Author: Alexander Fawn

He started a new job at the warehouse.

On his first day he was given work clothes. Although his name was Tim, they only had one that fitted him. It had been the one worn by the guy that had just left and had a label sewn to the front that said Mike. The storeman promised him that he would have a name label made with his name and have it sewn onto a shirt of his size. It bothered him at first, but he got used to it and came to realise that he preferred being called Mike, rather than Tim. Everyone was calling him Mike and he was happy with it, when a few days later the guy came in to collect his final pay-packet.

As he was leaving the office the new guy went over to say hello.

“Hi Mike,” he said, as he approached.

The guy looked annoyed. “No. I’m Brad, actually,” he said.

“Oh! I thought this was your shirt,” said the other.

“It was. They never got around to changing the name. I got fed up with complaining and being told that it would be fixed. I guess I just ran out of patience. It’s why I left.”

In that moment Tim didn’t think he would be there very long either. He no longer wanted to be called Mike. He wanted to be called Tim. After all, that was his name!

It was the sound of a car skidding and then accelerating hard that brought them out.

The man and the woman came out of nearby buildings to find the victim of a hit and run accident. The victim was laying in the otherwise quiet street. The man quickly took out his mobile and rang for an ambulance, giving the address and details, while the woman took her woolly cardigan off and folded it to make a pillow. She couldn’t help noticing the absence of blood as she tucked it under the man’s head. She noticed that the flap of broken skin on his temple had dropped, revealing a metal plate. She moved the gash on his elbow around a little until it gaped open, she saw metal. She then looked closely at the damage to the man’s leg, and saw metal rods!

The man’s head turned and his eyes opened a crack.

“Sorry,” she said, “don’t try to move. I’m just doing what I can to make you more comfortable.”

The victim said, “There are, of course, degrees of comfort, but for some, there are also levels of comfort below these, and beyond that there are many conjoining aspects that relate to each of these levels of comfort…” With that, his eyes closed and he lay still.

The man walked over. “How’s he doing?”

The shaken woman hesitated, then said, “Not sure; delirious I think.”

Wagging his head, he said “Not surprising, eh? The ambulance should be here soon.”

Minutes later the ambulance pulled into the street, followed immediately by a large black van. Two men from the van jumped out and talked to the medics, showing them paperwork. After a short discussion the ambulance left.

The two bystanders watched as the two men loaded the body onto a stretcher, loaded it into the back of the van and left; without anyone saying a word. The whole thing seemed to be over in just a couple of minutes.

The man turned to the woman with hands flapping. “What just happened here?”

The woman shrugged, and with fear in her eyes, said, “I really do think it’s best if we don’t ask.” Without saying more she turned and went back into the building.

The troubled man, reluctantly did the same.

The Himalayan field rat looked up into the professor’s eyes.

It looked tired. It was. Its sleepy eyes and sagging head gave testimony to yet another full day of an extensive and gruelling series of tests. These had been going on all day. Today had been like so many other days before, when it had been subjected to multiple investigations and assessments. A full month had now passed since the operation. The six-hour procedure of genetic merging he had performed had gone better than he could have hoped. The complex testing regime that he’d been carrying out on the rodent had shown very positive results. All indications were that the overall aim of the experiment would prove successful and ground-breaking.

The research scientist carefully jotted down a few final notes. He too was tired. Straightening his back and removing his surgical mask, he said, “That will do for today, we’ll run the stage seven tests tomorrow”.

He smiled down at the animal. “We are making wonderful progress,” he whispered.

He closed the cage and moved to the door. As he switched the light off, he called out “Good night.”

“Good night,” replied Rodney.

They sat around the table, holding hands, with their eyes closed.

The old lady at number fifty eight held séances regularly on the second Friday of every month. The small group of attendees didn’t vary much. Occasionally, a new comer would join them, but in the main everybody knew everybody. It was generally considered that these evenings provided entertainment of a sort. Most evenings saw enough messages come through from the spirit world to keep them all happy. Anyway, happy enough to leave a donation in the jar by the front door on their way out. It turned out quite differently on the night in question. The lighting was subdued as normal, and the old clairvoyant had been sitting in silence longer than usual, before she made the call.

The old medium cleared her throat, and speaking softly she entreated a visitor from the spirit world with the words, “Is there a spirit out there who would like to join us this evening? If so, make yourself known to us.”

Almost instantly, in the corner of the room a misty form slowly took shape. Unseen by those sitting around the table with their eyes shut tight, the figure is plainly a young woman. She is wearing a white crinoline dress and a small bonnet. She said, “Yes! Yes! Who is it that calls me forth?”

The medium repeated, “If you are there, would you like to join us?”

The figure said, “Why do you call me here?”

The medium said, “If you are there, please join our circle this evening.”

The figure drifted closer to the medium. “But, I am here!”

The medium said, “We would like to make contact. If anybody’s there please make yourself known.”

At this point the figure came to the mediums side, saying, “I’m here,” and laying her hand on the medium’s arm.

The old woman screamed and they all jumped!

The two psychiatric carers stood at the one-way mirror.

The men were observing a patient who continually prattled away to himself. More to the point, he would have extended periods of carrying out a conversation with an invisible friend. They were analysing a man that in layman’s terms would be regarded as an oddball. He was in the middle of one of these chats when the speaker was switched on.

The patient was saying, “You’re right, of course, but the problem with obfuscation is that a message’s hidden meaning may very well stay that way. Not always a good thing of course, when it could be important.”

The patient stood listening for a while, as if listening to what the other was saying.

He replied, “Yes. Yes, I know, but the drawback with having scruples is that moral considerations may well deter a person from taking action when it’s needed.”

More silence.

“Well, that’s like considering the chances of you tossing a coin and it landing on its edge, eh?”

He stood listening to the reply, with a smile on his face.

“Anyway, what else has been happening.”

A long period of thoughtful silence, followed by a shaking of his head.

“Interesting, but of course, there are seasons that go way beyond climate.”

The listeners frowned at one another.

The patient went on.

“It’s good that they had good weather for it, but the trouble with photographs is that a two-dimensional depiction just doesn’t really cut the mustard, does it?”

He stood perfectly still again; listening.

“Well, OK. I suppose it’s nice to have them. Possession is everything, I suppose…”

He looked as though he’d been interrupted. He then wagged his head from side to side and went on.

“You know what they say, that if you do walk a mile in someone’s shoes you are probably far enough away, that you can keep them.”

He chuckled at whatever response he got.

“And her, how did she take it?”

He listened intently.

“That’s to be expected, I guess. She really does struggle through her entire life with a headache coming on.”

He laughs; presumably, they are both laughing. He listens again.

“That too. She was always a stickler for a strict level of security.”

Listening again.

“Well, it’s funny you should say that, because a man living just up the road from where I used to live told me he had four locks running down the door of his apartment. He says he only locks two of them when he leaves. That way, anyone picking the locks would keep locking two of them up again.”

One doctor turned to the other and said, “Wow! Did you hear that? In some strange way, that actually make’s sense…”

The other raised both eyebrows, and said, “You know, it really is best if we don’t get involved…”

The day the couple met the rabbits could have changed their lives.

They were invited to join a group of about a dozen hunters that would take part in a rabbit cull. The farmer had been suffering from a plague of rabbits for some time with his attempts at poisoning just not working. He would issue shotguns and give each person a section of his land to walk through and shoot any rabbits they find. At the end of the day the farmer planned to provide them all with a hearty meal for their trouble. The couple of young lovers were thrilled with the idea as they had never done anything like it. They were very much in love and plans for their marriage were well underway.

When the day came they got separated to cover the two areas of the farm they had each been allocated. At the end of the day they all gathered back at the farmhouse where the farmer was delighted to see so many bags full of dead rabbits. He invited them to drop their bags by the door and come in when they were ready and enjoy a well-deserved dinner.

The couple walked off a little, each having something they wanted to tell the other. He lowered his voice. “You’ll never believe this! While I was out there, after shooting several rabbits, I met one that could talk!”

Her eyes widened. “That’s amazing,” she said. “That happened to me!”

He said, “Wow! You go first.”

Still keeping her voice low, she said, “I managed to shoot and bag one or two rabbits when I heard this voice calling. It came from under a bush. It was a rabbit that told me that, if instead of shooting it, I gave it a kiss, it would break the spell that had been cast and it would go back to being a handsome prince. It said it had a great castle and in return he would marry me and just the two of us could live there together, where I could cook our meals, mend and wash our clothes, tend the royal gardens and bear his children, he said he wanted a great many children.” She just shook her head.

He said, “That is truly amazing. Like you, I had shot and bagged a few rabbits when I heard the call. That too turned out to be a rabbit that wanted me to hear its story. It said that with a single kiss it would go back to being a beautiful princess. It said that it lived in a splendid palace with her father, who presided over a great kingdom. He had many ministers who helped govern the people. They could marry and live in the palace, where the king would make him a minister and her stepmother would advise him on matters of policy, as she did for the entire ministry, with a rod of iron.” He stood, shaking his head.

“What did you do?” She asked.

“I shot it,” he said, patting his bag.

She too patted her bag. “Snap!” She said.

Somethings, although seemingly trivial, can haunt a person for a lifetime.

It started with a small moral lapse, a petty sin, an indiscretion, a mere peccadillo, just a moment of trifling childish behaviour, if you like. You could say all of these things, or you could say it was theft. He was six when it happened. He had a friend at playgroup. He was his best friend. One day his friend took along his favourite toy to show the class. It was a new miniature car. It was a black saloon with doors that opened and closed. The hood and the trunk did the same. Despite being very small, the details were just about perfect. For several days he took it in for others to look at.

Then, leaving one day, it fell out of his school bag onto the front lawn, silently, just as everyone was making their way out to the carpark where their parents would be waiting. His being at the back of the group and following his friend, was the reason that he was the only one to see that it had happened. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. He often reflected on the fact that it began at that precise moment.

The following day, the lost toy was talked about and children were asked to look around the classroom and later they all went outside to hunt around between the building and the carpark. Of course, they found nothing. The kids seemed to enjoy it all and see it as fun, whereas his friend cried a lot. He remembered putting his arm around him to comfort him. Another moment that would forever haunt him.

At that time his father had a car that was used mainly for work, but was also used when they all went out together for a trip somewhere, as a family. It was quite a grand old car with pull-out ashtrays, never used, each one set in the back of the front seats. Neither of his parents smoked and his father rarely had passengers in the front seat. So, as a child, he was the only one who sat on the single, long seat in the back, with his mum and dad in the front. It was in one of these ashtrays that he put and kept the tiny car. When they all went out for a ride he could happily play with it, unseen.

He couldn’t remember the exact moment that the guilt of what he’d done came fully home to him. Perhaps there was never a single moment, but a gradual building of remorse. Either way, he had it firmly in his mind that he would return it. He wasn’t sure whether this would be done with a full confession of him stealing it or the easier version of saying that he had found it. Whichever way he did it he knew it would make his friend very happy. He decided that on the Monday morning he would put the toy in his pocket and take it into class. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to do it.

That morning, there was an air of excitement when, instead of just his father, both of his parents went out to the garage with him. That’s when he found out that over the weekend his father had traded his car in for a new one.

More than anything else in the world he wanted to go back.

He found her in Italy. It was just one of those super cheap package holidays. He had the hotel for a week. A week of sun, sand and sea, with the usual night-time visits to bars and clubs. It was back in the day when these budget holidays were all the rage. He’d been in his early twenties, single, and certainly not looking for romance. It was just a break. Time out from his work in his own city. Work that had him in the office all hours. It was a responsible position for a man of his age. He had studied hard for it and he was set to climb just about any ladder he chose. Now, he was letting it all go for a few short, relaxing days. It was on the third day that he’d seen her at the roadside café.

It was all very brief; just moments in time. He was sipping coffee watching people go by, mainly tourists, when his attention was drawn to a sudden burst of laughter coming from a group of three twenty-something women approaching the café. He watched as they stopped and said their goodbyes. They split up, each going their own way. One of them, the girl in the red dress, passed his table. He was so taken with her as she came closer, that he didn’t notice that something fluttered to the ground. She had dropped something; a scrap of paper. It looked like a receipt. She paused, closed her purse and looked back. She returned, almost to his table, picked it up and went on her way.

For the remainder of the week he thought of little else, other than the incident at the café. He asked around whenever he could. Nobody seemed to know who she was, accept two shopkeepers where all three had been, said they were certainly Italian, but probably not from there; just on holiday together. This was as far as he got by the time he was due to fly home. On the plane, and over the weekend before returning to work, his preoccupation with the woman, the incident, and his failure to find out who she was, became more of an obsession.

This became apparent to him when, after his first day back of work, he didn’t go straight home. Instead, once away from the pressures of work, he made his way to the nearest park, where he sat turning it all over in his head. Time passed and he failed to notice how late it was getting. It was quite dark before he decided to make a move. As he stood up, he mumbled something about how he wished he had…

At that moment he became aware of someone suddenly sitting beside him. Someone who shouldn’t be there; couldn’t be there! The shock of it ran through his whole body, leaving him trembling.

A voice said, “Where and when did you want to go?”

“Sorry?”

“You must want to go somewhere. Put it like this, you wished very hard that you could go somewhere. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. If you hadn’t wished that hard you would never have gone into the pool.”

“Pool?”

“Yes, well, I call it the pool; it’s more of a lottery really. We only do it once a year. Anyway, you won. Now, where and when did you want to go?”

The young man sat thinking for a while. Gradually, an understanding of what was going on became apparent. In some strange way what was being discussed was quite normal and he accepted the truth of it. “Well, OK… back I suppose.”

“Ah! That’s good, we only do back. You need to know that you’ll have no memory of the time between; we have to wipe that.”

Without hesitation, he said, “Yes. OK. Do you need time and coordinates, that sort of thing?”

“No, from this point you only have to think it…”

He did. It went from dark to sunny in an instant. The girl in the red dress was passing his table, when something fluttered to the ground.

With a smile, he strolled over and picked it up…

He was just a tramp and had no desire to get involved with the authorities.

The problem was he was sleeping rough in the same backstreet community when a fellow vagrant had passed away overnight. The police were there, making their enquiries about the dead man and had been told by others that he would have to be his closest friend. He wouldn’t have said close. The man that was being zipped up in a body bag had been rotten to the core. He’d been forever stealing from the rest of them. The police were keen to get a name for the deceased, but nobody knew what it was. When questioned, he had told them that he was just another homeless guy, like the rest of them, names weren’t important to them. They seemed satisfied with that, but insisted on him going with them.

Later, he found himself at the crematorium, sitting in the waiting room. It was a strange place for him to be in. He was nervous and feeling sorry for himself. After a while, a man came out from the office carrying something. He approached and handed over a small cardboard box containing the dead man’s possessions, stating that as he was the closest friend or relation that the deceased had, he should have these.

He opened the lid and rummaged through. It didn’t contain much. He found a handkerchief, a packet of cigarette papers, an empty tobacco pouch, a broken comb, two bus tickets, a pencil stub, and to his astonishment, he found a crumpled ten dollar bill balled up in a tissue. He hadn’t seen one of those in a very long time. He closed the lid and left.

Out in the street, he dropped the box into the first street side rubbish bin he passed, but slipped the ten dollar bill into his pocket.

Walking on, he began to whistle.

The confessions of an omnivore;

It’s about dishes that have their appeal,

A casserole made with chicken,

Schnitzel with a slice of veal.

–

Brisket braised with onions,

Bacon between two slices of bread,

Sliced meatloaf covered with gravy,

Tops off a meat-eater’s spread.

–

Butter melting on a steak,

Pork sausages, brown and sizzling,

Carving from a leg of lamb,

Stops any hungry wretch from grizzling.

–

Slices of honeyed ham,

Kebabs, spicy on a stick,

Meat pie covered with tomato sauce,

Beef sliced extra thick.

–

A hot meat meal is a winner,

Whether a roast, a stew, or a fry,

But nothing holds a candle to

The ubiquitous chilled pork pie!