Author: Alexander Fawn

The day started just like any other.
When the boss came into the junior partner’s office, it was obvious that something was wrong. He sat down across from him and sighed. After a pause, his superior went on for some time about the mundane patterns that rule our everyday activities, about the established and uncompromising modes of life, about being trapped in dull, never-ending cycles, about the unpromising routines that have become entrenched, and so on.
The subordinate said, “So, what you’re saying is we’re stuck in a rut?”
His boss shrugged. “Well, put it this way, your alarm goes off, you open your eyes, you wake up, wash and shave, get dressed, eat breakfast, wave goodbye to your wife, drive into town, park your car, arrive at the office, sort paperwork, make phone calls, send and reply to emails, leave the office, arrive home, say hello to your wife, chat about your day, eat tea, watch television, go to bed, close your eyes, and you fall asleep.”
He threw up his hands in submission, and said, “The next day it just starts all over again!”

The other nodded thoughtfully. “So, what you’re saying is we’re stuck in a rut?”

He was in a great hurry to get home.
All things considered, he was one of those people who was always running late. He was always behind. Tonight though, he had to make an effort. They were invited out and he couldn’t be late. His wife always got really annoyed with him when they arrived late for things. He sat shaking his head when he hit delays in the traffic. To make matters worse, when cars started moving again he was confronted with crazy pedestrians running across the road between vehicles. This was followed by a power outage and a number of street lamps suddenly went out. He was racing along one of the dimly lit streets when he felt a bump. It was as though he’d run over something. He pulled up. Looking back he could just make out a bundle of something in the gutter. Of course, he drove on. He was running late. An hour later, he finally arrived home. He ran in, looking at the time.
He was running upstairs calling out with an apology and a complaint about being made to work late by the boss, when the phone went. He went back down and picked up. The voice was telling him that his wife had been the victim of a hit-and-run accident. After replacing the phone, he stood, rooted to the spot with his head reeling. There was so much going through his mind. Several minutes later he went out to the car. He examined it carefully. Sure enough, he found the dent… and the blood. He knew what he had to do.
He filled a bucket with soapy water.

Looking through a powerful telescope, it’s just another misty ball in space.
Although scientists really don’t know much about Kepler-425b, beyond doing the regular thing by giving it a name and thereby making themselves feel less foolish about their not really knowing much about it… but they do have theories. For instance, they believe its gravity could be around twice that of Earth and that its mass is most likely to be five times greater. All this, despite the fact that no one can get a decent look at it, on account of it having lots of active volcanoes that have just about covered its entire surface with a blanket of thick smoke. To cap it all, the fact that it’s been calculated to be 1,402 light years away, no one is likely to discover the existence of the Sminch any time soon.
Of course, none of this really matters, whichever way you look at it. It just so happens that this solitary creature is about to die out. Solitary being the operative adjective because it’s the only one left. Going back a couple of decades there were dozens of these tiny rodent-like creatures running around, nibbling at the sparse plant life and multiplying.
Then, quite out of the blue, came the virus! From that point on it was only a matter of time. The disease itself would appear to have been remarkably similar to Covid-19. As a result, one by one, these poor little souls went to meet their maker.
Although it isn’t known how these life forms actually came about those relatively few years ago, at least their sad demise is being recorded here.
Although it could be said that none of this has any basis of truth and therefore such a scenario shouldn’t be described in this manner, something needs to be pointed out.
Writing fiction is what it is… fiction.

It is anybody that sits quietly in their room.

They are but one of many. Many have a window they can peer through, but it can only be used for looking out. Out into a world that itself has been quietened, been made to slow down, been made to stop what it was doing. They are anybody. Anybody that is now bound within walls. They are all kinds of once active people, waiting out their time. Out there a disease has twisted society out of shape. They may have been a mid-twenties shop worker with no shop to return to when their term is done. They know only too well how these quiet, lonely days play havoc with any worldly routines that would normally guide them and others through their day-to-day journeys. Routines governed mostly by the clock. Outings that take in shopping as often as desired, a spontaneous walk across a park, bumping into a friend…a myriad of banalities that now sit so precious within the minds of those that wait.
The waiting may have some strange and unexpected silver lining. They may find something in the silence that comforts; something new. An unknown aspect of existence. They may or may not recognise that it was always there.
Concentrating as they do on their personal, tiny fragment of the world within, may have them truly awestruck by its very vastness…

The koala looked down from the top shelf of the toy section.
There was a wonderful selection of toys on display. There were other animals besides him, of course, but none quite as handsome as him, he thought. Along the same shelf, where all the big animals were kept, there were bears, hippos, elephants and giraffes. The shop was bustling with people and a great many children. The toy shop had an extensive variety of things for sale. Apart from soft, cuddly animals, there are dolls and tea sets, puzzle games and jig-saws, radio controlled cars, educational toys and science projects, spinning tops and skipping ropes. The action figures seemed to be popular with both girls and boys. All day long, he watched the children come and go. Once or twice he saw interested eyes look up at him, but fortunately, he’d been left in peace.
Finally, closing time came and the toy department went quiet. One by one all departments fell silent as the whole store slowly emptied. It was only when the last of the staff left and all lights were switched off, that he could actually move. He jumped down. The koala suit had become stiflingly hot and he couldn’t wait to get out of it.
Who said burgling was easy?

It was late when he came out of his building.
It had been another long day. He was exhausted as he crossed the street to his car. It was then that he heard the commotion. He turned in the middle of the road and crossed back over. The shouting and laughing were close by. He walked to the corner and looked into the next street; a busier street with shop lights blazing. He could see it now. Three thugs, standing over an old tramp, shouting abuse and kicking him on the ground.
He looked on and saw passers-by giving them a wide birth; with no one helping. He watched as the hoodlums frisked the old man’s pockets, finding loose change and running off. Still, he was ignored by those that passed him. Suddenly, the observer felt an even greater tiredness sweep over him.
He was shaking when he reached his car. He climbed in and sat for a while. When he turned the key, the radio went back to playing his selection of music, ‘melodies to relax with’.

Louis Armstrong was singing ‘What a Wonderful World’.
He switched it off.

She found the note on the kitchen table, put there before he left for work.
She was still reeling from the effects of the previous evening’s altercation. She had deliberately come into the kitchen later than usual in order to avoid any further unpleasantness. She made a cup of tea and sat down to read it. It went as follows:
I thought it only fair to point out that generally speaking I am an amazing person… I have turned down several requests to tour the country giving talks on the way to happiness, have used my powers to manipulate the stock exchange thereby avoiding a global breakdown of the world’s economy, have been known to reduce the incidents of flooding after dam bursts, have brought about rain in drought inflicted areas, have been known to create spectacular sunsets, heal the sick and disabled, exorcised demons, raise people from the dead, and of course, I’ve walked on water.

However, I have been known on extremely rare occasions, to forget our wedding anniversary.
For that, I am truly sorry.

Delicate things to calm the mind,
Light, but of this world.
The wobble of a spider’s web,
The patterns in a coffee swirled.

Plants shedding weightless spores,
The dainty weave of lace,
Wispy smoke from a dying fire,
A cloud’s steady pace.

Early morning mist,
Bark peeling from a tree,
A duckling’s fluffy down,
A fog drifting free.

Foam piling on a beach,
Shadows dancing on a wall,
Washing flapping in a breeze,
Snowflakes swirling as they fall.

A grounded feather moved by wind,
A rainbow, as it grows,
The shimmering of a summer’s heat,
Loud rain, as it slows.

Sun-caught dust motes floating free,
Wet footprints left on show,
Leaves gently swaying,
A sunset’s fading glow.

The pearly shimmer of a shell,
A gently flickering flame.
All somewhat other-worldly,
But ours, all the same.

He settled into his seat and inserted earpieces that would allow him to listen to his book.
He hated long coach trips. He had chosen a story that went for ten hours, knowing he could listen to half of it by the time he arrived and the remainder on the way back. At least the weather was good and he could enjoy the view through the window while listening to the narrator. Glancing at the empty isle-seat next to him, he hoped it would stay that way. He could see that passengers were still getting on, with only a few seats left. The coach would probably end up only half full. Moments later a woman, about his own age, around the mid-twenties, put something in the overhead rack and sat down beside him. He inwardly moaned and stayed looking out the window pretending he hadn’t noticed her.
Minutes later, the vehicle coughed into life and the journey began. He decided that staring out at the scenery was the best option if he wanted to remain undisturbed, but he couldn’t help looking around to confirm his theory that there were plenty of vacant seats. Looking back, he found the woman looking directly at him. She had a knowing smile and was obviously scrutinising him. He stared back wondering if she was someone he should have recognised. That’s when her lips began to move.
He reluctantly hit the pause button and removed an earpiece. “Sorry, did you say something?”
“I said, I know your sign.”
He frowned. “My sign?”
“Yes. Your sign; your zodiac sign.”
He was beginning to wish he hadn’t looked at her. Nevertheless, he felt he should say something. He shook his head. “Sorry, no idea.”
She grinned. “You’re a Virgo! I knew that the moment I saw you. When’s your birthday?”
He glanced around, feeling that he was being trapped. He sighed loud enough for her to hear. “OK. It happens to be September the twelfth, but…”
She clapped her hands before he could finish. “Yes,” she cried aloud, “I knew it!” She moved a little closer. “I’m a Scorpio.” She became extremely serious. “We are so, so compatible. You are intelligent and good at problem-solving, while I am passionate and assertive. You see? A perfect match.”
He raised his eyebrows at the audacity of the woman. He began to get up. “Excuse me, I need to stretch my legs.”
He changed his seat.

He sits by the window, reflecting on what others have to do in his situation.
The telescope rests on its tripod facing out across the city. His building, the tallest, his floor, the highest, looks down onto a number of towers with their flat rooftops. One of them has a garden with a patch of lawn, shrubs, tables and chairs. It even has a tiny pond with a small, trickling fountain at its centre. It is an exclusive café, opened each evening for the hotel’s guests and visitors. When he stands behind the scope he can bring the rooftop into focus, but the time has not yet come. His laptop sits on the table beside him. It has been made ready. A few minutes pass before two men, one known to him, only too well, the other, not at all. Only one series of encrypted messages have passed between them.
The man he knows is his manager. As he watches them stroll across the roof garden to the pond, where they sit down together on the low wall that surrounds it, he thinks again of all those poor souls out there that have suffered or are currently suffering from having such a boss. A boss like him; incompetent, uncaring, full to the brim with self-importance.
He knows that in most cases a person hangs onto a paying job, regardless of how truly awful their boss is. He knows this and in some small way, what is about to occur he dedicates to them.

He stands and puts his eye to the lens, tweaking the focus. He waits. He sees the scuffle. He zooms in on the figure now lying face down in the pool. The stranger stands looking up. He takes out a mobile phone and waits. The man above turns to his laptop and clicks on ‘send’ and the payment is transferred. Moments pass before the man below gestures with the globally recognised thumbs up and disappears through a door.
Dedication complete.