Author: Alexander Fawn

She knew that this day was coming.

The fear of it had been there for some time, and although she knew that it would happen eventually, when the moment came, this knowledge didn’t make it any easier. He knew he had to be firm about it, otherwise the situation would just go on indefinitely. He felt that a clean break was the best way for both of them. After all, he had been tiring of the whole thing for some time. It simply had to come to an end.

“Come on, you know it’s for the best”, he said, doing his best to hide the fact that he was feeling sorry for her.

She was sobbing now. “Please don’t do this. We need to give it more time. I can’t make it if you’re not there for me!”

Pretending that her pleading was not breaking his heart, he said, “No, you’ll be OK. The time has come.”

With that, he pushed her.

The bike wobbled, but she stayed upright as she glided along the footpath. He caught up and helped her off. Her tears had turned to joy as the young girl gave him a big hug.

“Thanks Dad”, she said.

Somewhere, there are people far wealthier than most. Somewhere, there are those much poorer than most. The rich need little attention. Somewhere, there are those who have so little that they are close to starvation and death. Somewhere out there, there are agencies that gather contributions and donations. Somewhere, there are places where these physical and financial offerings are received by the needy. Somewhere, there are volunteers, people who are willing to give their time to help those in need. Somewhere, there are those who give thanks for the work carried out on their behalf. Somewhere, there are those who see how much injustice there is in the world.

Somewhere out there, by the grace of the Almighty, there is hope…

He didn’t want to go to school.

He was being given a hard time by one of the boys in his class. The boy kept calling him a retard. It was true that he was struggling. It was apparent that he was a slow learner. His parents were getting worried about how he was being tormented and were considering either moving him to another school or leaving the district altogether. Complaints they had made to the school had made no difference. For two days running the boy had come home from school crying. Each time he managed to dry his eyes and smile when he got home because he knew his parents where becoming concerned about him and he didn’t want to make matters worse.

The day before, coming home from school with tears in his eyes, the strange old man in the corner house was leaning on his gate and wanted to chat. He didn’t really want to at the time, but he had always liked him and he’d often made him laugh. He hadn’t planned to talk about his problems at school, but for some reason that he couldn’t understand he blurted out the whole story. The elderly neighbour was very interested in what he was told. He didn’t like the thought of the boy moving away and had even asked for the nasty boy’s name and a thorough description of him. He told the boy that sometimes you have to be patient and in time worries simply went away.

As it happened, that day he did go into school and he did get bullied and he did cry on the way home. He looked out for the old man, if only to give him a wave, but he wasn’t in his front garden. It just so happens that the old man had also been at the school, across the road in the shade of a tree. He was waiting for the school bell when the crush of children would come bursting out though the front entrance. He was there, ready to point his gnarled finger. When he did, it had happened so quickly that none of the other kids noticed that one of their number just wasn’t there anymore. Moreover, nobody would have noticed the small insect scurrying away from the trampling feet and making for the bushes.

It probably goes without saying that absolutely no one would believe that there were still wizards around that were capable of turning a schoolboy into a cockroach.

Sometimes it’s hard to know whether to get involved or not.

That is how he felt. She certainly had issues; that was for sure. Day after day he’d watch her out there in the garden, staring up at the tree. He didn’t know whether he should seek advice about it. The fact was, he hadn’t known her very long. Perhaps he should stay out of it. After all, he had problems of his own. He found himself in a precarious situation that posed more questions than he had answers for. There again, it looked as though her problem was greater than his and there was no one else around that could step up and at least offer her some moral support. Yes, he thought, it’s the right thing to do.

He went over and stood nearby. This time, she stopped her crazed gawping and looked at him. That was new, he thought. She smiled and licked her lips.

He smiled back.

She went back to looking up at the apple.

The boss’s email had him confused.

It was a request to make several copies of a notice he attached. He wanted it done as soon as possible, in order that all personnel see it first thing in the morning. It wasn’t a polite request, they never are. He is asked to print off enough copies to display on all notice boards in the office. He sat reading it before sending it to the printer. It was yet another budget cut, an attempt to keep costs down. It states that the printer is not to be used after six in the evening. Then, he gets up, wanders around counting boards; nine in all. When he returns, he checks it for spelling mistakes and any errors.

The confusion began when he glanced at the clock. It was past six. He hadn’t realised how late it was. According to the notice he was about to print copies of, this couldn’t be done until tomorrow. He would have to come into work extra early and get them all run off and posted before the boss gets in; not a problem. Besides, the boss always came in a lot later than anyone else.

However, the next day he found that the office printer had gone on the fritz and nobody could copy anything.

Handling confusion had never been his thing.

He went home…

He had a postulate, but he needed to prove it with maths.

The eminent mathematician needed to validate his theory before announcing it to the world. It was for this reason that he shared his unsolved, yet perfectly feasible theory with no one. He worked tirelessly in the basement of his home in order to keep his work away from the prying eyes of visitors. It was universally accepted that a person travelling at the speed of light would age slower. Therefore, it goes without saying that a person travelling at the speed of lightlessness, or to put it another way, dark, would age faster. Discovering a way of calculating the speed that dark travels was the man’s goal. When he finally cracked it, he made his findings public. Not everyone agreed with them. His formula for the speed of lightlessness, in other words, dark, was accepted with high praise in some quarters and stank in others.

However, the scholar, undaunted by the rebuttal of disbelievers went on with a second great challenge. This second formula, once completed would verify beyond doubt the veracity of the first. He knew that it would take a great deal of time and a lot of really clever mathematics. Once again, he burnt the midnight oil in his subterranean chamber working it out. His intention was to bring together the formulas for the speed of light and the speed of dark. The product of this conjunction would be a formula that, if tested against the known laws of relativity, would allow the calculation of real-time aging in man. Yet again, he managed to produce a definite result.

Unfortunately, there was a disparity, a minor glitch maybe, but a disparity all the same. He then set about putting some mathematical value on this apparent inconsistency. He did this by basing all his workings on himself. When it was finished, he was able to put a figure on the amount of the discrepancy. The answer was fifty-eight. This was the quantified degree of the supposed variation. It was several days before he realised that his latest formula was correct. This came about when he acknowledged the fact that he was indeed fifty-eight years old. This formula had been used to accurately calculate the real-time aging in man!

It took the scientific community and the world by storm. The fanfare went on for ages.

Those left still baffled by it all, just went along with the majority.

 

 

Nobody really knows how it all started.

Way back in the early days everybody had their theories. Newspapers sold copies, personalities gave their opinions on chat shows. Even the most eminent scientists where prepared to stand up and make their views known. Views on how the very first tadpole came into being. Some said it was some school kid messing about in a lab after class. Others thought it was a privately funded research facility that created the first ones by accident. Then there were the conspiricists that thought these things were developed by some huge conglomerate to get people to buy more stuff. Who knows?

Somewhere along the way the first tadpole, a tiny wiggly thing, only seen through an electron microscope, was created. It had the power to inseminate an idea to its host. This being the case, anyone that had it in there system was completely compliant with whatever the idea was. It was like a virus or a flu bug. It was just a tiny squiggly thing that was, in itself, an idea. The difference was that once it was in, it couldn’t be taken out. Lord knows they tried. But, no; once in place it was there to stay. It took decades of scientific research to prove that.

After that, and before any one realised that these things were being inadvertently mass produced through food processing plants around the world, they were just little wriggly things flipping around in a petri dish. It’s hard to tell how long it was before anyone figured out that this newly discovered tadpole was just an idea. A seemingly random idea, each one, once implanted, set a permanent and unalterable future path for the host. Of course, people became quite obsessive about whatever their idea was; strident even. There were lots of TV host-show discussions and constant newspaper and magazine articles. An ongoing debate about what it was all about.

Finally, it was figured out how to pre-program them. This was when they could be customised to the client’s personal requirements. Then there was the marketing. The great selling of them. At first it was only those who really wanted them, really needed them. Then came those who were willing to pay huge prices for them. Then the whole rotten thing became one hell of a lot more complicated. It was discovered that for a little extra, anybody who wanted to have their customised idea implanted in anybody else could do just that. At first, these clients were celebrities, politicians, kings and queens, dictators, then when the price dropped, anybody.

To sum it all up, and to be perfectly frank, there was very little detectable difference from the way things were before the tadpoles came into being.

Apparently, there are now only a few dozen of us around the entire planet that are for some reason unaffected. We’re just lucky I guess. But it begs the question, where will it all end?

I have no idea.

It’s not unusual for secret messages to get passed around in schools.

As is so often the case, this may involve love notes. In the case in question, these messages had been passing between several pupils for a number of weeks. It involved six of them. Three girls, Maggie, Sally and Annie, and three boys, Micky, Arnie and Reggie. One of these boys, Micky, decided that it was all becoming much too complicated. In fact, as to who actually liked who was so complex it had become very hard to follow. He decided that they should all meet up in the undercover shelter in the far corner of the playground at lunchtime to get it all straight. Despite it taking several days to convince all of them that it was a good idea, they eventually agreed to get together as proposed.

Sounding very grown up, he began, “We all know why we’re here.”

After a bit of giggling, whispering and finally a few nods, he continued. “OK. I like Maggie, but she likes Arnie, Arnie likes Sally, she likes Reggie, but he likes Annie and Annie likes Philip.”

They all looked at one another.

Annie put her hand up and asked, “Who’s Philip?”

Her daughter’s photo took centre place on the sideboard.

It was a wedding photograph, taken professionally. The happy couple, on the church steps. Lots of confetti, lots of smiles, lots of happiness. It had been a sunny day with a gentle breeze, not enough to spoil the photographer’s attempt to capture the magic of the moment. People at the time agreed that they were meant for each other. People often say that a picture tells a story, you never hear them say that a picture’s story can be purely fictional and based on a lie. It’s hard to see what lies beneath. However, in her mind, she should have seen it. Visitors often ask why she keeps it there, the two of them, on full display like that. She always makes the same reply. “I should have seen it.”

When it happened, just a few weeks after that sunny day of celebration, her husband wasn’t able to cope. Coming on top of a chronic heart problem, he had succumbed to them both. Now all she has to cling to is the life they had all shared, before the picture was taken.

Sometimes, she has brief glimpses of what she was told about that night, but she quickly pushes them away. She often heals the moment by going back to the picture of her daughter’s happy face on the day. It had been her happiest face of all the pictures that had been taken of it.

As time passes, the flashbacks of it grow weaker and further apart. Flashbacks to the night of the birthday bash, the house full of guests, the drinking and the argument. Everybody being asked to leave, everybody did. Then came the even bigger disagreement, one that was physical and eventually violent…

Then, her body was found… he never was.

She should have seen it.

Having secured an invitation to visit the place, he knew he would receive an answer.

The Cave of Prophesy is only known by a few, and can only be attended by those who have had a personal invitation. Any such invitation would necessarily include instructions on how to find the place. The cave is located in a country in south-eastern Europe, on an island some distance from the mainland, on the south-eastern edge of the Aegean Sea. It is guarded by the followers of the Master of the Pool. This venerable person is not a profit, but guides those who make the journey there, seeking answers. The pool itself is quite small, slightly larger than the average household bath. It is shallow with crystal clear water that remains perpetually at the same level. Those who have put their trust in the mystic water in the cave and what it reveals have been doing so for centuries.

Under the guidance of the Master, the visitor kneels on the hassock provided, at the edge of the circular pool, and with one finger stirs the surface. When ripples become evident across the surface it is time to ask a question. The answer, either a yes or a no, appears in the pool and remains clearly visible for a few seconds before fading away.

After verifying his invitation, he met the master and was taken to the pool. He knelt down and stirred the water. He watched for the ripples, and with a nod from the master, he called out, “Should I marry Joan or Elizabeth?”

There’s no point in sugar-coating it, they threw him out.