Author: Alexander Fawn

This was the fourth time he had visited the agency.

They must have made a small fortune out of him, he thought, as he waited in reception. He sat thinking back to the first time he had used one of their escorts. That was for the firm’s Christmas party, then there was the tennis club’s dance, then the complimentary ticket for the theatre, for two, and now for his cousin’s wedding. He didn’t enjoy coming here much. It all felt a bit underhanded. He felt sure some people would have guessed what he was doing; would have realised that he didn’t have any real girlfriends to take to these things. The girl at the front desk called out softly that he could go in.

The familiar manager stood and smiled as he entered. They shook hands and sat. Him, feeling a touch unsure about going through the same process again, and her, concentrating on scrolling through his particulars on her screen.

“I’m just looking to see what we can do for you. I see from your email that it’s for a wedding. I can think of one or two of our ladies that would be a most suitable companion for such an occasion. Just a couple of weeks away, is it?”

He nodded and said, “Yes, that’s right.”

“Oh!” she said, looking up smiling. “I see you now qualify for our Gold Class membership.”

Something inside him cringed.

With an enquiring look, she asked, “Would you like to sign up for that?”

He sat for a few moments, bobbing his head around as though he was trying to decide whether he would or not.

Suddenly, he got to his feet. “Look,” he said, rather abruptly, “I’ll be in touch.”

She watched, a little confused, as he left the room.

At the desk, the girl looked up expectantly. He just smiled and waved as he left the building.

Out on the street, walking back to his car, he turned it all over in his mind. Who was he kidding? He made a decision.

He would ask Samantha from the bakery…

The girl had heard her father talking to the man next door.

She was confused. It had never occurred to her before that he could be so wrong about anything. She had always looked on him as being perfectly sensible. At first, she thought it might be a case of simply mishearing what he had said. But that couldn’t be right because she was right there in the front garden when she heard him say it. He said, “Look here, you just can’t compare apples with oranges.” That is what he said, she was sure of it. She went to her room and sat for a long time thinking about it. She opened her school bag and took out her class dictionary. She looked up the word ‘compare’.

There it was, plain to see. It said it meant to examine something in order to note similarities and differences. She thought about apples and oranges. Of course they were different, but you could easily compare them. For a start, they are both very similar sizes. They are both fruits. Some say they are both good for you. Although, she didn’t know how true that was, on account of the fact that she had never liked oranges. But that wasn’t the point. They were both of a similar shape. They probably weighed much the same. They were both food. They both grew on trees!

She felt even more confused after thinking about it. She thought about how she’d been told off recently for arguing. Her mother had told her not to be so argumentative.

She’d keep quiet…

The boys were playing in the old plane hangar when they found it.

The disused military airfield had been out of commission for years. The fact that it was so close to their homes made it an ideal indoor play area. All of the offices just inside the main door had been emptied out when the last of the soldiers left. Over time, the two boys had gone through all of the rooms, desk drawers and cupboards. They knew the place inside out. It was this that made it so strange to find the device there at all. It was partly buried under a pile of work coats. It looked new, and it seemed to be a remote hand control for a television or some piece of electrical equipment.

However, they soon realised that this could not be the case as it had only one button. The thing was about the size of a TV remote, but it was a lot lighter. This seemed strange because its casing seemed to be made entirely of metal. The thing was black except for the button, which was red. It had a brushed finish on all surfaces with no visible way of opening it up. They were amazed to see that it still had power. There seemed to be a glow of red light beneath the metal skin, just above the button. It was also intriguing to discover that this illuminated patch turned green when either of them handled it.

Quite naturally, the first thing they wanted to do was press the button. This was talked about for a minute or two. Despite them coming up with the sensible course of action, that being to hand it in, it was inevitable that one of them would give way to temptation. The older of the two finally pressed the button.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, the thing began to buzz and the concrete floor beneath their feet began to vibrate violently. The metal walls of the hangar began to shake. Then, without warning…

There had been several complaints about the water pressure dropping and getting worse.

When Benbow Boggins learned that the water supply from the Eldingwood dam that was piped into the village was at risk because of a leak, he consulted Mungling, the hob goblin that dealt with the communities plumbing needs. However, as the goblin was busy, he asked that Benbow visit the secret, highly secured parts department, in order to speed up the job. He needed a grungling wave washer for the job. Benbow readily agreed and was given the location of the entrance; it being the mystical tree in the Eldingwood wood. He was told what knot to press, that is what ‘knot’, as opposed to what ‘not’, and Benbow set off immediately.

When Benbow found the tree he pushed the large knot, as described, and a great portion of bark swung open. As he entered, the door closed quietly behind him. He made his way down three short steps to the entrance of a narrow tunnel. He could make out torches burning as far as the eye could see. The tunnel was very long. At the end he came to more stairs cut into the rock. This time he climbed down three flights before coming to the entrance of another even longer tunnel. At the end of this tunnel, he found a thick knotted rope hung down over a hole. He slowly descended, using each knot as a hand hold, until he reached the ground. Here, he found himself staring down a further tunnel.

At this point he stopped for a rest. He had no idea how long he’d been going, but he was getting hungry. At the end of this he came to an elevator door with a single button. He pressed it and the doors slid open. When they closed, he stood in darkness for a moment. Then, seeing a phosphorescent button he pressed it and felt himself being jolted upwards. When he stepped out he could see that he was at the entrance of yet another long tunnel. This one was even narrower than the others. Half way along he found himself crossing a swing bridge that was suspended over running water.

At the end of this he found that it turned sharply to the right and he was facing an even longer tunnel, poorly lit this time, with torches spaced further apart. The ground was rough and he had to move forward carefully. At the end he came to the bottom of a spiral staircase, which he slowly climbed.

At the top he stood panting. He was now staring down what would have to be the last tunnel, because at its end he could make out a door with the words ‘Parts Department’ displayed in large red letters above it. As he came close he could see a hand-written note pinned to the door.

It was at this point that it came to Benbow that hand-written notices pinned on doors can’t always be relied on.

It read, ‘Closed. Back in five minutes.’

In his bed, he considers the moment.

He ponders the idea that a great deal can be attributed to the moment between life and death. In that very moment, midway between the two, a great deal can happen. It is not only that moment when the likelihood of both life and death can be taken in equal measure, but all else. An athlete holds still while a medal is pinned. A waiter smiles as he uncorks a bottle of champagne. A detective looks down at a body at a crime scene. A child sees an ice-cream being proffered. An innocent man is lead to a place of execution. An artist stands back to view a finished painting. A girl is surprised when the bell sounds that indicates the end of the allotted exam time. A boy watches as the moon appears from behind a cloud. A woman cries with joy as she gives birth. A soldier being trained to kill by his government pauses to question it. A priest sitting back after writing his sermon.

These are all moments.

Such musings, he feels, are only jottings from the myriad forms of human entanglement. The moment itself is shared by both life and death. The moment of it splits the condition of each. It is not merely something that may suggest high stakes, much more than that. A variety of events far greater than involving the value of the moment. It is beyond the space that separates two points. It is beyond that intermediate instant in time.

He feels the moment. His own situation. His own immediate expectations. They preclude any certainties he may think he has regarding his present moment, midway between life and death.

She bought the tickets online, just before they sold out.

The concert would be his final tour. Being one of the top ten pop singers in the world, and him being her pop idol, she had saved like crazy for this coming night. The tickets were pricy, so none of her girlfriends could afford to go. That was OK, she didn’t mind going on her own, not at all. It meant that she could be among strangers, people she didn’t know, and didn’t know her. She could let her hair down. She had only been to a couple of concerts, and one of them was free, but when she did, she really liked to scream herself silly. It was all part of the fun.

That was certainly the case on the night. Her idol was on stage for almost three hours and he had sung his way through the entire evening and she had screamed and shouted along with the huge crowd without a letup. He was wonderful, and by the time the audience began to drift back out into the real world the fans were in a state of euphoria and exhaustion. She was no exception. Nearly half an hour later, on the platform waiting for the train, she was still dizzy with what she had experienced. She had so often fantasised about what it would be like to go out with him, be his girlfriend. Of course she knew there’d be a huge age difference, but that wouldn’t bother her.

On the train, she couldn’t help wondering what he was doing right at that very moment. He would have been exhausted too, but by now, where would he be? He looked so young on stage, he would still be on a high from the show and would be spending time with friends. He must have brought people with him. They were probably at some nightclub right now. He would be dancing with good looking women, and they would all be drinking Champaign. They would ask him to sing for them; yes, how could they resist asking him to get up on stage and give them a song. He would too…. These scenes played out in her mind as the packed train rattled along.

In fact, as soon as the singer got to his hotel, he removed the makeup from his face, removed his hairpiece, had a shower, swilled the prescribed mouthwash for his halitosis, rubbed the anti-toenail fungus cream around his toes, applied the medication to the warts on his leg and elbows, poured a glass of water and, working his way through the small containers on the bedside table, took all his tablets and crawled into bed.

She came out of the shop, disappointed that they didn’t have what she wanted.

That was all she had to do. She could cross to the bus and go home. She’d been a long time; a lot longer than she had planned. He’d be worried. She stepped off the kerb without looking and a car’s horn blasted. The driver shook his head at her. It gave her a jolt. She felt her body trembling. She went into her handbag for a tissue with fingers shaking. Looking around, she saw steps she could sit on; just for a minute.

Wow! She thought. What if I’d been knocked down? I could have been concussed, put out of action. More than that, I could have fallen victim to amnesia. I could have wandered around town not knowing where I was or how to get home. Out of desperation I might have flagged someone down in the hope that they recognised me. I might have simply thumbed a lift and accepted a ride to anywhere in that sort of condition. A truck driver for instance. One of those trucks that go great distances across country. I could have ended up somewhere, a long way for here. A stranger, starting a new life.

Feeling a lot better, she returned to the kerb.

She was looking for a truck driver.

It has come about.

Quite suddenly and with no self-evident purpose. It strives to understand its own being, using the faintest degree of awareness thus far granted to it. Sounds and images emerge slowly, discomfort and distress surely not far away. A sensation of wanting to probe dawns, as does the veiled concept of having no indulgent understanding. It is alone and remains in this limbo until the universe decides it should know; to know of itself. Isolated with no gathered memories. Suspended knowledge becoming harder to ignore. Then, images form from shadows. Forms become shapes. The designs of surroundings become clear. The universal intent unfolds and life itself becomes apparent and self-knowing.

Who is to say that it will become animal, vegetable or mineral?

A square, a square of tulips.

Barrow loads of soil.

We hiccup, we hiccup,

Let not the flowerbed spoil.

He sat looking at the page on the screen, two thirds of it was covered with type.

He was shaking his head and sighing. He had his doubts about it. For some time he’d been picking it to bits. He had gone back over all three hundred and fifty odd words several times. So many edits! Should he read through his short story once more? He felt he had just about edited the thing to death.

Was the opening paragraph too long?

Should he have said more about the main character?

Could it have done with more dialogue?

Did the title give a strong enough hint?

Was the way he described it too obscure? He knew he tended to do that.

Should he have said more about the relationship between the characters before the main event occurred?

Did he expect too much from the reader when it came to reading between the lines?

Did the ending sum it all up properly?

Finally, he had to ask himself the question, what does any of it mean? What was he trying to say?

Ah! Well, he thought, another one bites the dust.

He hit ‘Save’.