Author: Alexander Fawn

The car parked across their driveway at an odd angle told her they had a visitor.

She parked in the street and carried the shopping in. As she entered, she heard voices in the back. After spending a few minutes putting things away in the kitchen, she went through to the lounge. No one there. They were out the back. Two male voices talking and laughing. It was then that she saw the jacket, thrown across the back of the settee. She stood looking at it, feeling shivers running up her back. She recognised it for what it was. It was his! She had never liked the man; he was creepy. Her husband had never seemed to understand the feelings she had about him. This was the man that had always made her feel uncomfortable, the whole time he’d been their neighbour.

There was something about the way he would leer at her. It was as though he had a perfect right to spend far too long looking her over whenever they met. Another thing; it was as if he was continually posing in his old leather bomber jacket. She hated the thing. He reckoned it was a leftover from his military days, but she didn’t believe it. He would make unwanted remarks about her dress or how nice her hair looked. Her husband only saw any of these as compliments; her take on it was very different. Then came the day, just before he thankfully moved away, when he had been so completely blatant with her, asking her if she was really satisfied with her husband. That was the clincher! She never passed it on.

She took one last look at the ugly jacket, before making her way back out to the car. In the café she sent off a text.

‘Let me know when he’s gone.’

Life wasn’t going at all well for her.

Time just seemed to drag by and she’d been living with a sense of desperation. She knew that a great yearning was building inside her with each day that passed. It got to the point where she was about to take matters into her own hands. She looked out at her car sitting on the driveway. There would be consequences, she knew that. If that was the price she had to pay, then so be it. She picked up her keys and went out. In the car, she thought about a particular section of town, always busy, always patrolled. She headed there. When she arrived, she drove up and down the main street, all the time looking out for police cars. Finally, she got lucky. She managed to get in front of the patrol car as they approached the lights. They turned red and she stopped, but only for a moment. She jammed her foot down hard on the accelerator and shot across the intersection.

It didn’t take long for the car to catch up with lights flashing and siren blaring. What a wonderful sound. She pulled over and stopped. She sat watching the police car in her side mirror. It pulled in behind her and after a moment the door swung open. That in itself was a beautiful sight. As the officer emerged from the vehicle she could feel her pulse racing. She took a few deep breaths as he walked towards her. She tried hard not to show her excitement as she wound down the window.

She had been alone in the vast wasteland known as Covid-19.

Now, at last, someone to talk to!

[The poor man’s Desiderata in less than one hundred words]

 Look for somewhere quiet.

Get on with people.

Avoid fibbing.

Be patient with dorks.

Give louts the elbow.

Don’t be a smartarse.

Don’t just think, do.

Hang on to your job.

Watch out for crooks.

There are some good people out there.

Don’t come the old acid.

Either you like someone or you don’t.

All you need is love.

Listen to your elders.

Grow up.

Get real.

Be nice to yourself.

You belong here.

Everything’s hunky dory.

Be nice to the Almighty.

Stay cool.

This place isn’t that bad.

Cheer up.

Enjoy.

It was a busy household with a large family and a number of children.

Despite it being a country in the third world, it was a happy place. He was a live-in lodger, come dogsbody, who was mostly the occasional driver, house cleaner and gardener. It all fell to him, this particular mid-morning, when the calamity struck. Much to the horror of those sitting around watching it, the tv screen went completely black! Naturally, he was asked to fix it. Looking at the set-up, with its complexity of partly hidden cables, it was hard to say whether the problem was with the Blu-ray unit, the Personal Video Recorder or the television itself. All young eyes were upon him, as he sat checking each piece of electrical equipment. Their expressions were mostly friendly.

The fact that tv shows returned to normal soon after was due mostly to his earning a university place at the end of his school years. It was there that he gained a Bachelor degree in Electronic Engineering, together with the realisation that it was not a field the he wanted to work in. Mostly, he was content with merging into this family’s life, with its car, house and garden.

From the family’s patriarch, an extra carton of cigarettes and a smile, his reward.

This kind of thing sat well with him… mostly.

The student sat with his lunch, looking out across the campus square.

He hadn’t been there long when he saw a mature student with a plastic lunch box coming out of the philosophy faculty. After looking around for a vacant seat, he made his way to where the young man was eating. He greeted the other with a friendly nod before making himself comfortable and opening his container. He took out what looked like a homemade sandwich and took a bite. The younger man had always admired the relatively small number of mature students that could be seen around the campus. He’d always felt that for a person to return to study in their later years showed a high degree of personal commitment. He sat for a while wondering how he could start a dialogue.

He opened with, “How’s it going with you today?”

The older man smiled. “Not bad, thanks. Just hungry, I guess. How about you? Study going OK?”

The other shrugged. “I like the subject. Philosophy, I mean… I do find some of it hard going.”

The older man chuckled softly, took another bite and sat staring at his sandwich for a while, before saying, “You know, I’ve often wondered about the value of it.”

Looking surprised, the other said, “You have?”

“Well, yes, I mean it’s all about looking for answers to life’s really big questions, I suppose.”

The other nodded.

He went on. “The problem is, it would be really hard sometimes keeping track of what philosophy actually is.”

“Well, strictly speaking it’s the love of wisdom.”

“Yes, no doubt, but what I’m saying is if it really is the study of values and reason and knowledge, in fact, the study of existence itself, at the end of the day who’s to say whether the answers that philosophers come up with are actually right?’

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but my tutor puts it simply by frequently referring to our studies as ‘a reasoned pursuit of fundamental truths’. It’s some sort of mantra he uses, I suppose.”

The older man shook his head. “There you are, you see? How can any reliable standards of evidence be established to prove that truths are being found?”

The young collegian thought about it for a minute or two, before changing the subject. “What do you do, when you’re not here, I mean?”

“I’m a bus driver.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I drive a bus.”

“Do you really?”

“Really. I’m usually on the 14c route, but it can vary, if it’s needed.”

“You’re not a student, then?”

“No. Just visiting an old school friend who’s a cleaner here because I happened to be in the area. It’s my day off, today.”

He snapped the lid on his lunchbox and stood up. “Nice meeting you,” he said with a broad smile.

The young collegian watched him go.

Sometimes good fortune is hidden, but it’s there all the same.

The man who lives on the corner is a good example of this. He had trouble with his rates. He’d sent several emails to the council about them. This was the third year he had received a council rate notice that contained a glaring error. Each year his notice had included a fee for a copy of the previous year’s rates notice; something that he had never received because he had never requested one. The first year was the worst for the simple reason that he had not been living there the previous year, so no copy could possibly exist. At the time, it was sorted out fairly quickly along with an apology. The same thing happened the second year, last year, and it was so annoying to find that the same error was being repeated. This time it took a great deal longer to sort out, and with no apology.

On this third occasion he had not called or sent emails, instead he went directly to the offices in person, being perfectly prepared to spend the entire day getting it resolved once and for all. He took no paperwork or notices or notes about the previous years. He deliberately left all of that at home. He only carried proof of his identity. He had decided to take on the burden of personally paying a visit to the relevant department. He knew full well, that all necessary information regarding the council’s mistakes would be there, in their own computer system. He would have them work it out.

The building held a number of local government departments, but he quickly found the section that dealt with rates. From the start he was made to feel that he was being a nuisance. Although the matter took only three hours in total to have it put right and not a whole day, the attitude he was facing the entire time came very close to out and out rudeness.

As he was leaving the building he paused at the top of the steps to breathe in the fresh air. He was so glad to get out of the place. He remembered telling his wife he’d text her when he was done. He was doing this when the odd looking guy came struggling up the steps. He thought at the time he was odd looking because he was rather portly for someone with such a young face. When he got to the top, between gasps, he croaked, “You’re leaving?”

Taken by surprise, the man just nodded.

“You’re really lucky,” he said in a low voice and went in.

Although this had seemed a bit strange, he figured that he was saying that the place was so awful that anybody coming out was far better off than anybody going in. As he made his way to his car he smiled at the thought. After all, he would have to completely agree with the sentiment.

It was as he unlocked his car that he heard the explosion.

The old man was reflecting on what was wrong with the world.

He quietly mumbled to himself, “If you ask me, there’s too much taking for my liking. It’s bound to all end in tears, you mark my word. There’s taking this and taking that. There’s taking advice, turns, minutes, threats, umbrage, vows, exception and instructions. There’s taking a chance, the blame, a thrashing, your temperature, someone’s life, a walk, a name, a memo, a drink, a seat, a fall, a break, or time out. Then, there’s taking an early bus, the wrong tablet, your girlfriend out, it all in, life for granted, a quicker route, whatever is going, it all back, or a late train. Of course, there’s taking the worst of it, sugar in your tea, what you can get, just one more gamble, the money and run, the long way home, or salt on your chips. There’s always taking the car for a spin, one page at a time, a walk on the wild side, the mower in for a service, or even a moment to think about it all.”

He looked up at the nurse. “You see? There’s just too much taking, if you ask me.”

She sighed.

He sighed. “But nobody does.”

There was a swishing sound that seemed to fill the room.

He wasn’t going to let it wake him up, after all it was probably just part of some weird dream he was having. He turned over. Slowly, he became aware of how hard his bed felt; hard and cold. The swishing continued. Was it wind? It didn’t sound like wind. Too close. Too much inside. He opened one eye and saw the blueness. His bedroom wasn’t blue! He lifted his head and looked around. The whole place… it wasn’t a room, it was a place. The whole place was filled with a soft, blue light. After blinking for a while he made out a large figure standing at the foot of his bed. Behind it, two great wings fanned slowly.

He sat up, rubbed his face and squinted. He couldn’t make out the figure’s facial features. With an effort he blurted, “Where am I?”

The voice, deep and soft, said, “You are here, with me.”

“Here? Am I dead?”

“You are.”

“This is only a dream isn’t it? I mean, I’ll wake up and all this will be gone, right?”

“No.”

“How? How did it happen?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Well, won’t, if you like. It’s a protocol that we have to follow.”

“We? There are more of you?”

“Oh yes. Many more.”

“If this is real, I feel I have the right to know how I got here, how I … died.”

“It is your responsibility to know that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain. Every person is totally responsible for their own death.”

“What, even when somebody else causes it?”

“Yes.”

“Even when it is caused by accident.”

“Yes.”

“What about when some fatal disease takes them, even then?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s the only way this works.”

“And if I can’t remember, what then?”

“You remain here, but, people always remember eventually.”

“Can I go back to sleep?”

“Yes. If you wish.”

He slumped back and buried his head in the pillow. Within moments an image formed, a memory. A small rectangular patch of multi-coloured light. He recognised the icons. The swishing was still there. He sat up quickly. “I’ve remembered!” he shouted.

“Good. You can move on.”

“Where am I going?”

The swishing grew louder. “To eternal damnation, two others died.”

It was the end of the year and time to write a new list.

This was something she did every year. She really enjoyed thinking carefully about New Year resolutions. Now, with only one day to go, she would have to make a new list. Before this, she would review the old one to see how well she did. She went into the kitchen. She pulled the list off the fridge, and read: 1-Cut down on the amount of time spent watching television, 2-Go to bed earlier and get more quality sleep, 3-Read more and renew library membership, 4-Stop procrastinating, 5-Take up more regular exercise, 6-Eat healthier food, 7-Lose weight, 8-Reduce alcohol consumption, 9-Pay off all debts, and finally, the most important item, 10-Post this list on the refrigerator door so that it’s seen as a reminder, several times every day!

She looked at the piece of blu tack on the fridge’s door, then back at the list.

She sighed, and thought, one down and nine to go…

The two men got out of the limousine and stood looking up at the building.

They were in a quiet part of the city. The night was cold and the warm glow from the foyer looked inviting. The younger of the two went up the front steps first, the nozzle of the handgun gently prodding him in the back. He had no idea what he was doing there. Earlier, he had taken the call in the office, arranging to meet a potential client later in the evening. Nothing strange in that. After all, selling life insurance was a private business. It involved varying degrees of confidentiality, but this? The fancy car and chauffeur sent to pick him up, the elderly man in the back that hardly spoke, the gun pressed against him as they made their way to this, a building he didn’t recognise.

They entered and crossed the lobby to the lifts. The building seemed empty. With the barrel of the gun still pushed firmly against him, they entered the lift and rode to the top. Then, taking a short flight of steps, they came out onto a large, flat roof area. It was dimly lit.

“Where are we going?” the young man asked yet again.

The man finally spoke. “Just a few steps now, to the edge.”

“The edge? Why would I want to go to the edge?”

“There’s a great view of the city from up here.” The gun pushed harder.

At the edge, in front of a low wall, the younger man asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m doing this for Blossom.”

“Blossom?”

“She is… she was, my Russian Blue.”

“Russian what?”

“Blue. She was an angel; my beautiful angel, so loving,” he sneered, “and very expensive!”

“I really have no idea what you are talking about.”

The man’s eyes filled with tears. “My late wife adored her. I adored her. Those delicate whiskers, and those eyes, such gorgeous eyes.” He turned to face the young man. “This, you took from us.”

“Are we talking about a cat?”

“A cat, yes, but no ordinary cat. She was our little angel.” More tears welled up. “Last Tuesday you killed it, with your car. I saw it, I witnessed it! I got your plate, the rest was easy. Now we fix your problem.”

“Problem? What problem?”

“We’re going to fix your depression.”

“I don’t have depression.”

“Yes, you do. A bad case of it, apparently.”

“Nobody’s going to believe that.”

“I think they will. Sometimes depression isn’t easy to see in a person. Besides, the letter found in your apartment will explain everything…”