Author: Alexander Fawn

Words, taking on so many colours.

With scenarios flitting back and forth.

With some lines unwritten; others die at birth,

Stillborn and not brought back.

Some notions yet dangle out of reach.

–

Heady words are washed into patterns.

Visions are observed and given life.

Minding over these from line to line,

And purging to completeness.

–

Faint revisions made to frozen thoughts.

Being they plain or elegant,

All emptied onto paper.

Simple verse to rival scripture and scroll,

Made by thought and a common hand.

Held in place, for either long or short.

Even when unread, singing silently to itself.

Making music in the dark.

Emanating hues unseen.

–

Maybe just rumpled paper,

Holding rainbow-coloured thoughts,

Speaking softly without sound,

With something precious in every word.

Laying fallow, yet possessing its message.

A missive dancing unseen in shadow.

–

These, the writer’s dreams, begging for freedom,

Through style and rhyme, imagery and theme,

And all coming down to words,

They… that take on so many colours.

As far as anyone knew, he was a travelling salesman, selling kitchen utensils.

The agency provided his cover. Although he was equipped with a suitcase full of brushes, potato peelers, dish cloths, etcetera, he never actually sold anything. He spent most days driving around in the car they provided, doing very little. His undercover work took him around the country, sometimes abroad. That was the case when he wasn’t actually carrying out a hit for the agency. Quite naturally, his work for the government meant that his activities were such that he would always be totally immune from prosecution. On this occasion he had received a termination order and was looking it over on the evening before. It was a brief document that contained only a photograph, name and address. That was all he ever needed to carry out the work. He could see that the photo was very grainy and the text was more grey than black.

This particular job would entail a car journey of several hours. He would carry out the hit on the following day. He couldn’t help thinking that there was something about the address that rang a bell. He went to his old school file and pulled out an invitation he’d received. It was for a recent event that he’d not attended. It was in order to celebrate the retirement of his old headmaster, a person that he had nothing but trouble with when he was a student. He was forever receiving low marks for his work and asking for them to be reviewed. The truth was, he had not liked the school, any of the teachers and certainly not the pompous headmaster. It had resulted in his name being wrongfully smeared.

Anyway, it just so happened that the penny dropped when he noted the man’s address. He was amazed to find the current target’s address indicated that he not only resided in the same street as the old retiree, but he lived next door. His next victim lived at number fifty-five, the other at fifty-three. Considering the poor resolution of the photograph, together with the almost illegible text, he figured it was his turn to smear. The number fifty-five could so easily be smudged.

At the end of the following day he returned, having sent one more soul to meet its maker. When sending in his confirmation report he added a postscript. This was done to make sure the agency saw it as a mistake of their own.

It read: PS I think the printer is running low of ink.

They were not just soldiers, they all had families.

They all had loved ones waiting at home. Waiting for their return. In this case it was one particular ant that was asking some of his fellow ants why his son was so late. None of them seemed to know and this prompted him to make his way through to another part of the nest to make enquiries. When he arrived he was greeted by the ant that was not only in charge of recording deaths, but was always the one, whose sad duty it was, to give any such bad news to a fellow ant. For some reason that he couldn’t fathom at the time, despite having to tell an ant that their loved-one was dead so many times in the past, he found it extremely difficult on this occasion.

When the father heard the terrible news, for some reason that he couldn’t fathom at the time, despite knowing how often these losses were brought about by being crushed underfoot by humans, on this occasion he was unable to accept the inevitability of it.

It was as a result of this commonly shared feeling regarding the unnecessary loss of life, together with their most uncommon refusal to accept these ongoing fatalities, that after a brief discussion they each resolved to meet later at an agreed time. Their meeting place was a cavern at the end of a dead-end tunnel on the outskirts of the colony. It was a place set aside for private discussions like the one that was about to take place. On their meeting up together in this way, they immediately went back over what had been talked about and began forming a plan to combat what they both regarded as a huge, but not unsurmountable problem. They could see that it not only affected their own colony, but it equally affected the operating efficiency of so many others.

Between them, they found it quite remarkable how they so quickly came up with ideas of how they could correct the situation. Some time was spent considering how it was possible, with their vast numbers, how they could so easily devise strategies to reduce the number of humans. By the end of their sharing of ideas they agreed that they had come up with a foolproof plan that would enable them to carry out a successful revolt. They had so many ideas that could be used over the upcoming times of weeks, months and years, to throw humankind into a state of utter chaos, thereby reducing their numbers.

The first stage involved contacting those of other colonies in the immediate region of their own, and advising them of the way forward to improve their existence. It was considered that these numbers would be enough to get things going. Greater numbers could become part of it later, as the movement progressed. This could be done easily by sending out messengers.

The second stage was basically one of surprise. This would be particularly easy because humans had never had any inkling of just how extremely intelligent ants actually were. This ignorance would work in their favour. In practical terms, their objective was the main power station, located on the outskirts of the city. It was there that by virtue of their vast numbers they would create temporary havoc by taking the plant offline.

It followed, that the word went out and countless millions of ants were assembled above ground near the two organisers’ nesting ground. They all agreed that such numbers had never been gathered in one place before and the element of surprise would throw the humans into a state of panic. As previously envisaged, this would herald the beginning.

The direct route from the vast seething muster point to the isolated location of the plant was only a short distance. In proper soldierlike order they all began to move as one. It was not without some hesitation that they soon came across the freeway, but in true form the soldiers marched on, as they ever did. Indeed as they ever would. Barely a quarter of the mass had crossed the six lanes of busy traffic before vehicles began to skid and collide on the quickly changing surface. This went on as the march continued until all traffic came to a halt and the scene became a complete disaster area.

As night fell and the portable flood lights were set up, the emergency response teams, ambulances and the police had their hands full with the carnage. Throughout the night various authorities were struggling with how to report the incident, with the root cause and the never before seen nature of such an inexplicable event remaining a complete mystery.

When the last of the vehicles had been towed away it was left for the appropriate section from the roads authority to come out and clean the lanes to make them safe and serviceable before the police could reopen the affected stretch of freeway.

Meanwhile, the deep, glistening layer of brown slime that covers the entire area of this section of the freeway is testament to the fact that the immutable order and status of all living creatures simply can’t be messed with!

He was jogging along the footpath, later than usual.

It was an early evening jog that he went for a couple of times a week. He had started late this time and it was growing dark. He reached the tiny lookout with its view of the ocean. His last rest spot, only two minutes from the carpark. He was catching his breath when he heard it. Barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing below. It was an alarm of some sought. Maybe a mobile phone. He looked around; nobody! He retraced his steps and it grew louder. It was coming from the cliff’s edge. He left the path and made his way carefully. It was definitely there. He laid down flat on his stomach and worked his way to the edge. It was louder now. He looked over and down at the huge drop. There it was, glowing in the semi-darkness, a mobile phone. It was on a jutting rock, not quite within his reach, not safely, anyway. He was considering this when the alarm stopped and the screen went black. He scrambled back away from the edge and sat wondering about it. He decided to take another run tomorrow, but much earlier.

The following day he came to the same spot in full daylight. There was no one else around, so he made his way to the edge. It was still there. This time, he could see clearly how to get hold of it without any possibility of falling. He retrieved it and sliding back from the edge, he sat looking at it. The home button brought up the details of the recent alarm. He read the single word, ‘Bin’. Presumably a reminder about rubbish collection. It seemed that he didn’t need a password to open it up. It may identify the owner. He was jiggling with the unfamiliar buttons when ‘messages’ opened. The last was from several nights before. He felt a growing discomfort as he took the words in.

It read: ‘We can work it out, sweetheart. Meet me at the lookout at 1:00am and we can talk about it privately’.

Evening was coming on as he stood at the rail, staring up into a grey sky.

It was normally a popular lookout in warmer weather, located as it was, at the boundary of the large open park. Very few people were still around, save for a few dog-walkers. Below, the military base was spread out over a huge area. Here and there lights began twinkling. He had no way of describing the emotions that swamped over him, looking down at it; not even to himself. He had been standing there watching since the middle of the afternoon, hardly moving, getting cold. He sneered at the thought that the chill in the air really didn’t matter. There was so much going through his head that was losing any value, any importance. His reverie was interrupted by a rattling coming nearer. He turned to see a man approaching with his dog.

“Hi!” said the man, in a cheery tone.

“Hi!” he replied, straightening and making an effort to be civil with a smile.

“I must say, you’ve been standing here a long time; I’ve walked the dog round this park twice now. I thought I’d check to see if you were OK. You are, are you? OK, I mean.”

“Not really, but…”

“Look, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pry.”

The watcher sighed. “I’m waiting for the rocket to go up.”

At first, he looked up into the dimming sky, then down at the scene below.

The dog-walker leaned over the barrier. “Ah! I see your looking at the base down there. Are they doing a test or something? Haven’t seen anything on the news about it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. It’s not a test.”

“Not a test?”

“No. I wish it were. It’s the first of the intercontinental ballistic missiles, taking off from the base. It’ll be armed with nuclear war heads.” Pointing down, then up at the darkening sky, he said, “It will rise from over there on the right, then run off in that direction at a slight angle.” He waved his arm to indicate the path of the rocket’s flight.

“Is that right?”

“Yes. It indicates the beginning of the next world war; one that will be truly global.” He went back to peering down. “I could feel the tension down there, among the top brass.” The other could see he was slowly shaking his head. “This launch date has been bandied about for several months now. I wanted to be up here when it happens.”

The man moved closer. “Why?”

“Don’t know really. I should be down there now, still on shift. It’s probably something to do with being outside of it all. Not being a part of the evil of it.” He looked the man full in the face and said, “Once this thing goes nuclear, some say it’ll be all over in a day or two, some say only hours.”

The man didn’t know what to say.

The watcher asked, “Family?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you have family?”

“Oh! Yes, two boys; and a dog of course!”

“I don’t, not really. Only my old dad… in a nursing home now. There’s just me.”

The dog started to pull on the lead. “OK. We’d better be off now. You take care.”

“Thank you, I will.” After a beat, he said, “We all will.”

Halfway across the field, he saw it. He held the lead tighter and turned to watch it.

The first great fiery streak, slowly rising up into a clear night sky.

His biggest downfall as an accountant was his tendency to generalise.

Whereas this is generally acceptable in literature, meaning that you can shuffle words around in a cavalier manner and get away with-it; not so with accountancy. Not so with numbers. After all, it’s reasonable to assume that a person having an accountant to look over their business or to figure out how much tax they owe the government, would expect a certain preciseness. A certain amount of striving towards the highest level of accuracy. This was something that his employers seemed to take quite seriously. He obviously never saw it that way. His method of accounting seemed to be derived from the notion that numbers were in some way malleable.

Despite the fact that he’d passed all the exams and had a thorough knowledge of modern day accounting practices, this didn’t stop him regarding the odd wild guess as perfectly normal. He didn’t see why he shouldn’t take a bit of a punt now and again. After all, when his report was passed on to the client they would appreciate that the detailed workings were so complex that they would have no chance of picking up any discrepancies. His view on this was that if they could, they’d be an accountant. Eventually, his fuzzy logic approach to dealing with other people’s financial assets caught up with him. So, after a heated debate regarding his work ethics, a slap on the wrist, and agreeing to avoid playing any future part in his qualified calling, he moved on.

As it happens, he found his true calling as the regular bingo caller at the local community hall, three times a week. There could be no doubt that generating and calling out completely random numbers in a totally unpredictable sequence was his idea of pure heaven.

There was simply no accounting for it.

Go figure!

He thought he was the last to leave the office and was going around switching off lights.

She turned the corner and collided with him. It was not a hard impact, but he instantly saw stars. He stood gaping for a long time while his vision cleared. He was looking into the eyes of an angel! She was a twenty-something beauty, looking like she had just stepped off a catwalk. This gorgeous creature stood smiling at him while his heart was beating so loudly he wondered if she could hear it. He remained still, just gawping. He was frozen.

She drew back. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

He stood blinking at her with his mouth open. “Not at all, you… you’re a vision of loveliness! I’m not hurt, and if I was…”

She stopped him. “No. Not that. I mean I’m sorry that we touched.”

“I’m not! Not at all. I would gladly kneel down before you if you said we could touch again.” He dropped to one knee.

She chuckled, saying, “Please get up and let me explain.”

Her chuckle was to him the sound of a thousand violins, each one accompanied by a thousand tinkling bells. Looking up, he shook his head apologetically. He stood up immediately, saying, “Of course. Anything. Anything you say, my princess; you are the goddess that divine providence has allowed into my life; anything you say.”

“Let me explain.”

“No, my heavenly vision, you should never have to explain anything. Why… your presence alone tells me everything there is to know. It explains why the stars move the way they do, why Beethoven composed the Moonlight Sonata, why eagles soar and kittens purr.”

“It happened about a year ago”, she went on, “I found an ancient love spell on the Dark Web and made a mess of it, placing a curse on myself that I can’t undo.”

“But you are divine, how could you ever make a mess of anything?”

She sighed. “Thankfully, it doesn’t last long. It’ll wear off in a moment. When it does, you’ll see me as I really am.”

“But, I see you now, and you are the most…”

“No,” she said firmly, “What you see is an illusion, brought about by physical contact and designed to bring about a burning infatuation. You must have touched my hand; that’s what triggers it.”

He blinked a couple of times as she changed back to being a short, slightly overweight woman in her late forties. Nothing much to look at, he thought, but pleasant enough.

“It’s a hell of a thing to admit to,” she said, “it’s so embarrassing. I’ve never talked to anyone about it before. It’s why I do night cleaning; you know, to avoid people.”

“That’s incredible!” he stammered, with a look of astonishment.

“I know.” She said, blushing slightly.

“No, not that.”

“Well, I think it is.” She said, looking hurt. “I wish it wasn’t, but it is!”

He frowned. “Well, yes that, but… but what’s absolutely amazing is that we should have met at all.” He threw up his hands. “I mean, I have the same problem! Not exactly the same, but the results are identical. This must be the same spell or curse or whatever you want to call it.” A look of shame came over his face. “I got mine from an old guy who lives up the road from me. He claimed to be some sort of witch doctor, but he probably got it off the internet.”

“Oh!” was all she could say.

“Yes,” he went on, “I went back to see him to have it removed, but he couldn’t do it.”

“Goodness! As you say, amazing.”

He went on. “I’ve never been able to tell anyone either. I suppose I should think myself lucky. I don’t have to be as careful as you; mine is only activated if my hair is touched.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Go on,” he said, lowering his head sideways.

She hesitated for a moment, then stroked the hair just above his ear.

In an instant, he had become a handsome young man in his twenties; he could easily be a male fashion model. That’s when it started… she would go to the end of the world for him, she wanted them to be together to the end of time, she needed to spend forever in his company, she desperately pleaded with him to return her love.

It went on like this for a while until her sight blurred and he went back to being a gaunt looking, balding man of around fifty. Nothing special about him, but he did have a kindly look about him.

They both stood looking at each other for a long time.

Then, and with no hesitation at all, she stroked his hair and he took her hand.

She sat thinking about the relationship.

What was once something filled with enthusiasm, even passion, had now become a boring obsession. In short, she regarded the relationship as simply overly time consuming. She felt there had been a great deal of patience shown on her part. Some of the arrangements with regards to time and place had certainly not been the best. She had come very close to getting into trouble on a number of occasions, with only herself to blame if she’d been found out. She flushed at the thought. The embarrassment would have been dreadful!

She let out a heavy sigh, knowing that it really had become a form of mania. Anyway, it had to end sometime, right?

I’ve shown a lot of patience with you, she thought, as she moved to her home page and placed the cursor over the chosen icon.

With one click, it was gone.

She knew it was there, just below the surface.

It had been troubling her for more than a week as she went about her domestic chores. Every now and again she almost saw it, almost grabbed hold of it, but not quite. If only I had a clue, she thought, just an inkling, that’s all I would need. It’s just out of reach. I know there’s something there. It’s like some tune or a song that you hear, she thought, and you know it was used in a movie you’ve seen, but you can’t remember the name of the music or what film it was in. She tried not to think about it, put it completely out of her mind, that way it would probably pop back all on its own, but that hadn’t worked.

The only thing that she could be really sure of was it must be something… it was something just below the surface.

Once again he set up the player and settled back with the remote control.

He knew what to do; he could do it wearing a blindfold. For him, it was a regular trip back into the past. He started the machine. The whole holiday video went for over an hour and he was happy to watch the first forty-odd minutes before the part he was looking for came up. It was a wonderful honeymoon. The weather was perfect and the staff at the hotel made such a fuss about them being newlyweds that they couldn’t have ask for more. Scenes in the restaurant came up, followed by views of the street markets with their colourful lights and loud music, indicating that the section he needed came next. He sat further back in his chair and waited…

She was climbing out of the hotel’s pool when she looked up, wiping water away from her face. She gave a happy smile as she said, “How good is this? How long can it last, eh?” He hit the pause button. Her question and her face were frozen. He pressed the play button and watched as she stood towelling herself down. He dabbed at his eyes, then rewound. There she was, coming up the ladder, smiling and asking again. “How long can it last, eh?” He backed it up and played it again. Of course, he knew the answer to her question was ‘less than two weeks’. Only a couple of days after coming home. The man with the heart attack, his car running out of control and mounting the pavement. He knew all that, but it didn’t stop him wanting to hear her ask.

He wiped more tears away as he picked up the remote control.

Just once more, maybe…