Simpatico

What happened to him was a story as old as the hills.

He met this really nice girl at the local calisthenics club. They trained together for a while and eventually started dating. A few months later she met this guy who was a disgraced scientist. She seemed to be infatuated with his work, not so much him, so the boyfriend wasn’t troubled by their relationship. This guy’s work, or more specifically the project that got him fired from the scientific development institute, was about building a ray machine capable of mind control over vast distances. His girlfriend spent more and more time in his makeshift laboratory at the back of the old abattoir. Eventually they announced a test date for the equipment. Naturally the boyfriend was invited.

It was an outstanding success, with a number of people from the immediate vicinity becoming totally controlled by the ray and wandering into the laboratory. They just stood around, waiting for further instructions. Of course, the scientist was absolutely delighted with the result and began planning how his invention could be presented, along with a similar demonstration, to the scientific community that had scoffed at his ideas. The girlfriend, now very much a part of it all, was part of the planning process and she was spending a great deal of time on it. The boyfriend started to see things in a different way. He was not seeing as much of her as he would have liked. He decided that when the time was right he would bring the subject up.

However, his girlfriend had plans of her own. During discussions about how the new technology would be introduced to the world, she managed to get the scientist to stand in front of the equipment’s barrel long enough to be hit by the ray. Having done this, using the maximum setting, and with a high-pitched laughter, she unleashed a powerful blast out across the entire planet, creating slaves of all that it came in contact with. Now, with most of humankind in a state of readiness to do her will, she laid plans of her own, regarding the future direction of her world domination.

The boyfriend, being one of the few not hit by the ray, felt it only right that he should approach her. He was confident that their relationship was strong enough for him to persuade her to see reason. He would rely on their simpatico. At the same time he was aware of his own poor timing, knowing that he should have spoken up earlier. Nevertheless, he was determined to make amends.

He found her in the laboratory drawing up her master plan for the total control of the planet, when in a scenario as old as time… she zapped him.

Forfeiture

He was seen as a workaholic.

Despite being in his late fifties, he was always in early and always the last to leave the office, week in week out. He never took holidays. The weeks just accrued on file somewhere. He was asked once or twice if he felt he should take a break, but it made no difference. It was not uncommon for him to keep himself busy at his desk for at least one and sometimes two hours after everybody left. He was grateful that the rest of the staff seemed to accept the fact that it was his personal choice to sacrifice his time and private life in order to serve the company.

It was never apparent that he was vane about his work ethic, or the way he sacrificed so much of his time. Nobody ever actually said anything negative about his long work hours, although the occasional quip about him being the ‘lights man’ alluded to his routine. He saw this as an obvious reference to the fact that he was always left to see that all lights on the building’s floor were switched off when he left.

However, it was different on this particular night. Becoming so absorbed in what he was doing, had him still in his room way after his normal time. He was amazed to see just how late it was, when sometime after midnight he was disturbed by a strange rattling sound coming from the outer hallway.

Soon after this, a woman appeared. A little surprised herself, she apologised for disturbing him and said that this was her night for emptying waste baskets and rubbish bins.

The number of hours working in silence and the solitude had to be the reason that he was happy to stop what he was doing and chat. The following half-hour was taken up with an idol, but surprisingly comfortable chat. He had little to talk about regarding his own circumstances, but she had her own interesting story to tell. The upshot of this being that she was a single mother of two, now living back home with her parents. She said she was only too glad to have a job that paid the bills.

Anyway, this prompted him to pack up, and on this occasion leave the lights to someone else. It was travelling home on the almost empty late bus that gave him time to reflect on the unexpected conversation. She was a nice person, he thought. She was going home to her children, while he was on his way to a small, empty flat. He wondered whether he was penalising himself for the emptiness in his life or was he doing what he does as a genuine sacrifice? It was the pedantic side of his reasoning that had him wondering whether it was a matter of sacrifice or forfeiture. He asked himself, was he paying a forfeiture or making a sacrifice?

Thinking about the woman, if it’s true that he was making a sacrifice, whose was the greater?

Wormholes

The weather was cold and windy, he looked around for somewhere to light up

He checked the time. He had time for a smoke. His friend would be picking him up in around ten minutes. He was usually pretty prompt. He moved further down the street looking for a spot out of the wind. He turned the corner and found a wall where he could stand. It was out of the weather. He lit a cigarette and leant back against the wall. Only, he didn’t. He fell backwards and scrambled to his feet. He found himself standing in a very large… no that didn’t describe it, in a huge space that had no visible walls. It just went on and on. His nerves were jangling. The cigarette had survived the fall. With a shaking hand he brought it up and took a puff.

A voice said, “No smoking!”

With a jolt, he said “What?”

Suddenly, an odd looking character was beside him, he repeated, “No smoking in here.” He pointed to a disc on the floor about the size of a saucer.

He was a small man, barely five feet high and skinny. He had extremely pale skin and close-cropped, white hair. He was dressed in a white boiler suit with white moccasins. He said, “Drop it in there if you don’t mind.”

Flustered, the man said, “No. Of course, I didn’t know, sorry.” He approached it. “Here?”

“Yes. Just drop it.”

He did, and it instantly disappeared. He stood gazing down at the disc, while the weird little man looked him over, then looked around at what should have been a wall, but was just a light grey mist. “You must have come through here. Not a problem. I’ll fix it when you’ve gone. How did you find it?”

“I didn’t, I was just leaning on the wall when…”

“Ah! Yes. I see now. A wormhole. We must have missed it.”

The man looked around. “What is this place, it’s…

“It’s hard to understand, I know. We do get occasional visitors, not many…” He looked back at where a wall should be, where something would need to be done. “Not many, but it does happen.”

Looking back at the disc, he said, “And that?”

“Wormhole, naturally. A small one.”

“And this place, what is it?”

“Ah! I’m happy to tell you, but you wouldn’t understand. We do get the odd visitor that gets a bit of a guided tour, but only when we have time. You’ve caught me at a bad time, I’m afraid. Anyway, I assure you it’s all a bit pointless, as you will have no memory of any of this when you return.”

“No memory, you say?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Oh! Well, in that case… someone’s picking me up.”

“If you’re concerned about the time don’t be. Time stops in here; for you, that is.”

The man looked around again, trying to take in what he saw. “Before I go, can you just give me a clue?”

“A clue? How quaint. At least you’re asking. OK. A clue. OK. Rats.”

“Rats, is that it, rats?”

“Yes. It’s more than a clue really. The rodent brain is quite remarkable, rats are extremely intelligent. We love watching them. We’re in the process of giving the planet, your planet, a complete makeover.”

“You are? You can do that?”

“Definitely, we can. Who do you thing put all that together? All that out there, I mean… um, OK, you have all sorts of belief systems, we know that. Yes, rats. They are very bright and so entertaining. You guys are far too serious.”

“About?”

“Everything, really. You’ve made everything so complicated. It’s like I said, you just take everything so very seriously.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Your breed never seemed to cotton on to the fact that with so many of you all striving for self-importance, it brings about this ghastly condition where you take yourselves much too seriously. At the end of the day, you’re just not much fun to watch.”

“Watch?”

“Of course, watch. That was the whole idea. We just want a good show.”

“OK, and us, what happens to us?”

“You’ll be gone, I’m afraid. Please don’t worry about it, you’ll know nothing about it. You won’t feel a thing, besides, look!”

At this, he pointed to something behind the visitor. With a firm but not unfriendly push, he found himself back out on the street, stumbling forward. He didn’t fall over but he had trouble keeping his balance.  He looked around to see if he’d tripped on something, but the pavement was clear. He checked the time again, nearly ten minutes before his ride.

He leant back against the wall and lit a cigarette.

Previous

She lives in a different world.

Far different from before. Only her previous memories guide her. Violet is summer with the flowers that grew around the artificial pond in her auntie’s garden. Green is the great expanse of lawns in the parks were she would run with her friends. Blue is the endless sea, standing in it ankle deep, when they had holidays and lived for a while in a caravan. Orange is for watching carrots being scraped with the true colour coming through. Indigo is for the bunches of grapes that hung over their back fence, that they were allowed to keep. Yellow is for the pile of grated cheese that will go towards the macaroni dish her father was so fond of. Red is the lipstick used when her mother went out with her father to somewhere special. White is the world being changed in winter with a layer of snow covering everything.

Black… and black is always there.

From a previous world to this. Only her precious memories from before blindness can guide her.

She lives in a different world.

Meddling

From the get go, he had always been a precocious child.

When young, his father had been much the same. He had spent a lifetime dabbling in the mystic arts. He always hoped the boy would follow in his footsteps. Although very bright, the boy had quietened down a lot after his rabbit died. It was buried in the garden. They seemed to have had a special bond and the loss was obviously taking its toll. His parents had offered to get a replacement; anything he wanted they said. It made no difference; at the time he just wouldn’t be consoled. That’s why it was good to see how much brighter he seemed that evening.

His father watched him get down from the table, he said, “Don’t you want dessert, son?”

The boy said, “No. I need to get back to my book.”

“Yes, your mother told me about that; any good?”

“I would have to say it’s most enlightening. I managed to morph myself into a moth before tea.”

“Well, that‘s something, I must say.”

“Yes, indeed. I’m going to try another one now, and I don’t want to be disturbed.” With that, he went to his room and closed the door.

His father raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Where’d he get this spell book, anyway?”

His wife started to clear away the plates. “Jumble sale”.

“Really?”

“Yes. We called in after school. Didn’t cost much, and it’s really big; huge actually.”

“Not sure I approve at his age. Meddling with that stuff can be dangerous before you’re ready for it.”

His wife sighed and shook her head.

A little later they sat watching television when strange sounds came from the boy’s room. The father said, “I’ll go.”

When he opened the door he found a large, fluffy rabbit, gnawing and scratching at the carpet. “I guessed as much’, he said. “You’d rather be a rabbit, right?”

The animal nodded.

He returned to the lounge and said to his wife, “He’s turned himself into a rabbit. I think he’s hungry.”

He just knew she’d start screaming.

Errand

The old man had hardly slept at all during the night.

It had been a dickens of a cold night. Snow had been falling in the city for days and the cold had got into his house. To make things worse, he woke with most of his coverings on the floor. Something had happened during the night. He didn’t know what it was, although he had some fading recollection of being visited by spirits; three of them! His stomach was giving him the gripes as he struggled to get up. He quickly wrapped a dressing gown around his frail body and put his slippers on. He staggered across to the window and looked out. Everything was white. A young lad came into view in the street below.

He opened the window and called down to him. “Boy!”

The lad looked up. “Yes, sir.”

The old man’s hearing was poor. “Come closer, boy. I need you to run an errand for me.”

The boy took a few paces, still looking up. “Yes, sir?”

“Do you know where the butcher’s shop is in the high street?”

“Oh! Yes, sir, the one with the prized turkey in the window, sir.”

“That’s the one. Good lad. There’ll be half a crown in it for you.”

The boy tugged at his cap. “Why, thank you kindly, sir.”

“Well done, lad. I’d have you go to the apothecary’s shop opposite and get me a bottle of stomach medicine, and tell them to put it on my bill.”

The lad looked perplexed. “Beg pardon, sir?”

“Stomach medicine, for the gripes, lad. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, but…”

“What’s that you say?”

“I thought sir would be asking for the turkey, sir.”

He was becoming irritable. “The what?”

“Beg pardon, but I thought you’d be asking for the prized turkey, sir.”

He stepped back. The boy’s an idiot, he thought. He’d have to get dressed and go himself. He returned to the window and shouted, “Forget it!”

The lad wandered off, disappointed.

He slammed the window. “Bloody kids!”

Spectacle

He had always liked reading shorts stories.

On this particular evening he was sitting at his screen searching for something to read, when he came across this simple little blog that consisted mainly of very short stories. The one that he began to read was told in three hundred and ninety five words. He was intrigued by the opening words that said the author, being the main character in the story, had been getting off a bus when he saw a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs. He was excited by what he saw. He was so struck by the spectacle that he immediately found a quiet spot in the street, and using the voice recorder on his phone, made a note that he had seen a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs.

When he got home he went straight to his laptop, and after listening to his note about seeing a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs, set about writing a short story about a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs. However, although seeing a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs, was a strange sight to come across while getting off a bus, he struggled hard to put the event into a story. He thought about writing the shortest of stories, going something like: ‘Today, while getting off a bus I saw a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs’. He did a word count. He saw that this was only twenty-four words. No, that wouldn’t do.

After a lot of deliberation, he decided to write a story that contained the incident of a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs, and how he as a writer couldn’t find a way to make a story of it.

At this point, the reader thought about it. If he had been getting off a bus and seen a man in a chicken suit standing outside a supermarket holding a placard for free-range eggs, would he be able to write a story about it?

Probably not.

Whoosh

He came out and joined his friends in the garden.

It was a pleasant enough evening, with a gentle breeze rustling leaves. The three of them just sat; at one with nature. You would have to say they were doing nothing more than minding their own business. They certainly weren’t bothering anybody. The light was failing with dusk coming on. In one respect, you could say that they were all night owls, of a kind. All of them would be busy later.

Then came the sound. They all knew what it meant. It was happening again and they didn’t know why. It had always been this way. It was them, the others, with their attitude. The idea that they had no right to be there, although none of them had ever entertained the idea that they were trespassing. It was some kind of ingrained behaviour that ran through the DNA of the others…they supposed.

There it was again, a great whooshing sound; closer this time. It brought with it a quite familiar, yet extremely nasty smell that wafted towards them.

Tiny legs moving fast now.

All twenty-four of them, going like the clappers!

Ethics

He approached the hospital reception desk with his forms.

Luckily he’d been able to find them all on the hospital’s website and download copies, then fill them all in at home. He hated filling in forms, and there seemed to be so many of them!

The woman took them.

“All filled in, are we?” She began looking through the paperwork. “Medical number and health insurer, allergies, brief history…” she mumbled, as she read. “Ah! Yes. I see you’ve made out the political preferences statement.” She looked up and smiled. “Always good to know.” She looked down again. “And you’ve provided us with a list of your preferred charities; good. And any family members that currently work in the medical profession. None, I see. Yes. I’ll get you to sign here at the bottom.” She pushed the paperwork back and handed him a pen.

He took the pen. “I couldn’t help wandering about some of them”, he said, almost apologetically.

“It’s for in the event of any unexpected difficulties, when difficult decisions have to be made, that sort of thing. If the hospital’s Medical Ethics Team have to review your ongoing treatment, you see? It’s nothing to worry about, most of the time.”

She lowered her voice. “However, we are running a touch low of oxygen at the moment.”

Phobia

He woke in a tangle of bedding and a complete sweat.

It was as though his entire night had been spent being inside a nightmarish world where there were ugly, eight-legged creatures everywhere. At every turn, these disgusting things could be seen creeping up on him. His alarm went off and he jumped with fright. He knew he was in a bad way. He lay there wondering if this had anything to do with having to walk past the Spider House, the day before. As it turned out, on that one occasion, he couldn’t avoid passing it. He looked at the clock, he was now running behind. The boss was a stickler for punctuality. It was hard getting out of bed. He felt positively twitchy as he made his way into the kitchen. He noticed that his hands were shaking as he filled the kettle.

He hadn’t even had his morning cuppa when the phone rang.

He picked up. “Hello?”

It was the head keeper. “Morning. Thought I’d better give you a heads up. Just had the boss on the phone. Bit pushy he was, considering he’s come up with some last minute work. He wants it done today.”

He stood listening in silence.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” he replied.

The other went on. “OK. Apparently, Creepy Joe’s off sick so it’s down to you to fill in for him. The boss wants the Spider House emptied, with the inhabitants relocated to the store facility while I go in and give the place a thorough clean.”

Silence.

He paused, then he went on. “That should only take me a couple of hours. Then you need to return them all.”

Silence.

After another pause, he said, “He wants the whole thing done in a day. That should be doable, don’t you think?”

Silence.

“Don’t you think?” he repeated.

Silence.

“Hey! Are you still there?”

“Hello?”

“Hello?”