Author: Alexander Fawn

Genius was the only word that could properly describe him.

He was single, in his mid-thirties and totally bored with his present occupation and lifestyle. This was despite the fact that he’d written several brilliant papers on quantum mechanics, radioactivity, nuclear fusion and fission, his research concerning subatomic particles, together with his ground-breaking work on the grand unification solution. All of this stood as testimony to his elevated standing in the scientific community. He was aware of the fact that none of his contemporaries had ever observed the reality that his skills came so easily to him, but meant so little in the way of satisfaction. Furthermore, nobody would have suspected that the society dinners, the press coverage and the celebrity status that his work in the field had brought into his life, was in any way to his liking. He had managed to maintain a grin-and-bare-it posture for his immediate colleagues, but something inside him was moving towards some sort of breaking point.

He knew that a person’s decision to change careers can be seen as a weird turnaround by others. Such a choice that so often cannot be understood by those around them. Whereas, in the case of a bus driver going through an intensive course of training before moving to a specialist bulk carrying truck on a mine site may not raise many eyebrows, other career changes do. In his case, to walk away from such a well-established, highly paid position would be hard to comprehend for most.

Foreseeing that making known his desire to make a complete change in the way his future life was heading would attract even greater exposure to the world around him, he made plans. He realised that to actually slip away without being hounded by the press or pestered by those who thought he should remain in his line of work, he would need to put his highly advanced intellect to work towards his own interests.

When the time came, he quickly settled his affairs, wrote a simple letter of termination, bought a false passport, made modest changes to his appearance, purchased an airline ticket and flew out of the country.

There have been many rumours concerning his whereabouts, the latest being that he now owns and operates a small laundromat in Winnipeg.

A random mix of man’s desires,
Through every race and nation.
They vary wide from soul to soul,
No matter what their station.

So many seething motivations,
Pushing man around,
Some a peaceful sanctuary,
Some a battleground.

A striving for a peaceful world,
An innocence, devoid of blame,
A need to be in control,
A burning yearn for fame.

Some lean towards creation,
Others tending to destroy.
Some revel in cacophony,
Others to silence cloy.

Some, like a lighthouse beam,
Others hardly glow.
Some gallop at a pace,
Others take it slow.

Some want to share with all,
Some more circumspect.
Some stoop with the weight of life,
Others remain erect.

Some are screaming in their minds,
While others whisper gently.
Some to wickedness are bent,
While others do good intently.

Some glow with demonic pride,
Others are humble and pure,
While conquering others drives the strong,
Servitude spurs the demure.

A plethora of inbuilt drives,
To which each is bound,
And growing in each aging heart,
Is where the variances are found.

They were sitting in a small room, eating dinner prepared from their stock of cans.

He wasn’t happy, it was mushrooms again. He didn’t like mushrooms. He looked along the shelves, hoping to spot something better for their next meal. The cans, packets and bottles were all dusty and hard to read. She again wondered just how well he was coping with the situation. She had always been the strong one in their partnership. The last thing she wanted was to have to cope with him becoming completely unhinged. Things were bad enough, without that. She remembered the incident that had occurred when the first flash came. Maybe recounting this would help him take his mind off things.

She said, “I forgot to tell you, we had a caller, the night of the first flash.”

“We did?”

“Yes. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit. I must say, he was very polite. You were in the shower at the time.”

“What did he want?”

“You, apparently. He said that some uncle of yours in Canada had passed away leaving you what he said was a generous inheritance, apparently including a large amount of money!”

“Wow! I know who that is… a large inheritance, you say?”

“That’s what he said.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, really. I was asking myself whether this was a scam, when we saw the first almighty flash. He just turned and ran off without another word. Not that I blame him for that, it was pretty scary. Of course, that was just the first of many flashes to come.” She pulled a face. “You know the rest.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?

“Well, a lot’s been going on, you know!” She shook her head. “Anyway, he gave me his card; I’ve still got it.”

His eyes widened. “OK. OK. Let’s have it.”

She looked exasperated for a moment, before digging into her bag, which never left her side, then into her purse for the business card.

Handing it to him, his eyes lit up. “If I can find a telephone that’s still working, I’ll give them a call.”

She looked around at the tiny fallout shelter. What were the experts saying: the nuclear winter could last for anything up to a decade? She looked back at him still gleefully fingering the card.

She sighed.

Good luck with that, she thought.

Boredom was setting in when he remembered the old chemistry set.

Dad was at work, Mum was out shopping, school was out and he’d caught the earlier bus. He had at least an hour to kill. For once he didn’t want to sit in front of the television or play computer games. He wasn’t in the mood to do things that were mindless. He felt the need for something more challenging; some kind of activity that would test him in some way. He was thinking along these lines when he remembered the old chemistry set. That had all sorts of experiments that you could carry out. Would it still be around? It must be years old, but as long as the lid was on properly there was no reason to think that the stuff inside wasn’t as they left it. Where would it be, if it were kept? The attic had to be a good bet. He started there.

He released the access ladder and climbed up. Pushing the ceiling door open was a dusty business. He figured no one had been up there for ages. Once through the door he squatted, looking around. He’d thrown the light switch, but the globe was really dim. The place was a mess. There were boxes and stuff scattered around and it was difficult to move across to where the cupboards were without tripping over things. One by one, he opened doors and drawers without finding the set. Maybe it had been thrown out. He was still searching when he stumbled over something. Falling against a side panel, he was amazed to discover that it popped open with a squeaky hinge. Pulling what was obviously a hidden door open, he peered into the blackness.

He looked around the attic trying to imagine where the void could lead. It didn’t make sense! Could it be some additional loft space? He made his way in slowly. After a few paces he tripped and fell. The light was blinding. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was sprawled out on the house’s back lawn! In an instant he had gone from the top of the house to the back garden. Of course, this made no sense at all.

Back inside, he climbed the stairs and the ladder until he stood in front of the door again, staring into the dark. It couldn’t happen again, could it? He had certainly found the challenge he was looking for.

Once again, he made his way in, and seconds later, he tripped. Again, he was laying on the back lawn. This time he lay still for a while, thinking. This was certainly something to battle with. It was a conundrum that had him thinking outside of the box. It was time to try some experimentation.

He made his way back up to the top of the house with purpose. At the door he paused for a while, then he slowly turned around to face the attic.

He very carefully began to walk, backwards…

Statistically, he wasn’t doing well.

Collecting information about people’s whereabouts at any one time was hard enough, without the infection coming along. He only received a commission on information that lead to a successful burglary. The emphasis was always placed on the job being successful. Then, only when the goods had been fenced or sold off and the value of the haul known, was it calculated what each member received. The team was made up of five housebreakers, one of them being the boss, and himself in deep background. He had always been good with IT stuff and an absolute whiz at hacking. It was his skill at slipping past firewalls, encryptions and personal passwords that enabled him to check emails, holiday plans, itinerary details from travel agencies, and chatty social media about their intended holiday plans. In short, reliable information about families going away, taking small trips or even longer holidays was his meat and potatoes. Knowing when the house would be empty was what it was all about and when a job was done, the commission was good.

Any information gathered had to be about punters that were far away from where the team of robbers were based. However, because of the growing number of the population needing to isolate at home, together with the fact that movement around the country was being severely restricted, this ongoing search area for any unsuspecting would-be victims was necessarily becoming much wider. He, as a cybercriminal, needed to cast a much wider net.

For him, things had dropped off dramatically. There was a noticeable slump in unoccupied houses. Suitable targets were becoming harder to find and the other team members were placing more and more pressure on him to perform as time went on.

Bloody Covid!

It was their regular habit to eat at the Chinese restaurant on a Friday night after work.

Several girls from the office would check the numbers and book a table. Most times they would order a banquet and wine to go with it. With the banquet they always got fortune cookies. She had found them remarkably accurate in their predictions, like the time it had said she would receive a windfall and won the lottery the following week. Admittedly, not a great amount, but a win nevertheless. Tonight, she hoped to have something special in her cookie because she had applied for another job. None of the girls knew. She was OK with that. The two interviews had gone well and she felt her chances were good. She’d probably hear something Monday. The work was similar to her present position in the finance section of the building supplies firm, only the company was a lot bigger, and so was the pay. It was in the head office of one of the largest frozen food companies in the country that just happened to be located in the same town.

She was feeling in high spirits, partly because of the wine and partly the fortune cookie. When the evening ended, the work crowd said their goodbyes, with one of them offering her a lift. She’d said no thanks as it was only a few minutes’ walk and she would appreciate getting some air. The real reason she had turned this down was so she could read the slip of paper again to make sure she had not just imagined it. After a minute or two she stopped by a well-lit shop front and took out the slip. She read it again, very carefully. It read: ‘An event with great impact will change your life.’ She felt the same thrill she felt when reading it the first time in the poor light and held on her lap. She was giddy with excitement, not too steady on her feet and very tired. She was really looking forward to getting home and getting into bed.

By chance, the driver of the large, refrigerated truck was feeling the same way, just before he lost control and mounted the pavement.

The couple at number seventeen finally heard from their son.

The man was about to leave the house to catch his bus, when he found the note in an old, reused envelope. He and his wife spent a long time reading it. They decided to remain silent. They would be patient. He didn’t go to work that day.

The note read:

Hi Mum and Dad

I hope you get this note. I gave it to the elderly gardener who comes here twice a week. He’s very nice. He said he would put it in an envelope and deliver it in the early hours. I don’t want you to look for me. It would be too dangerous. The people who brought me here a few months ago, not sure how many, just want me to lay low, they say. They actually apologised about the whole thing being a case of mistaken identity. The kidnapping went wrong when they found out who I really was. They said they didn’t want me to worry, that I am only being detained. I think this is some kind of hospital. The weather is very warm, so I may be a long way from home. The gardener wouldn’t talk about that. I think the men that put me in this little room are probably quite ruthless. They always wear masks but I know they both have guns. I’m allowed out for an hour each day to walk in a fenced-off section of the grounds. I have made friends with a cat that jumps the fence sometimes. One of the men explained that they are planning the kidnapping again. He said if it goes well this time and the ransom is paid, they’ll let me go. He said they would blindfold me again and drop me near home. They can’t promise anything, but they hope to get me home for Christmas. They keep telling me that they’re not killers. The food’s nothing special, frozen meals mainly, and my bed isn’t comfortable. I don’t want you to worry about me. They said it would go badly for me if the police get involved. So, don’t say anything, please. I find that I’m getting more and more bored as time goes on. I told them that, the other day. The tall one said if it takes any more than another month he’d bring in a portable television. So, please don’t worry. Hope to be home soon.

Alec

It was a school project and it was due tomorrow.

It had to be a two-hundred-word essay about endings. He hadn’t even started it. He twiddled the pen around in his fingers while staring at a blank sheet of paper. He figured that endings could be noisy, like a car crash or a gas explosion in a block of flats. It could be very quiet, like and ice cube melting or a person taking their final breath in a bed during the night. They could be spectacular to look at, like the final multi-coloured rocket at the end of a firework display or as unimpressive as an electric kettle clicking off when the water has boiled. He figured it could even be the ending of a smell, like the stink of cabbage being cooked when a kitchen window is opened to let fresh air blow through.

On the other hand, there were personal endings, like leaving a company to work somewhere else, or watching a film in a cinema that was scheduled to close and be demolished the following day. It could be the end of living in a house, knowing you would be moving to another the next day, or watching the final episode of a TV series, or picking up the pieces of an irreparable vase that fell off of a shelf, or taking a last ride in a car that is about to be replaced by something better, or digging a hole in the garden to bury a dead hamster, or your final day of school, or the last day of the year, or waving goodbye to someone that you knew you would never see again.

He supposed even his essay should have an ending. He could talk about the fact that some endings were happy and some sad and how some were both.

His problem was, he didn’t know where to begin.

He stooped and picked up a piece of paper.

He later wondered why he had done it. It was just lying there by the bus shelter. Maybe it was the fact that it looked official, rectangular with straight cut edges. It had no torn edges or visible markings, and it was small enough to fit in his shirt pocket. Face down, it was not apparent that it had anything on the other side, but it did. Turning it over on his ride home revealed a simple hand-written note. It was penned in a nice, neat writing style, just a few words, clearly legible. It read ‘AM – Our blinding moment needs to be moved – P.’ He began to wonder what it could mean. He felt an unexpected sense of excitement about the mystery, the message was certainly thought-provoking.

He was single, fairly reserved and in his mid-twenties, the sort of person that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to. But this piece of paper… it had started something. That evening, instead of his usual dose of television, he sat staring at the message, speculating about its meaning. It seemed to be cryptic. It could be a love note, changing some prearranged tryst to another time. He kept coming back to the question of why anyone would use the words ‘blinding moment’. Had it been misspelled? He considered the possible links with eyesight and window blinds. He lost track of how long he spent trying to work it out. Before going to bed, he tried to get it out of his head with the notion that it was probably just one of those private jokes between people, a code that no casual reader would understand.

The following night he left the office much later than usual. It was a cold night and he was annoyed with himself for missing his bus. He knew that there was going to be a long wait between buses at this hour.

So, as the stop was right in front of the library, and seeing that this was their late night, he decided to kill twenty minutes, spending them in the warmth of the building. He couldn’t remember the last time he paid it a visit. As he entered, he saw that they had made a few changes. A corner of the main room had been set aside to display a small selection of pictures, mainly the works of local artists.

It was then that he saw it; the ‘Blinding Moment.’ A very large painting of a boy, with his hand shading his eyes from the sun. Beneath it was a small notice that read, ‘If there is a requirement to move any of the exhibits, please contact the Archives Manager.’ There it was, Archives Manager, AM; and P, the sender. He was still staring at the painting when a pretty girl walked past. She smiled at him and he returned it. She was obviously on staff; her badge read Penny. He was watching her go when she turned and came back.

“It’s good, don’t you think?” She said, while studiously gazing at it.

“I do. It hasn’t been here long.”

“Pardon?”

“Here, in this position, I mean. It’s pretty big. Where was it before?”

Although surprised by the question, she pointed to another wall.

He nodded with appreciation and said, “I’m glad you asked for it to be moved… it’s much better here.”

She stared at him in disbelief and said, “How could you possibly know all that?”

He took a deep breath. “Tell you what,” he said with a smile, “when the library closes, if you join me for a coffee in that café across the street, I’ll tell you.”

She had to admit that their first date was unusual.

They had met in the supermarket. He had helped her pick up cereal packets that had tumbled down from a shelf. They had chatted a bit about the pros and cons of having to shop and before she knew it, they were in a nearby café drinking coffee. It was there that they arranged their first date. She had a spare ticket to the concert owing to her workmate getting sick at the last minute with some stomach bug that had her confined to bed. He was keen to accept the offer and the evening had gone really well. He lived some distance from town and had arrived by bus. They met at the bus stop and managed to enter the venue early.

She had finished cooking and was fussing over the final touches to her makeup, and thinking about the evening they had enjoyed together. The entertainment was good, with the group giving a great performance with the usual backdrop of psychedelic, digital effects. Afterwards, waiting for his bus, they had arranged the evening that was now upon her. She was nervous and constantly telling herself to get a grip. They had seemed to hit it off so naturally, she felt that this may well be the start of something significant in her life.

As she had a car and he didn’t, they had agreed with the idea that when his bus pulled in, he would give her a buzz; probably around seven. She said she was happy, at that point, to drive across town and pick him up. She looked at her phone. He was running later than planned, but he’d said the buses could be unreliable.

An hour later, still no call and, her heart began to sink. Two hours later, she had cleared things away, tidied up and gone to bed.

Her mobile, pugged in and charging across the room, remained silent…