea was kicked off by this guy, Lorenz. He was the meteorologist who dreamt the phrase up. He was involved in using computer weather models to make predictions about what the weather was going to do next, and how a small change here can make a big change there. It was fascinating stuff! This was what she needed, she thought. She needed a flapping of the wings. Just some small, insignificant even, change in her life. She sat thinking about it late into the evening, before turning in for the night.

The following day was a Saturday and she decided to take a trip into town. She just needed to get out. She’d been staying in and brooding a lot lately, she knew it would do her good to wander around the shops for a while. This, in itself would be a change, she thought. She had just got off the bus when the shop across the road caught her eye. She couldn’t remember seeing a jewellry store there before. It may be new, she wasn’t sure. It was the huge window display that really caught her attention. There were dozens of really pretty items in the window, including a number of beautifully coloured butterflies. Just for a moment, she thought she heard a flapping as her pulse quickened. She went in.

The shop was quiet as she approached the counter. She crouched down and gazed beneath at the attractive layout of jewellry. She had never been interested in items of this kind… that would definitely be a change, she thought. There was a lovely selection of delicately coloured butterfly broaches, rings and pendants. It was the necklace that really grabbed her attention. It was at the very moment that she decided to buy it that she saw the small card propped at the centre of the display. It read: Tornado Jewellry!

She gave a silent gasp as she took in the significance of what she was reading. The shock of it rippled through her body. She began to tremble and felt her knees grow weak. She clung to the counter top to draw herself up. She gasped again as she came face to face with the young man now standing behind the counter.

He smiled with a touch of embarrassment.

She could see he felt awkward about making her jump.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he said.

She blushed and shook her head, not quite knowing what to say.

With a larger smile, he straightened his tie. “How can I help you?” he said.

The woman entered the dog refuge with a great deal of apprehension.

She was a middle-aged widow, looking for a companion. She had given the matter a great deal of thought before making the trip into town. She was still nervous about making such a big change in her life. She didn’t have to make any decisions straight away. She would just take a look around, nothing else, if that’s what she wanted. She had heard good things about the refuge home.

After introducing herself, she was told that she could stroll between the cages unaccompanied if that was what she preferred. There was a great deal of barking as soon as she entered. She went through slowly, reading the cards. Some of the names were quite inventive and unusual. She began wondering how so many of them ended up in the place. She was about half way down the long aisle when she saw the name ‘Lulu’ on the card. Looking in, she saw no sign of the dog. After a while, she whispered the name. At this, a young, well-kept animal pushed its way out of a blanket in the corner of the enclosure. It trotted obediently across to the sound of its name.

The woman was delighted. She crouched down, and through the cage, stroked the soft hair of its head, saying, “Hello. My best friend at school was a Lulu.”

The dog whined and nuzzled the hand.

“You know, we never had pets,” she went on, “My late husband, bless him, just couldn’t be around animals of any kind, he was allergic, you see?”

Lulu gave a little whine.

“Oh! No! Don’t you worry about that, I’ve never had that trouble.”

Lulu’s head bounced, as though she understood.

“And,” she went on, “we never had any children. Couldn’t, you see.”

Another whine and some hand licking.

“Ah! That’s nice,” she said softly, “you like me do you?”

This was answered with a delicate yip.

“Well, I like you too. I’ve never owned a dog. We’ll have to work on it together, alright?”

Two paws came up and hung onto the cage. The wide-eyed dog, Lulu, gave a soft, yet satisfying bark.

The woman whispered, “OK then,” and reluctantly left the animal looking worried, while she returned to the office to make arrangements.

She had no idea it would be so easy!

For those who faced the challenge.

For those who took the hit.

For everyone who self-imposed,

In order not to transmit.

–

Are these memories of a bygone time?

Is the brunt of it truly passed?

Will it ever completely peter out?

Will there be an actual last?

–

So many privileges stolen,

With freedoms and rights curtailed.

Dispossessed by the routine of it,

With an antigen test that’s failed.

–

Floors, walls and ceilings,

That may or may not be homely.

Using books and the internet,

Still left those feeling lonely.

–

Using unbidden musings to fill the time;

Are these problems self-inflicted?

Are there addictions being born,

With no ending clearly predicted?

–

Not feeling welcome in that new world,

Despite being part of a great endeavour.

No choice, but to take one’s time,

Knowing it’s not the beginning of forever.

–

Bonding reluctantly with all those

Distant and unknown others.

Embroiled and feeling trapped,

With an isolation that smothers.

–

An embroilment that had those trapped,

While the purpose was understood,

A mask-free coffee in a café…

Well, it just never sounded so good!

He heard about what had happened and called in to see him.

He found his friend in very low spirits. He could see how much grief there was and wondered whether he should have given it a bit more time before calling in. Seeing the state he was in he said he’d leave, giving the other time to come to terms with the fact that she was gone. He was told, no, it was OK, the company would do him good. He was asked when it happened and told that she went last night. He started to sob saying that they had actually been very happy with each other until recently. He talked about the special times they’d spent together. For several years there had never been any real problems, he said, then it all changed a few weeks back. He buried his head in his hands and began to cry again.

His friend felt that he did need to buck himself up a bit.

“Look,” he said, “I’m really sorry that she’s gone mate, I really am, but you have to move on.”

His friend looked up. “That’s easy for you to say!”

“It is! I’m telling you,” he persisted, “you should go straight down to the pet shop in the morning and get yourself another guinea pig!”