Author: Alexander Fawn

Once again, he found himself in the local police station.
Despite his youth, the teenager had been regularly caught by the police when committing petty crimes, mainly housebreaking. He had promised himself that if he was harassed by them one more time he would do a runner. He found himself being questioned yet again. He knew it was time to move on. He’d saved enough money for a train ticket that would take him a long way from his home town. He would use a different name. He was told that this time he would have a tracking device fixed to his ankle. He had heard rumours about the latest tracking devices. When it was fitted, the guy attaching it to his ankle kept a straight face when he said that a deadly poisonous vapour would be released if it was tampered with. Of course, he didn’t believe a word of it.

As soon as he was released from police custardy, he went home and gathered what he needed to make his escape and start a new life. He waited until dark before jumping the fence and entering his uncle’s shed. All he needed was a hacksaw. He found one that looked nice and sharp. He sat with his ankle pulled up onto his knee. He found what looked to be the weakest point of the bracelet and with some difficulty he began sawing.
It was at this point, that he heard a hissing.

The stranger was very particular about who he invited.
One by one, over several months he had selected four people that were quite unknown to him. Despite this, they were selected because each had shown that they had the mental capacity to listen to, and understand, what he had to say. The small, select group came together from far and wide to gather at the appointed location. The stranger, from outward appearances presenting as just another ordinary looking citizen, appeared within moments of all four assembling. Without any kind of introduction or explanation, he led the way through darkening streets to a small café.
For all intents and purposes, the place was closed for the evening, but he produced a key and they entered. Two men and two women; all in their forties, all professionals. Apparently, a random group on the surface, but in fact, each having special attributes; special qualities that placed them there. They all took seats around a table and waited.
The stranger began.
“I should start by saying that a full extra-terrestrial contact, such as this, is rarely sanctioned. I believe each of you is capable of grasping what you are about to hear.”
He sat thinking for a moment.
“Your world, as you know it, is about to end. All matter and energy here will cease. This region of the cosmos is about to become devoid and empty. I’m here to tell you that the great pillars of galactic creation are about to crumble. Suns will fade away to nothing, leaving not even a dust mote. Space research crafts, space telescopes and satellites, all becoming worth less than a weather balloon, will simply disappear. All interstellar projects becoming meaningless.”
He looked around at shocked faces. He went on, “Atoms, protons, neutrons, and electrons, will let loose their bonds and fade to nothing. All natural forces, gravitational, nuclear, etc., will end abruptly. No dark matter left behind. No debris, no intergalactic traces, no floating particles of any kind. Interplanetary frontiers, null and void. All time related conditions will no longer exist. No more rotations, no more orbits. There will be only darkness where there was light. No big bang, just a silent departure. All life forms, all living entities, swirled into the abyss. The very spiral of this galaxy, drawn inexorably into a black hole that is prepared and waiting.”

He showed the group his palms. “Of course, there is a way of avoiding all this. That’s where I come in. That’s why I have gathered you here. Each of you have a number of things in common, not least of which are the facts that you have been scanned at having intelligence quotients in excess of three hundred, and despite this, have a natural inclination towards modesty and level-headedness. These are essential qualities for the work in front of you. You will be the emissaries, the leaders in what is to come.”
“I have told you what is to come and there’s only one way to stop it…”
He leant forward, and with his elbows on the table, he slowly steepled his fingers. Looking from one attendee to another, he lifted his chin and cleared his throat…

They could well have been a match made in heaven.
They had known each other since they were toddlers. They had always played well together. Throughout their school years their interests had been the same. Now, as young adults they had been a couple for several years. He wasn’t sure why he had never uttered those four little words, “Will you marry me?” It was as though the proposition wasn’t fully considered. This topic was brought into sharp relief when her company had arranged for her to attend a three-day conference in Paris. When the time came, he missed her dreadfully and counted the minutes until she returned. However, things took a sharp turn when one of the conference speakers sent photos. This being done as a result of the man being told by her that she would prefer to return home, rather than settle down with him in the French capital.

As a result of studying the pictures of her erotic antics during the time she was away, he decided it was time to voice something other than the aforesaid four little words.
“On your bike, darling!”

There was this old couple who lived in a small cottage deep in the wood.
You know the sort of thing, elderly couple, tiny rundown cottage, poor as church mice, trying to grow their own food in the little vegetable patch out back; time before pensions, before health cover; before just about everything, really. Both dead miserable.
She stormed into his shed, where he spent a lot of time hiding. “We’ve no food,” the old lady complained.
“What, none at all?” he asked.
“Nope, nothing,” she said.
“That’s not good,” he said, showing a modicum of wisdom.
She sighed and shook her head. ‘Well, if you don’t come up with something we’ll both starve,” she scowled, and went back to her kitchen, where she checked all the cupboards again.
He watched her go, picking up his last bottle of beer to finish it off. Absentmindedly, he picked up an old bottle of some sort, and without thinking pulled out a cork that shouldn’t be there. Whoosh! This thingy… some sort of goblin-genie-leprechaun-elf-like creature flew out screaming, “You’ve got three wishes, don’t waste ‘em!” With that, it giggled and shot out through the open door.
Amazed at this, he ran in to tell his wife what had happened.
“Give me a break,” said his wife.
“You don’t think it would work then?”
“Of course not!”
“Ah! What a shame. I’m hungry. I wish I’d asked for a couple of apples, at least.”
Whoosh! On the kitchen table; two apples.
“There you are,” he cried. “I told you.”
Her face went red, and she began shouting. “You came up with two apples when you could have wished for a nice two-story house in a leafy suburb, or more money than we would know what to do with! Instead, you wished for two apples?” With her fists on her hips, she stood glaring at him.
He winced. “I was only trying to show you that it works. You’re so angry, I wish I hadn’t.”
Whoosh! The kitchen table was empty.
When she saw this, she went even redder. Her eyes blazed with fury. She looked as though she was about to explode!

He went back to his shed, whispering, “I wish none of this had happened.” His search for the beer bottle was interrupted when she stormed in, saying, “We’ve no food!”

Whenever he hears a bell, he thinks of time. Whenever he smells a sandwich, he thinks of a break. Whenever he tastes cheese he thinks of his mother. Whenever he sees a brush, he thinks of painting. Whenever he touches a ruler, he thinks of numbers and measuring shapes.
The bell means the start or the end of a lesson. He can eat his sandwich at the long break at lunch time. The taste of cheese is nice and makes him glad his mother hasn’t given him fishpaste. Putting paint on a brush, means art is his favourite subject. A ruler is used when learning about measuring shapes on paper and cutting them out.
Whenever he imagines a room, he thinks of home. His own room at home. Although he’s only five and in year one, he often imagines his room at home is a castle, where he can cut out paper shapes and paint them any colour he likes, where he only eats cheese sandwiches, can have lunch whenever he wants, and where he can dream about the tricycle his parents have promised him when he turns six, which he hopes has a bell.

It thought to itself, butterflies are certainly beautiful.

There are so many different species around the world. It has some memory of being told there are two hundred thousand of them, with some of them actually migrating from cold regions. It thinks, who in their right mind doesn’t like butterflies! For many, they are seen as exquisite creatures of delicate beauty, symbols of hope and rebirth. In some cultures they represent the triumph of the spirit over the physical state. It couldn’t say for sure how old it was, but it knew that a butterfly has a lifespan of only a few weeks. Of course, it knows that they go through this magical stage of metamorphosis from caterpillar, but it missed out on that bit. His transformation was of a different kind.
A sombre mood came over it.
It just wished like hell that it hadn’t been so rude to the old lady with the hooked nose and could go back to being a small boy again.

The machine gave ten years of reliable service before it was shut down.
The team of engineers, three men and two women, who were originally responsible for the installation of the new equipment, had been delighted to receive it from the manufacturer on time. When it was first installed, those engineers at the plant made sure that they had followed the manufacturer’s recommendations with regards to its installation. In truth, that group of engineers tasked with the work of installing the new piece of equipment were enthusiastic about the addition, knowing how much it would improve operations throughout the entire plant. Within the team, it had been a joint effort to develop an ongoing maintenance schedule. When doing this, again they had followed the manufacture’s recommendations.
This schedule covered a list of specific tasks such as regular inspections, ongoing adjustments regarding its operation, planned downtimes for regular services and annual planned shutdowns for major work. These shutdowns were put in place to enable any necessary realignment or in some cases replacement of parts. It also allowed a thorough inspection to detect parts that had become worn or damaged.

When the time came for the decommissioning of the machine ten years later, only three of the original team were still employed at the plant. There could be no doubt that these engineers were reluctant to go along with the decommissioning order. Although they knew, despite a strict adherence to the maintenance schedule over the years, its performance had become less reliable.
There was no denying that the machine had given ten years of reliable service before it was shut down.

She was having a very busy day.
She was loading the washer when she heard the dog scratching to get in. She was too busy for that. He could wait. She didn’t want him getting under her feet. The fresh air would do him good. He spends too much time lounging around in doors. She heard the phone go, yet again. They’d leave a message. She looked across at the pile of ironing and sighed. She was losing track of the things she had to do, but she’d get the washing machine going first. She looked down at the shirt she was holding. A button was missing at the collar. She’d have to put it to one side for later. Then came the tapping on the window…
He was standing outside pointing into the garden.
She froze.
He waved and tapped again. He shouted, “Have a look at this.”
She frowned, wagging her head. “What?”
“Take a look.”
“What is it?”
“Just take a look, it won’t take a second.”
She opened the window. “Look, I’m up to my neck with stuff in here. Just tell me what you want.”
The doorbell went. She’d ignore it. She took a deep breath. “Go on,” she said, feeling her nerves giving way.
“It’s this bird,” he said, “the one I told you about. Its back!”
Confused, she shook her head. “I don’t remember you telling me anything about a bird.”
“Well, I did.”
“OK. OK. Is it important?”
“Yes. It’s this tiny bird with the coloured beak.”
“What sort of bird are you talking about?”
“I don’t know what it is, exactly.”
The doorbell went again. She said, “Anyway, what about it?”
“Well, it’s different. It’s back. I thought you’d be interested.”
“You thought I’d be interested in a bird that you don’t recognise that has a coloured beak?”
“Well… yes.”
“My mother was right,” she shouted and slammed the window.
He went back to the bird.
It was gone…

The café was generally considered by aficionados to be rather posh.
The large and rather ostentatious diamond ring sparkled on the finger of the plump fiftyish woman. She sat, sipping her coffee. The pickpocket approached with a ‘you can certainly trust me’ smile, his eyes fixed on the jewellery.

“I’m sorry to disturb you miss, but could you possibly tell me the time?”
The ring answered, “If you had the idea that you were able to remove me from my mistress’s finger, think again.”
Stunned, but still looking at the ring, he replied, “My apologies, but I seemed to have come out without my watch.”
The ring, now annoyed with the thief’s persistence, said, “You’ll no doubt be aware of the stout walking stick propped against the wall. Let me tell you that should you lay a finger on this finger my good lady will bring the said stick down heavily on your head! Now, be off with you!”
Shaking, he moved on.

It was only a cold, at least she hoped it was only a cold.
Her older brother had been off school for several days; in bed most of the time. From her point of view, it meant that he wasn’t chasing her or being rude or teasing her. These were things he had always done. Maybe all older brothers did those things, she didn’t know. However, she knew all about God and what he could do. She knew about that. For this reason, she hunted through the bottom of his wardrobe when he was fast asleep and found a pair of old shoes with laces.

At the bottom of the garden she stood, blowing up the last of her birthday balloons. It was big, with a swirling pattern of lots of colours. It would be a good present. She tied it off and then attached the lace she had found. Of course, she wouldn’t know how to write a message. It didn’t matter, she felt sure that this would do. She hugged it to her chest and whispered her message.
When she was happy that the lace was attached securely, she let it go. She watched it float up. She stayed there a long time, staring up into a blue sky, as it got smaller and smaller, until it eventually disappeared completely.
She went back in and looked into his room. He was sitting up, awake. She stepped in and said, “How are you?”
He gave her a small wave of appreciation. “I’m feeling a bit better today, thanks kid.”
She went to the window and looked up, smiling.