28 (really quite) Short Stories by StevenDQuirke

28 (really quite)

SHORT STORIES STEVEN D QUIRKE

28 (really quite)

SHORT STORIES STEVEN D QUIRKE

All stories written by Steven D Quirke between 1st February and 28th February 2021, inspired by daily prompt words created by Verbuary.com.

Book Design by SDQ Cover Design by SDQ Cover, title & page number font: Impact Book text font: Times New Roman

© SDQ 2021 All right reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission.

28 (really quite) SHORT STORIES

For “A”. Because....

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

INTRODUCTION TOP WEAK STITCH SHARE FUR POWDER DARE STABLE GIVE AIR CLIMATE CASE IDEAL JUNGLE TRACE CROSS WORM FLOAT OFFENSE ROBOT HEAVY EXHIBIT BLOCK SHIVER EXTEND OLD IF BREAK STORY NOTES

11 15 17 19 21 25 27 29 31 35 39 43 47 49 51 57 59 61 65 67 69 73 77 79 83 87 89 93 97 103

INTRODUCTION

For as long as I can remember I have written stories. At an early age I discovered I was better at describing the pictures in my head than drawing them, so that’s what I did. I was one of those who would move from new project to new project. I’d get so far in to a story before a new one would occur to me and I’d start on that. Like a lot of creatives I had drawers and folders and notepads filled with background material, character descriptions and research and opening chapters, but nothing finished. Even the online novel I created in 20001 only got about two thirds of the way through it’s story before I moved on to the “next project”, whatever that was. Then in 2010 I started a night class at the local university in “Flash Fiction”. These are ultra short stories with no set word count. They could be as little as six words, or anything up to a 1,000. 1. I managed to create a fitting send off for this story in 2015, the year it was set, by publishing chapter summaries on the actual days they were due to happen on through Facebook.

Whatever length you needed to tell the tale. And these tales could be anything, mere snapshots of a larger tale or witticisms based around an idea, it was entirely up to you. I thoroughly enjoyed my Thursday night lessons, reading out the stories I had written in the previous week and more than likely blowing the mind of my tutor and fellow students. It was also a pleasure to hear other peoples work and marvelling at the range of tales and styles available to us all. This course helped me in the creation of my selfpublished comic book “The Gee Bees”. I am particularly proud of this achievement as first and foremost it is the first story I have ever finished. Writing those scripts are always fun, only eclipsed by seeing how the artist has interrupted the descriptions of the pictures in my head. They never fail to impress. Which brings us up to date. Well not quite, Around this time last year I saw a post about “Verbuary” either on Facebook or Instagram by an artists or writer or publication I follow on either of those social media channels2. Now February 2020 was a busy month for me so I didn’t join in the fun. But I remembered. Fast forward to 2021 and I grabbed hold of that prompt list and began writing stories every day of February. My process was think, consider and 2. It was the comic-con Thought Bubble, I went back and checked.

write in the day, I only took a “run up” on two of the word prompts, which I’ll talk about in the story notes at the end of the book. Just before we get into the various stories let me say a few thank yous: first and foremost thank you to Verbuary for putting this project together for the third year and for creating an inspiring list of prompts and thank you to the various friends both near and far for encouraging me through the month with likes and comments on the original Facebook posts. If you want to see other people’s runs at the prompt list just do a search for “#verbuary” or “#verbuary2021” on the social media of your choice (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter) and you’ll find them. So with out further a do, I present the "28 really quite short stories" of Verbuary 2021, by Steven D Quirke. Enjoy....

TOP

“Okay from the top.” “We go in like gang-busters, smashing through the crowds. Grabbing what we can. Every sixth guy we cap just to send a message to the big bosses that there’s a new law in town.” “Okay from the top.” “Chopper picks us up 04:30; flight time approx 45 minutes.” “We rappel from the chopper a klick and a half from our main target. Bravo team splits and heads south, circumventing the target site to approach from the rear. Alpha, Delta and Lima teams head on.” “05.30 Lima and Delta hit the target from the front as Bravo hits the rear. Alpha holds back, waiting for the opening.” “Once Lima and Delta have done their jobs Alpha 15

advances and penetrates the compound and moves room by room.” “No saviours” “On completion all four teams rendezvous at the drop site and await the return of the chopper.” “Back at base we break open the beers.” “Okay from the top.” She moves like silk or water would if it had a soul. He looks on not knowing where the music ends and her movements start. Did he write this piece, craft these moves? Or is she conjuring the music by the subtle use of arms, legs, feet and hips? His muse delighting his spirit, mesmerising his mind, rising his heart with her magic. All these years and he never tires of watching her. She is the great artist, she is the talent, the grace, the applause, the praise, the everything. She stumbles and curses, flicking those eyes of hers up at him. “Again, again.”

WEAK

He pours the water into the kettle to the desired mark. He had spent a few moments contemplating between regular tap or filtered before he made up his mind. Selecting the temperature he flicks the switch. Watching the water begin to bubble as the glass glows blue from the electric light inside. He prepares the pot, selects the correct bag and sets out the two mugs. Her favourite is on the tree so he picks that one and steps to the fridge. The splash of milk and plink of Sweetex is interrupted by his eye catching sight of the bubbles in the kettle. Large and manic, rising and popping, their vapour escaping out of the spout. In his mind he hears the singing of his mother’s kettle sat on the stove in his childhood. Just before the water reaches its peak he takes the kettle and splashes hot water into the pot, swirling it quickly then throwing it into the nearby sink. Placing the kettle back to finish boiling and dropping the bag into the warm confines of the 17

metal pot. Vapour climbs the wall and a trail of condensation trickles over the paint work adding to the scuff of living found there. He fills the pot with the boiling water, places the top and cosy over it and begins his count: “One thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and three, one thousand and four....” Reaching the desired figure he flips the bag from the pot into the bin, ignoring the fanciful notion that the hot wet bag will start a fire and pours the tea out. He remembers the day and adds a small plate with a selection of biscuits on it for her delight. He carries mug and plate through to the lounge to her, sat, watching the TV. She smiles a thanks as he places the mug and plate down beside her and turns to fetch his own. As he leaves the room he hears her gentle voice follow him out: “Bit weak isn’t it.”

STITCH

Margaret begins her day by choosing the threads and yarns she will need. She marvels at the spectrum of colours available to her before deciding on the yellows and whites she wants for today’s task. First task complete she moves to the frame and studies her work so far. She tuts at the one piece she’s still not happy with but she can’t think of a better way of doing it so will leave it. For now. She sits on her high stool and picks three fine needles from the tub at the side of her workbench. Threading each with a separate colour she lays them down and begins her intricate work. She pushes a thin needle through the black material, moving it back and forth, building up a pattern, feeling the shape build before her, one stitch at a time. This is how you build a thing she thinks to herself. A stitch becomes a knot, becomes a pattern, becomes a shape. The old wives phrase springs 19

to her mind and Margaret can’t help chuckling to herself over it. She loses herself in the work for many hours, not noticing the time or the dimming of the light through her little window until she hears a polite cough behind her. Turning from her frame she sees the Superior stood at her door. “Margaret, may I come in?” “But of course,” replies Margaret, standing from her stool and stretching her tired back, the only time she’s aware of her age. “Thank you,” says the Superior stepping into the tiny room, observing the plain bed, large frame and the little old lady stood before it, “the others have been telling me of your work and I thought I should come down to see for myself.” Margaret blushes and steps aside while gesturing to the embroidered tapestry stretched out on the frame. “It’s beautiful,” states the Superior leaning in to study the work, “do you have a title for it yet?” Margaret smiled for a moment, in thought or memory, the Superior really couldn’t tell. “I thought I’d call it The Milky Way.”

The box sat on the floor. They stood either side of it and looked down on it with great expectation in their eyes. “You sit that side,” she said, “and I’ll sit this side.” “And you promise to share,” he asked taking his place on the ground. “Don’t I always?” she replied smiling. “Humph!” She sat down and considered the box. “Well I should keep the ribbon,” she said reaching out and untying the thick strip, “it’s pink and that’s a girls’ colour.” “Not necessarily,” he said watching her take the pink ribbon gloomily. “Well you can have the wrapping paper. That’s blue stripes. You’d like that won’t you.” “Careful then,” he said, “don’t rip it.” 21

“I’ll be careful,” she said, a little hurt, as she slide thin, elegant fingers between the overlapping paper, severing the binding holding the two ends together. “See,“ she said triumphantly, holding the sheet up, “in one piece. That will look lovely up on your wall.” He took the blue striped sheet from her and held it up to admire. Carefully folding it at the ceases made by the box he placed it in one of his many pockets and regarded the box again. “Dark grey,” he said, “whose colour is that?” “Very funny,” she replied running nimble fingertips across the box, feeling it’s edges, looking for a way in. “We’ll ignore this part and continue sharing the contents, ah” she said, finally finding the fold and slitting the fastening quickly. The top of the box bobbed open slightly and he reached to open it further but was slapped back by her quick hand. “Oi!” “You’re clumsy with these things, let me.” “All right, but hurry.” She took the top of the box and folded it back on itself, revealing the contents. He peered down into the open box, an excited smile slowly fading from 22

his face. “Oh it’s them,” he said, sitting back heavily, “I’ve got loads of them. You have them. I’m off to see if I can find some other boxes. You coming?” “In a minute,” she replied smiling, “I need to classify these first then I’ll join you later. Okay?” “Yeah, suppose” he said, getting up and moving off to see what else he could see that morning.

FUR

They never told her how great the fur would feel. There had been plenty about how keen her sense of smell would become, not to mention her hearing, and there had been constant presentations of dealing with the changes with her vision. She could still remember the sight of carnations and roses and didn’t miss that part of the spectrum as much as she supposed she would. But the fur was a revelation. The way she could feel the slightest of breezes across her body. The way it kept her both warm or cool dependent on the season with no need to alter it’s length or consistency. The way it felt against her tongue when she cleaned herself or the way another’s touch felt when she allowed them to fuss and pet her. No, she decided, if she was going to continue this life than it was because of the fur. The fur was divine.

POWDER

Take a deep breath and open the door. The view is the first thing you notice, well of course it would be. The attitude makes you think silly things. As you clip your boots to your board the other thing you notice is nothing but fresh powder as far as the eye can see. The engineers have done themselves proud once again. Another deep breath and you’re ridin’ the pow with steez and everything’s crunchy, and everything’s knarley. Lazy arcs across the slope, kicking out pow as you turn, luxuriating in the elegance of the work the engineers have put into this for you. Halfway down you hunker down to pick up speed, aiming on hittin’ that kicker perfectly. You take off and defile the laws of gravity and physics with the number of turns and spins you pull off during your airtime. You stomp the landing and rise your arms in triumph. In the distance you can hear the sound of a single set of appluase. 27

Of course he’s waiting for you at the bottom of the slope, next to another door. “Very impressive sir,” he says in that perfect accent he has. “Yeah,” you reply, “Not bad for a beginner was it.” He smiles and offers you a hot drink from the tray he’s carrying before him. “Ready to get back to work sir?” “What’s on the agenda for today?”

DARE

He looked down at the metal handcuffs around his wrist gloomily. “Remind me how you talked me into this again?” “It only took the one word,” she replied, stretching out and pressing her supple spine against his muscular frame, “I know what makes you tick, remember.” “Humph!” “When was the last time we were handcuffed together?” “We’ve never been handcuffed together,” he stated flatly, moving away from her playful movements, “believe it or not this is a first.” “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather lose my virginity with,” she laughed, holding her wrists up to exam the metal restraints, jiggling her arms to make them bounce and dance against her skin. He turned his head at the sound of the clink. 29

“Don’t tell me they let you keep your bracelets on,” he asked, one eyebrow rising in speculation. “Alright, I won’t.” “Infuriating woman,” he snapped, “we’ve been down here all these hours and you, you could of sprung us easily. Why?” “We never stop to talk these days,” she said, looking up at him through her dark fringe with big, grey eyes, “I miss us!” He leant in and kissed her softly, lips pressing against lips, breath pushing against breath. One handcuffed hand reaching up to stroke her cheek and jawline. “So you going to break us out or not?” “We still need to get the plans from the Major’s office remember.” “Ever the professional.” He smiled as he proffered his bound wrists to her as she deftly worked the small tools she always carried in the lock. Either side of the cell door, the tools having proved themselves just as effect on that lock as the others. “And you really want me to go through with this ridiculous plan of yours,” he asked. “Dare you,” she replied smiling. “Grrrrr!” 30

STABLE

“But are we stable up here?” “Listen luv, we’re about as stable as Denis Leary in a vegan restaurant.” “Who? And don’t call me ‘luv’.” He decided he didn’t like this new young assistant. Time was the young assistants were fun and flirty, and knew how to hold their own in a fight. Time was you’d get a giggle for the use of the phrase “hold their own” too. Nowadays they just made him feel old with their lack of pop culture knowledge and their serious nature. “Besides,” she continued as they wobbled their way up the tiles, “there’s nothing wrong with being a vegan. I’m one you know.” “Yes,” he replied taking the large golf bag from his shoulder and placing it down on the gable of the roof, “you may of mentioned it once or twice.” Her eyes stared menace at him as she joined him 31

at the peak of the building before being distracted with the view. “Isn’t that....” “Oh yes,” he smiled, reaching into the bag and drawing out a ridiculous weapon. “Isn’t that rather a large calibre weapon for such a delicate job?” He looked at her naïve face startled at her statement. “My dear girl,” he said, ignoring the flash of anger on her face at that term, “for one thing that is one of the most protected buildings in the realm. And for a second the powers that be have declared this be a comedy hit.” “A what,” she said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Again he had to marvel at how such a serious young lady could be so naïve. He cracked the weapon and checked the ordnance before he cocked it and took as comfortable a position as possible, he aimed his sights at the net curtains to the right of the famous black door. “This is a big job, right?” “The biggest, but....” “So therefore,” he continued over her reply, “the decision has been made that it need to look big and 32

silly and possibly a tragic accident.” “Okay, but what sort of accident?” she asked. “I believe the gnomes are writing a sewer collapse underground as we speak.” “A sewer collapse.” “Yeah, something plausible but funny enough for the meme writers to have a field day. If the initial explosion doesn’t get them then they drown in the combined excrement of SW1. Plus whatever the boffins have packed into this little beauty of course.” “You said them?” “Oh yes. Clean slate needed. The powers that be were very specific about that.” “But what about the innocent workers in there?” “Name one innocent in that place?” “Oh you know what I mean,” she said, annoyed “the typists, and lowly civil servants, we can’t just....” “Don’t worry,” he stated calmly, steadying his breathing as he continued to aim the weapon, “all civilians were given a coded message last night or this morning to not turn up for work this morning.” “Oh, oh that’s okay then.” It was an old lie but he was glad it had worked. Yes far to serious for the life in the service he 33

thought. He could see her paranoiding out in six, seven months time max. If you had any chance of surviving the life then the last thing you had to be was serious, be stable. Hell he hadn’t been stable since that night in Paris in ‘97. He breathed in, held the breath and pulled the trigger.

GIVE

“I’ve had enough of this, I need some air!” The door had slammed and he was already at the corner of the street when he realises he had left the house without his headphones. Quickly he checks his jean’s pockets to make sure he has his keys. Last thing he wants is to go back and hope she’d let him back in. Oh thank god they’re there, he thought patting his thigh. Flipping his hood up he begins to walk. He spies a car coming down the street, windows open. He catches a snippet of the song playing from it as it passes him: “GIVE IT SOME STICK!” To right he thinks. The cheek of her pulling that kind of stunt. Again. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate. He turns the corner as another car drives past, tunes blasting into the balmy evening. “GIVE ME JUST A LITTLE MORE TIME!” 35

Would he? Could he? She must of known what his reaction would have been before she told him. He had been pretty clear about how he felt about this. Further down the street, just before the shops a busker finishes off his day. He digs into his pocket and fishes out a quid and flicks it into the open guitar case in front of the musician. “GIVE YOU UP!” Could he give her up? Could he leave and get on with his life some where else. It would have to be some where else, he thought, if they split he wouldn’t want to stay round here would he. Passing in front of the row of shops the automatic door of one slides open letting their muzak spill out onto the street. “GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON!” Love. That’s a reason. He loves her, always will. Yes there are a hundred things she does that annoy him silly. But there are a million things that he adores about her. And truth be told he wouldn’t be the man he is without her behind her. Nearing the end of the block circuit his feet have taken him on another car, a soft-top this time speeds past him, leaving just a snippet of the music the driver is enjoying. “GIVE IT UP!” Wise words he thinks, wise words indeed. This explosion wasn’t about her it was many things, 36

she just had the misfortune to be the last little annoyance that tipped the bottle. Typical toxic male behaviour he really should do better in the future. Back on his street he takes his keys out of his jeans and approaches the front door. He shocks himself to find he is whistling a tune his father loved. “GIVE PEACE A CHANCE!” Inside the house the pair step and stop as he returns. Together they say the simple, magic phrase that is needed: “I’m sorry.”

AIR

The night air felt ripe some how she thought as she walked down to the harbour. The moon hung in the indigo sky, full, large and heavy. The lights of what boats that lay on the water created their own cosmos both above and below. Laughter and music could be heard from those bars along the front that opened during the off season. She stepped to her favourite table and sat down, nodding to a waiter as she let the big coat slip from her shoulders revealing the elegant ballgown beneath it. She breathed in. The air was light with a delicate perfume and a hint of salt from the sea. She could taste it on her lips and licked at them lazily. The waiter returned carrying her favourite bottle and a number of glasses. “Will mademoiselle be entertaining tonight?” he asked, rising his hand which expertly held the half dozen glasses in it. “One lives in hope, leave a couple on the off 39

chance,” she replied, reaching for her slender handbag and retrieving the pack of cigarettes and lighter from it. “Oui madam.” As he poured the wine, she lit up a slim cigarillo and inhaled the bitter smoke. A filthy habit from a bygone age which she still revelled in now and then. And tonight was definitely a now moment. She raised the glass to her pert lips and let the liquid rest against them before opening them, washing the sea salt from them and splashing over her teeth and tongue. A good vintage she thought as she held it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. Not one to be rushed, she thought, and only to be shared with the right person. “Excuse me,” said a voice to her left, “could I cadge a light from you?” She looked up to observe the person who spoke. A young man, elegant in a light, linen suit, one hand holding his panama hat, the other extended towards her, a cigarette held between thumb and forefinger. “But of course,” she replied smiling and offering him her lighter. He smiled and indicated both hands were full, making her laugh. “Allow me,” she said as she clicked the flame into life and watched him bend his head to her hand, “one doesn’t meet so many fellow smokers nowadays.” 40

“I tried to give it up,” he said between puffs, “but alas Lady Nicotine got to me at a young age and here I am. I blame Papa of course.” “Of course.” “But it does allow me an occasional excuse to meet and talk to beautiful women on foreign shores, no matter how briefly. My thanks again.” He doffed his hat to her and stepped off down the harbour street. She smiled while she watched him move a dozen or so steps away before he stopped and slowly turned back to view her. His smile appeared a few moments after he saw her smiling, casually he turned on his well appointed heels and returned to her table outside the bar. “Hello again,” she said as he stood before her. “Would you think me awfully forward if I asked to join you for a drink?” he asked, nervously flicking ash to the side. “Not at all,” she said as she gestured to one of the empty chairs around the table, “I am always welcoming to handsome strangers on foreign shores myself.” He smiled as she returned his words to him as he took a seat by her, but not to near to her obviously. “Here,” she said, amused by the formality of this young man which reminded her of a different time, “you must try this wine. It’s one of my favourites.” She poured him a dash of the fine vintage for him 41

to taste. “Most extraordinary,” he stated, licking his lips after sinking the taster and watching her pour a generous measure for him, “I thought that vintage had been lost centuries ago.” She eyed him curiously, one hand reaching for her handbag and the arsenal held within. “Who are you?” she asked, eyes narrowing, brain working through the faces of old acquaintances, and enemies. “No one you need fear my dear,” he replied, “just a fellow traveller that recognises his own when he sees her. And someone who could do with some company tonight. Nothing more.” Her eyes fell on the signet ring and it’s unique design stamped into the metal on his left hand and her hand fell from her slender and deadly handbag. “I would be delighted to spend the evening in such illustrious company,” she said, raising her glass to toast the young man before her, “to you good health my lord.” “And to yours mademoiselle,” he replied, a fang peeking out between his smiling lips.

CLIMATE

With the climate collapse of ‘33 the walls went up on those few remaining countries and you were either a citizen or a nomad. Mere words to describe your capture by circumstances. No citizen could leave their country, no nomad could enter. His hazmat suit creaked at the elbows and knees in an unnerving manner as he tended to the old battery. His little girl sat up top of the camper pod at the gun turret keeping a keen eye on the horizon. Every now and then she would loudly cock the twin barrelled ordnance then giggle at the twitching of his head in concern. “That’s not funny you know,” he growled through the intercom. “Yes it is,” she replied, still giggling after the last time, “are you nearly finished? I’m bored.” “These gloves don’t make it easy you know. Will be done in a bit. Keep sharp up there.” 43

“Yes dad”. He returned his focus to the batteries, watching the LED read-out count off the bars to completion one at a time. “A watched battery never fills” a little voice cracked over the intercom, followed by more giggling. “Smart arse,” he replied lovingly. There was a little gasp of mock surprise followed by more giggling. The batteries pinged to announce they were full and he disconnected them from the charging station and draping it’s camouflage back over it until next time. He picked up the five heavy batteries by their handles and carried them back to the pod. “Coming back in squirt,” he said, “shut it down and get back inside. Be in in a minute.” “Roger big squirt,” she replied, giggling still. Sliding three of the batteries into their mountings he reflected that she was doing well all things considering. The pod fully charged he picked up the two spare batteries and stepped through into the airlock. “The kettles on dad,” she said as he entered the living compartment and stored the spares in their spaces. He walked through the small space, stopping at the solitary rose planted in a terrarium on a side shelf. 44

“Did you water your mother’s rose?” he asked, settling into the pilot seat of the pod and flicking the main engine from stand-by to engaged. “Watered it yesterday dad,” she replied walking up to him with a mug of something hot and brown. He learnt a while ago not to ask what it was. It tasted almost like coffee and that was good enough at the moment. “Thank you,” he said taking the mug from her and watching her climb into the other chair and check the equipment in front of her, “so where do you want to go next?” She resisted the urge to say ‘Home’, it was a silly conceit really and she was gloomily aware she was growing too old for such things. She was sure her dad was aware of this too, but it was an unmentioned thing between them at the moment. “We could head towards the West Ridge, there were some good pickings up there last time, and there’s usually some other nomads up there we could trade with.” “The West Ridge it is then,” he said, keying the ignition formula into the console and feeling the pod rise up on its skirt. The rear fans roaring into life and gently moving them forward, “check the band widths, see who else wants to hit the ridge with us.” “Will do dad.” 45

CASE

Before you lies a case filled with untold riches, your wildest fantasies, the stuff of dreams. All that stands between you and them is a simple lock. Did I say simple the case does hold tricky elements. Press the wrong edge and spring loaded poisoned blades launch out to slash you and end your days. Before the case you face a box. A puzzle box, select the right movements and pressure points and it will unfurl like a flower's head to give you access to the case. Choose badly and the case inside is dissolved in acid, as are your hands. Before the box is the room. Can you remember the 36 digit combination needed to open the heavy door, Get it right and the door swings open to your glittering future, fail more than three times and the entire room, and you, will be engulfed in flames till you are nowt but ashes. To get to the room you must traverse the labyrinth. Fiendish to look upon but simple in retrospect, but 47

beware, many have tried the labyrinth and many have been lost to it. They may still be there to help, or hinder you in your pursuit. To step into the labyrinth you must cross the moat. Is it filled just with water? Or is it some other diabolical liquid that awaits you? Are there creatures lurking in it’s depths? When were they last fed? We haven’t even considered the thought can you swim? Before the moat are 23 guards sworn to protect what is at their back. Twenty three burly men, armed to the teeth and determined not to thwarted. Hungry too but that’s unimportant unless you happened to of kept those 46 doughnuts from yesterday’s tasks. So what are your thoughts, are you ready to face your destiny? “Well, we’ve had a lovely day so we’re just going to settle for the speedboat and the five thousand pounds if it’s all the same to you.”

IDEAL

“We only deal in ideals!” “We really need to work on that you know.” “Yeah, I know. Sounds good though.” “Bit too clunky for my taste.” “Okay, how about this one: there is no such things as the ideal woman.” “You’re only saying that in the hope the ideal woman walks through the door right now.” The two friends turn their heads to observe the door of the bar for a few moments. “Ah well, maybe next time.” “There’s no such thing....” “Not right away you pillock. If the gods didn’t hear you the first time, they’re not listening to you tonight.” “Fair enough. Another?” 49

“Please.” He watches his friend walk from the table to the bar, same swagger, same cockiness, same banter as when they first meet 30 years ago. He watches him now, returning with two pints in his hands and laughing his head off. “Barmaid turn you down did she?” “Gave her your number mate, told her you were a big Hollywood promotor.” “Great, thanks for that.” “What are friends for?” “When I get some, I’ll let you know.” “To your good health.” “And yours.”

JUNGLE

Each time another tree is felled I hear the jungle scream, she told the village shaman. Every time the logging companies or other big corporation take another foot of land I fear the animals will rise up at the fauna’s command and destroy us. She asked the village shaman if there was a way she could prevent this. The village shaman, a wise man in his ways, stroked his beard and considered the young woman before him. He told her there might be a way and that she should go home and meet him at the village entrance at sundown that night. Once the young woman had left, the village shaman filled his pipe and began to dream of a plan. At sundown she stood at the village entrance, nerves and excitement trickling through her veins as she waited for the village shaman. She heard his voice from the edge of the jungle growth: “This is my familiar Treavs,” the voice said, 51

“follow him and do exactly what he tells you with out question.” She peered in the direction of the voice and gasped as a muscular black jaguar stepped from between the trees and observed her with large yellow eyes. After a moment the jaguar bowed its head to her and she quickly repelled with a similar gesture of her own. “Good evening little bride,” said the jaguar, “come, you have much to do tonight.” With a swish of his tail Treavs turned and entered the jungle. Taking her bravery in her hands she followed, glad for the full moon rising over head as the jaguar lived up to his name and was almost impossible to see amongst the foliage. But he was a good guide and would make sure she was not lost with backwards glances so she could catch sight of his bright eyes. After a short while Treavs stopped allowing her to catch up and stand by his side. “The shaman tells me you wish to comfort the jungle,” he said regarding her with a long, lingering look. “Yes Treavs,” she replied bravely, “I believe there must be a bond between man and nature with will be beneficial to both.” “Hmmmm,” stated the jaguar, “a bond you say.” “Yes.” 52

Treavs stepped on, parting a wall of hanging vines with his nose and leading her into a opening in the jungle. Birds excitedly called out above their heads as the pair stepped through into the glade. “Do you see the old rotten tree stump over there to the left,” he asked. She stared to where the jaguar had stated, peering through the gathering gloom. At that moment a cloud moved and moon beams radiated down from the night sky, one picking out the very stump in question. “I do, yes I do see it,” she exclaimed excitedly. “At the base of the stump you will find a clump of mushrooms. They look like dark bells on thin stalks, go and pick five or six and bring them back to me.” She did as she was instructed to do, kneeling at the tree stump and brushing the long grass away, seeing the psilocybin mushrooms. She supposed they did look like little bells, but she also remembered her mother always warned her about these too. The shaman’s words returned to her mind: “....do exactly what he tells you....” and picked the necessary amount. When she returned to Treavs she knelt before him and laid the mushrooms before him for him to inspect. “Good, good,” said the familiar more to himself than to her, “these will be very useful.” He turned 53

to her and regarded her with his deep yellow eyes. “Now then young lady,” he began, “I’m going to leave you soon. Have no fear I will be close and will keep you safe from other predators. Once I have gone I want you to eat these mushrooms, one at a time, slowly. At all times keep in mind why you are here and what you want to achieve. I will see you once it is over.” She nodded her understanding at him and then the jaguar turned and stalked away. At the wall of vines he stopped and turned back to regard her. “You’re very brave,” he said but she had already begun to consume the mushrooms so he did not know if she had heard him or not. Five mushrooms is a lot to eat she thought as she concentrated on her task. The lights were getting brighter and she was getting warmer. She stopped during her penultimate mushroom and took her dress off, a desire to be naked had come to her and she succumb to it. Lying down on the jungle floor, nibbling on the last mushroom, marvelling at the night sky above her. She giggled as she felt creepers brush her skin lightly. She closed her eyes and wondered why she was here in the middle of the jungle. The creepers continued to move over her, covering her arms and legs, She gasped at the rush of movement as the creepers bond her wrists and ankles and she opened her eyes wide as she was lifted into the air, three thick branches posed to 54

penetrate her frail body. “A BOND NOT A SCARIFICE!” The deep voice echoed around the tree and froze the creepers and branches. She couldn’t tell if the voice had been Treavs or the shaman himself but it cut her fog and she concentrated on her purpose this night. Slowly the creepers laid her back on to the jungle floor and slid back into the undergrowth. She got onto her knees, praying to the jungle, asking it’s forgiveness for man’s treatment of it, offering the jungle anything to mend the bond between human and nature. The undergrowth shimmied and vines rose and combined to form the shape of a man, a thick arm reached down and a large hand stroked her chin and raised her head and she witnessed the dark green form of a naked man shaped creature before her. For the first time that night she remembered she was naked herself and her eyes fell to his crotch and watched in astonishment as the vine man’s crotch grew in response to her. The creature knelt before her, still holding her chin and lowered its face to hers. She felt a breeze on her lips as featherlike fingers of vine ends caressed her body, moving over her neck, torso, waist and thighs, rising up her inner thighs as vine lips pressed against her own and she gasped into a passionate kiss. The lovers slowly and solemnly laid back on the glade floor, bodies melding together in mutual passion. The 55

jungle held it’s breath for moments then as one a passionate scream was released by every living thing in its confines. None was as loud as her own scream of ecstasy. In the morning Treavs returned to her, carrying a new white dress for her in his mouth. Dressing she stretched and looked around her, last night’s lover was no more but she felt the warmth of the jungle around her and did not fear it. With a final look at the glade she let Treavs guide her back to her village. Time would tell if that night had been a success.

TRACE

He moves the pencil across the paper, watching the lead define a curve. He lifts the paper to check the picture below before replacing it and continuing. He could do this for hours, in fact he does and when his mother approaches and compliments him on his drawing he corrects her and tells her it’s a tracing. He has the good grace, even at that young age to not pass this off as drawing. It’s not that he can’t draw it’s just the pictures on the paper never look as good as they did in his head so he traces. It’s as if there’s a gap between head and hand. Marvelling at how the picture emerges through the paper from the image below it. Perhaps he’s hoping to develop muscle memory so he will be happier with his drawing efforts. But for now it passes the time and keeps him happy and quiet. What more could a parent ask for. Over time he moves from paper to baking parchment to proper tracing paper brought home 57

by his engineer father. He still uses pencils but now he’s using pens to finish the image off. The pens become styluses and India ink and he begins to colour the images on the reverse with coloured pencils or felt tip pens. The big step is moving from other’s drawings to photographs. The comics are put aside, once read, and the Sunday supplements and random titles purchased from the local newsagents appear. School, College and University folders are decorated with images transferred from once place to another using the tracing paper. Montages are created cobbling together a mish-mash of source images, drawings and photos. Never finished, but happy hours spent creating. Eventually he moves away from pencil and paper altogether and discovers computers and graphical software. It’s here he finally finds the thing to plug that childhood gap and the original images he brings forth look how they did in his head. But he still loves to trace. Building scenes from a collection of existing images. Scowering the Internet for that one perfect pose, that one perfect attitude. Heads swapped, hair added, imagination and inspiration from the found. Someone who sees these pieces asks him if he’s ever thought of selling his digital images, but he still has the good grace to admit he is merely tracing. 58

CROSS

They walked hand in hand through the quaint and picturesque village square. Each pointing out items of interest to the other as they went. She stopped to look at a feature, he did that comedy thing of walking on till their arms were stretched before returning to her side. “What does that mean I wonder?” she asked pointing to the large, simple decoration painted on the front of the door. “The big red cross,” he replied, stating the obvious in that way he does. She gave him a flick of side eye and he smiled broadly. “Well,” he continued, “depending on the age it could mean many things. It is said the Israelite slaves daubed fresh lambs blood onto the door of their homes to identify them to the angel of death who had been sent to punish their Egyptian masters.” “The first passover,” she said, quoting from her 59

history casts. “That’s right,” he replied, beaming down at her, “then at certain times during the Medieval age a painted cross on the door indicated the presence of plague.” “A cry for help or a warning to stay away,” she asked optimistically. “The latter I’m afraid,” he said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder, “in those days there was very little help for those people. It was very much a case of keep back and hope it doesn’t spread to far towards you and yours.” She shivered a little at the hopelessness of the past and stayed quiet for several moments. “The Irish once believed such a cross would protect the house from fire,” he said, trying to lift her mood slightly. She smiled at the simple and perfect idea of this and turned and reached up on tip-toes to kiss his cheek in thanks. “Come on,” he said, “the others will be wondering where we’ve got to.” They continued on their tour of the village before joining their party. Neither looking back so neither seeing the baleful face at the window above the door they had stopped at. It’s eyes large and red, the skin sunken around what were once firm and crisp cheekbones. The mouth downturned, having forgotten what it was like to smile. 60

WORM

The worm pottered about doing worm stuff through the day. Happily humming to himself, moving through the substance he found himself in. He raised his head for a moment to take account of his surrounding, gave a quick shimmy because he felt like it and moved on. He didn’t notice the little bit of himself he left behind. “You alright?” “Got a poxy song stuck in my head and it won’t go away.” “Oh I hate it when that happens to me.” Who said that wondered the worm, stopping for a moment before wondering what he meant by that comment. He continued on his way. “Hullo there,” said a little voice to his side, “do you have a moment to talk?”. The worm stopped and looked around him. That was a different voice to the ones before, what ones before, he thought? 61

He stopped and looked around him. From out of the deep pink a smile appeared, around it a friendly circular face developed in front of the worm’s eyes. He laughed as the phrase “worm’s eye view” crossed his mind briefly before the new face addressed him. “Good evening to you my friend,” said the face it’s eyes forming now, a deep grey shine over them, “I hope you are well.” The new face had used the word friend, this made the worm trust it, although it had no idea why. “Very well thank you,” replied the worm, returning his own smile to the new face before him which bobbed along beside him. “Good, good, thought I’d try and catch you before you go.” “Oh,” stated the worm, “am I going somewhere, I’ve only just got here. I think.”. His smile slumped on his mouth and he lowered his head. Another bit of himself fell off his back, this time he noticed. “What was that?” “My dear chap,” began the new face, “allow me to explain things to you. You are an ear worm, as am I.” “That’s what that lady voice said she had,” replied the worm looking brightly, “er, what is an ear worm?” 62

“Does it matter,” asked the new face. “No, I suppose not,” said the worm who decided to refer to himself with his new title. Ear Worm, very noble, very proud, very good. Another piece of himself fell away and he turned to observe his lesser form. “Let’s get you to the others while we still can,” said the new face, floating off along the path. The Ear Worm followed along behind him at a pace. “You see although an ear worm may diminish over time, as you are as we travel along, we never truly fade away. If you can get to sanctuary you can survive for many years among your friends and even wander out and play every now or then.” “Sounds lovely,” replied the Ear Worm as he spied a nest of compartments up ahead of the pair of them, curious faces like his own smiling out to him. Yes this was going to be a very nice place to live he thought. “Urggh!” “What now?” “That song, from earlier. Somehow it’s mashed up with a really old nursery rhyme and won’t stop.” “You’re really weird, you know that right.”

FLOAT

A supposition on the making of the perfect Ice Cream Soda or Float. First let us talk about the glass you’re going to use to make the god of all drinks. Now traditionally the tall, tapered glass is your go to vessel. But we would advise to check your cutlery draw before reaching to your cabinet. It is of no use to anyone if you do not own a spoon that can reach the bottom of your tallest glass. The sight of someone with an upturned glass at their lips, tongue extended trying to reach the last of the ice cream foam is not a sight we need to see is it. So glass and spoon chosen let us move to your combination of ice cream and soda shall we. Now your classic “Coke Float” is chocolate ice cream and Coca Cola, personally your author is a bit of a old fashioned kind of guy and will go for the humble vanilla ice cream and lemonade and luxuriate in the memories alongside the flavour. Nowadays the world is your oyster in terms of both 65

ice cream and soda flavours. We shan’t be the ones to spoil your fun but we would counsel you away from an ice cream with to many “bits” in them. Now to the construction of your float. Obviously the ice cream goes in first, only a fool would argue for it to be added second, and the soda be poured in slowly on top. We will repeat the word “slowly” once more for you. As dramatic as the chemical reaction is between soda and ice cream the result we are aiming for is maximum foam and minimum mess. Best not upset mum to much by covering the kitchen in a sticky residue. As we said the foam is the goal, slowly pour your soda over the ice cream, stopping every time it looks like it’s about to run out of control, till you have reached the top of your glass. Finally add straw, you did check you had straws when you checked for the long handed spoon right? Arm yourself with spoon and retire to the comfiest of deck chairs or patch of lawn to enjoy your creation in the glorious glow of summer.

OFFENSE

Mr Jones wanders around town, causing offence in everyone he meets. He doesn’t mean to do it, which is a lie, and it’s not like he knows he’s doing it, which is another lie. Look are you going to quibble with us or are you just going to sit there and listen to us. Now where were we? Ah yes Mr Jones. Whether it’s offering his seat on the bus to the fat girl with the cheerful question of “Have you thought of a name yet?” or the more blunt “When’s it due?” or calling people fat or letting people pass him in crowded spaces with the bon mot “Age before beauty” Mr Jones is a smiling, quiet and quite deadly assassin in the offence department. See him innocently enquire if it took long for the older gentleman to groom his obviously much younger partner to the amusement of the crowd. He might ask the cost to, not just meaning financial but it’s up to them to get the meaning isn’t it. 67

What’s this, Mr Jones is writing the phone number of the local convent on the Gent’s toilet wall under the legend “For a good time call:”. Even worst here’s Mr Jones ringing the convent himself and just breathing heavily. Well the Samaritans were busy weren’t they. He’s the life and soul of the party you know. Here he is buying everyone in the pub a drink, dipping into one of the three charity boxes slung round his waist to pay for the round. What a guy. Out of the goodness of his heart Mr Jones has also been know to have the largest, meatiest pizza delivered to his local vegan society. Well those poor dears must be hungry mustn’t they. Why, we hear you cry. Why does he do this? Why does he seem to go out of his way to upset these people? Why does he not understand that nowadays people are coming from their own different places of hurt that we no longer hide as it’s not healthy to push emotions away or down is it. The one, basic truth is Mr Jones just does not care. About anyone or anything. Never has and never will. Oh look he’s just corrected someone’s spelling. C not S, idiot....

ROBOT

The wall console's main light began blinking red and a smooth siren began to sing. The Custodian lifted its head and observed the well rehearsed procedure. Six of the nine tanks began filling with amniotic fluids as the 4-D printers warmed up and began creating the new crew from the feet up. The Custodian raised itself up onto its feet and walked over to check the figures were in the healthy parameters. It glanced over as the printers raised above the waist. It noticed one of the new crew was female as the printer head worked its magic. A second console beeped and the Custodian walked over to it, noting the six consciences that had been drawn from the database. Interesting mix it thought, definitely selected for exploration. The Custodian walked to the other side of the unit and flicked on the six fabric printers, noting the finished item’s dimensions had already been transferred and the smart suits were ready to be created. Leaving the machines to do their work the 69

Custodian walked to check on the production of the scout ship that would have been triggered at the same time as the crew was initiated. The hanger was a spectacular mass of commotion and madness. The fleet of Mk 12 Atlas were busy assembling the parts of a generation eight scout ship. The Custodian watched from an gantry at the hive below. Two hours, that would be all it would take them to create and test the ship. The Custodian wondered what they would name it. Returning to the crew room the Custodian was greeted by six humanoid figures, in various states of undress. “Good evening,” said the Custodian, the new crew turning at his electronic tone, “welcome onboard the Asimov Five. Flagship of the exploration fleet of Mars.” The six new members observed him blankly. The Custodian tilted its head slightly, a trick it had learnt before the trip launched, while it searched through it’s language database on the off chance universal hadn’t been included in their consciences. The female of the group, dressed and looking inquisitive at her surroundings. “Good evening,” she said reaching out her hand in an old-fashioned greetings, “I’m Ellen.” The five other new crew turned and one by one stated their names as well. 70

“Robin Lee” “John” “Francis” “James” “Christopher” “I am the Custodian,” said the Custodian, “debrief and dinner will begin shortly in area ten, if you’d like to make your way I’m sure you are all eager, and hungry.” The six crew laughed at that last line which pleased The Custodian deep down in his circuits. Ellen was the last to leave the room. The Custodian looked up from his task of flushing the tanks of excess material. “Is everything alright Miss Ellen?” it asked. “Er,” she began, “this may seem a silly question, but am I real?” “You are a next-gen, vat-grown synthetic robot with the necessary specific personality, conscience download to compete your mission. You’re as real as I am Ellen.” “Oh!”

HEAVY

The bass dropped and the crowd responded as one: “HEAVY!” The DJ looked out from her booth up in the rafters and observed the dancefloor. The strobing lights stabbed through the darkness. She could see knees bent and arms out as the crowd moved to the beats as one, some still cheering her choice. Up here she felt like a god, commanding the faithful below her in a pagan ritual as old as time. That’s what all those stone circles were, she thought. Sod this worship thing, they were dancefloors to her mind. She could imagine Stonehenge, a couple of druids up on the inner ring, banging out a beat on drums and didgeridoo to the crowds before them. She skipped through the tracks on her stick, looking for the best one to transition to. She felt inspired and up for taking some risks tonight. Her muse was most certainly working and she wasn’t going to 73

waste it with a boring set. “TUNE!” The crowd responded to her choice and the intensity of the club rose. The dancefloor was jammed as everyone in the place just had to dance tonight. Whatever they were on down there, she thought, the psychic wash was spreading far and wide and she could feel it up there in the roof too. She felt horny and loved and loving all at the same time. Her muse whispered in her ear and she flicked from one track to the next perfectly, bringing the crowd with her on the journey. She gulped at her bottle of water, the heat of the dance below rising and the walls of the club crying with happy tears of condensation. Following two more hardcore hours she released her grip on them all below. Letting them wallow in a trancey number, the muffled heavy beat mimicking the first tune of her set. Her muse whispered a final message and ghost kissed her ear and slipped away. She opened the booth door to the next DJ and began gathering her stuff. The stick was the last to be gathered. Letting the new DJ plug in before she plugged out. “Hell of a set girl,” said the new DJ, giving her a high five before concentrating on his next choices and tunes. She nodded her thanks and made her way down the steep metal staircase to the club 74

floor. Now just another punter amongst a sea of faces on a night out. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

EXHIBIT

It was the smell that finally gave her away. At the hearing the court were told how police had to utilise breathing apparatus to break into the artist’s studio. She was found in the basement, surrounded by a macabre exhibit of her more outlandish work. Descriptions of several of the pieces were read out in court, only the jury, judge and lawyers saw the disturbing photos that police had taken. A homage to Hieronymus Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights” etched into the perfectly flailed skin of an art critic who had given the artist a bad review some five years earlier and had been missing for three years. The body of her exhusband and his new, much younger, girlfriend elegantly posed in the style of Klimt’s “The Kiss”. The remains of two missing supermodels, identified through DNA and personal piercings, arranged in a similar style to the classic “Gabrielle d’Estrées and One of Her Sisters”. Although access to the police photographs was limited it is sad to say many have 77

made their way onto the internet. The artist herself was found barricaded in a corner of her basement with food and water for three months and a loaded AK-47 next to her. Once she had been over come and detained her first statement was that she had not meant to shoot that young officer so many times but she had become mesmerised with the shape of the bullet holes and spray of his blood against the back wall. The case continues with the defence bringing expert psychiatrists to lead with the artist’s pleas of insanity tomorrow....

BLOCK

The locals, in their adorable self-deprecating fashion refer to it as “The Block” which considering the footprint of this two mile behemoth is actually 32 blocks is some understatement. Billed as the world’s tallest building “The Block” is a departure from other high-tech futuristic buildings around the world. Where as most cutting-edge buildings look like a spaceship that has just landed in a vacant lot of the city they tower above with no thought to how they would fit in with the existing buildings, this new construct looks like an existing mountain that has evolved and grown. This is part due to the sensitive choices made in building materials and that the lower storeys are a sprawling mix of cascading public park space and vertical farmland available for both commercial and residential use in a scheme the building government refer to as “allotments”. The resulting mix of glass and greenery and the way the footings 79

of the building brush the shoreline on the south side gives a lovely natural feel to the start of this building. Again, where as its counterparts hold onto their residents, giving them no reason to leave the confines of their expensive gated communities, “The Block” is open and free with a smattering of cafes, bars and restaurants in the lowlands. With the capacity for up to one million residents the creators of this complex decided early on the old ways of confinement would never work for the residents or the surrounding economy. As a result the whole city is booming following the opening of the building. A mile and a half up the building you will arrive at the world’s highest hotel. This 80 storey seven star luxury complex is a beautiful place to stay. Just ask the passengers of the World Cruise Airships who stop there. The hotel includes a mooring station and is a popular place of disembarkment for the voyager class. From the hotel to the top of the building is the height of luxury and the rumours surrounding the layout and ownership of the penthouse complex is as numerous as the zeros on the price-tag bandied about amongst the tabloid screens. The latest is technologies are employed throughout the building. From magna-lifts that convey visitors at high speed along the length and breadth of the building to the anti-leap ambient field running 80

along the edge of each and every floor. Critics refer to it as an “Escher Nightmare” but there is a ready beauty and feel to “The Block” that grows on you the more time you spend in its presence.

SHIVER

At the the side of the stage she felt the familiar shiver run up her spine. How was it the divine Ian put it: “First-night nerves every one-night stand”. She remember that one, well meaning, boy telling her that nerves and excitement came from the same place so be positive and dwell on the latter rather than the former. She slept with him that night, she thought it only right to reward his kindness. But just the once mind. And now she found herself back at the start. The toilet circuit hadn’t changed much since her first time through it, only now she got snide looks from the other bands she was supporting each night. Still her new band still thought it funny and the crowds were rapidly going from morbid curiosity to respectful applauds. She’d win them around soon enough. After the gig she relaxed at the bar. She only 83

noticed the man in the hat at his second cough, turning to face him, with the same shiver along her spine that she had felt earlier. “Oh it’s you,” she said, sipping from her drink, “what brings you here?” “You,” he said, smiling broadly, “You know you don’t have to do this all over again. Say the word and you’ll be back where you deserve to be.” His eyes burnt with a low fire of their own. No reflection of a natural light held within them. “And what if I’m happy where I am,” she asked, keeping her speech polite but firm, always keeping in mind just who she was talking to. “One word and you can skip all this,” the man in the hat repeated, “just one word.” “No. Thank you” she said firmly, turning back to the bar and catching the eye of the bar-man. She caught the hint of a whispered “Until tomorrow night then.” Then her drummer tapped her shoulder, passing her the last can of the modest rider the promoter had cobbled together for them all. “Here you go boss,” he said, “Only fair you get the last one.” She smiled and thanked him, noticing the rest of the band behind him. A good sprite on her shoulder whispered a naughty idea into her ear and she shock the can before opening it and spraying 84

her bandmates. Yes, she thought as the group laughed in the impromptu beer fight, this was a good life and she was looking forward to the journey with these nutters.

EXTEND

“We can extend your life, substantially!” So runs the advertisement for the latest techno-biological break through of the year. It’s so ubiquitous now that you see it all other the place. Kids scream it to one another as part of one of their school yard games. Daring young things whisper it to potential partners in low lit bars and clubs. Ambitious bucks use it in job applications or during interviews. Intellectual wags would nod and smirk at one another while they chimed in with the word: “Substantially!” every time they heard the jingle. The tech itself lasted a mere six months before the horror stories came out. The memes lasted about 12 months more. The horror stories dented the effect of the memes for a while. Only the meaner kids would shout it before setting about their young victims. The daring young things would more than likely get a glass of something chucked in their faces. The ambitious bucks were marked down 87

and not invited back for that important second interview. The intellectual wags still kept at it but added a tired eye roll to their knowing smirk. The court cases and the exposés over the years finally put an end to the memes. It’s gone from ubiquitous to obscure. High-cultural quiz show masters will quote it to the blank looks of their contestants on the tea-time show. The intellectual wags have grown up and turned their smirks and eye rolls into academic papers and lecture tours. The technique itself was never anything marvellous or ground-breaking, hence the horror stories, court cases and exposés. But people are looking at it again, considering another angle to it. The idea of money to be made is slowly eclipsing the history. Substantially!

OLD

“There was a time when you celebrated getting old because the chances of you reaching a substantial age were so stacked against you.” “Shut up and blow your candles out.” “No, I’m serious,” he said pushing the proffered cake from in front of his face. “So am I,” she said, resisting his movements, “they’re in danger of setting the smoke detector off.” He pouted and blew at the candles, extinguishing the bright little flames in one breath. “Huummpph!!” “Did you make a wish?” she asked, carrying the cake to the work surface and picking up the knife to cut a couple of slices for the pair of them. “I did,” he replied, smiling mischievously. “Going to share what it is,” she asked, looking over 89

her shoulder and through her fringe at his silly face. “Certainly not,” he said, looking shocked to even be asked . “Here you go,” she said, leaning down and placing a plate with a slice of his cake before him, kissing him on the forehead in that way she does, “happy birthday you old fool”. “Ta,” he said smiling broadly and tucking into the creamy delight before him. “Remember the birthday where your gift to me was you wrapped in nothing but broad red ribbons?” “I do,” she replied between crumbs, “it was your 75th, we had to mark that milestone memorably.” “Many years ago now though,” he said smiling at the memory. “Well it’s nice the memory is still there,” she said taking his empty plate from him and placing it in the sink, next to hers. He rose up on his old legs and walked slowly towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her from behind, sinking his lips against the nape of her neck, letting the kiss linger. “We’ve had a good life haven’t we girl,” he said, holding her tight. She turned round in his grasp and laid her arms over his shoulders. Where once he used to tower above her, age had brought them down to a suitable, more intimate, equal height. 90

“We have that my dear,” she said kissing his lips, “have you taken your tablets?” “Just before I had my cake. We sharing the pod tonight? “Go on then, as it’s your birthday I don’t see why not.” He chuckled at their little joke and took her hand in his, walking through the double doors towards the sleeping quarters. “We’ll take the scenic route back shall we,” she said as they wandered along the corridor, the view of the cosmos to their left. Back in the room the robots tutted to each other as they’d been left to do the washing up once again. They muttered amongst themselves in binary until one spotted the little note she had left for them. “Help yourself to cake kids.”

“What was that noise?” “They just shot the negotiator.” “Well that’s a statement I suppose. Can’t really argue with that can you.” “Serves him right. Idiot told them to ‘listen to reason and trust’ him.” The commander looked at her second-in-command and tutted. He could be so cynical sometimes. “Which of the Crusaders killed him?” she asked, checking the CCTV feed of the situation. “Who do you think,” the second-in-command chuckled, “the girl plugged him right between the eyes.” Good for her thought the commander before checking herself. You never knew who was listening these days and besides there was a time and a place for pushing the feminism boundaries. She got back to the job in hand. “Marksmen?” 93

“Still getting to their optimum positions. They’re let us know when they’re there.” “Motives?” “Just what we found on the websites.” “Sites? I thought there was only the one: ‘Death to the Oppressor’?” “We found two more registered from the same IP address. ‘The Resistance’ and ‘Liberty’. Whatever this is it’s been brewing for awhile.” The commander wished this was a smoking pod, she could really do with the calming effects of a joint right about now. Her second-in-commander raised his eyebrows in sympathy, a subtle reminder of his empathic abilities. “Let’s get a breath of air,” she suggested and opened the pod door. The pair of them stepped out into the bright summer day and walked to the back of the pod, into the shade and away from the cameras. Her second-in-command dug into his uniform’s chest pocket and offered her a fat blunt he had rolled back at base. She smiled as she took it, pulling her Zippo from her trouser pocket and lit it. “Thanks,” she said exhaling the deep smoke, “you read my mind.” “Not allowed boss, you know the rules.” She smiled taking one more hit before passing the blunt 94

back to him. “Remind me how we got into this again?” she asked, running her fingers through her greying hair and massaging her temples. “We got the call,” he replied between deep chesty coughs, “it’s what we do.” “Five kids who have had enough, climb their school roof and begin peppering their fellow students and teachers and several dignities with World War 2 ordnance with gay abandon.” “Pretty much.” “What am I missing here?” “Several of the ‘fellow students’ not to mention the ‘dignities’ are very high up and connected within society,” he passed the blunt back to her to finish as they both considered the situation. A uniformed head popped around the corner. “Ma’am,” the rookie said, “marksmen report they are in position,” The pair of them followed the rookie back into the pod. She passes him the unfinished and extinguished blunt to pocket for later and they enter the command centre once more. “Right,” she said, clapping her hands and focusing back to the task in hand, “give me a run down of where the marksmen are.” At the moment the radio crackled into life and a 95

new, young voice came over the air: “One man can change the world with a bullet in the right place” it said. “Roger that,” came several replies across the airwaves. The commander looked to her second-incommand in disbelief. “What was....” There was a single crack then the command pod exploded in a lethal fireball.

BREAK

She awoke to the caress of his lips on her forehead. Opening her eyes and sitting up in their big, comfy hotel bed, sheet falling down to expose bare shoulders. She stretched, yawned and smiled at the silly British boy before her. “Good morning my dear,” he said indicating the small table near the windows, “I wonder if madam would care to break fast with me?” His turn of phrase made her smile some more. It was odd, although she had know his words for years she was still getting used to his voice. Well it had only been three days since they had “officially met”. In her mind’s eye she could see him imitate the speech marks with raised fingers. This idea made her laugh some more. She raised from the bed and wrapped the sheet around her naked body, stepping towards her beau who stood offering her the chair with the best view out of the windows. They kissed slowly, luxuriating in the act, she casually stroked a fingertip along his 97

bearded jawline. “Good morning you,” she said taking her seat and turning her attention to the numerous plates and dishes across the table before her. “I didn’t know what you liked,” he said, busying himself with cups and plates, “so I got them to send up a bit of everything. Coffee?” “Hmmm, please,” she replied, suddenly realising she was really hungry. She blushed at the thought of when she had last properly eaten. As the saying goes: ‘doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun’. She regarded her old/new friend as he poured the coffee into two cups. His smart clothes and rolled up sleeves making him look like a particularly affectionate waiter. She looked up into his face and realised he was looking down at her and smiling. “Milk? Sugar?” “Please, honey,” she replied making her own little joke with him. He smiled at her and poured the milk into her black coffee. She watched the milk swirl and spread across the top of her cup. He nudged the bowl of sugar cubes towards her and moved to the other plates and bowls. “Now we have muesli, yoghurt, fresh fruit, croissants, bagels; my personal favourite. And streaky bacon. “Streaky bacon,” she repeated looking at the plate 98

he was pointing out. “It’s what we call the type of bacon you Americans eat,” he said, passing her the plate, “and if you really want I can call down and get some eggs cooked for you. Any style you want, sunny side up, over easy, scrambled, poached or boiled with soldiers.” “This will be fine darling, really,” she said picking a slice of bacon up and nibbling on it, “thank you for doing this.” “My pleasure,” he said, leaning down to kiss her once more and pinch a slice of bacon for himself, “have to keep your strength up don’t we.” He raised his eyebrows and took his own seat by her, picking up a toasted bagel slice and buttering it. She sipped her coffee and nibbled on her bacon, taking a moment to admire the view from their hotel window. Who’d of thought she would of made it all the way to London from her little town in the States. And all it took was a six year flirty conversation with a silly British guy. Looking at him now she decided she had fallen for him quite some time ago as a fantasy and was thankful the present reality was holding up to her dreams. The accent was a bit of a shock but he had warned her about it before she got on the aeroplane. She poured herself a second cup of coffee and tore into a croissant. 99

“So what do you want to go and see today,” he asked, moving his chair next to her, pouring his own second coffee cup. “Are we going out,” she asked, batting her eyelids at him and letting the bed sheet drop from her bare shoulder, exposing more of her body. “Young lady, three days in a hotel room living on room service is quite enough,” he said, reaching out and stroking her bare knee that had also become exposed somehow, “besides you have people back at home expecting tales and photos of the sights and sounds of my capital.” “Oh yes, I suppose,” she said, not liking the reminder of the outside world and what she had left behind, if only for a week or so. He leant in and gathered her in his arms, kissing her forehead, nose then lips gently. “I’m sorry,” he said knowing his words had upset her slightly, “come on, get dressed, grab your Oyster card and we’ll hit the city. Tell you what we can hold hands all day and canoodle in every secluded nook we find, deal?” She brightened up and smiled at him once more, planting a kiss on his lips, feeling his beard tickle her skin. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, standing from the table and letting the bed sheet fall from her naked body. He admired the view directly before him. She 100

walked towards the bathroom and began the shower running. He turned his head from the other view and tidied up the table. “Actually,” she said from the bathroom, her voice rasied over the sound of the running water, “I do have a list of places I want to see.” “Big Ben; Tower of London; Tower Bridge; Buckingham Palace; the London Eye; Oxford St; Carnaby St; Nelson’s Column; Covent Garden; Harrods. Oops!” “You alright?” he asked towards the open bathroom door. “I’ve dropped the soap,” she replied, laughter in her voice, “you couldn’t be a dear and come in and pick it up for me could you?” “But of course,” he replied stepping to the bathroom and beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt.

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STORY NOTES

01 – TOP - Honestly the first thing I thought of was the line “From the top”. The 3 stories followed in that exact order. 02 – WEAK - I was raised by weak tea drinkers so again first place my mind goes when reading that word is the process of making tea in my folks home. 03 – STITCH - Several friends of mine are doing a “button a day” embroidery project and other crafty type things and were the inspiration for this. 04 - SHARE - The one thing I remember about writing this one (which according to my Facebook post, took some time to “get”) was to maintain a mystery over the boy and girl. 05 – FUR - Decided to let the weird part of my head fly with this little (it is the shortest story) piece. 06 – POWDER - A film quote and a small piece of research into the proper lingo lead to this story. 103

07 – DARE - I admit it, I was channelling the spirit of “Modesty Blaise” for this. It is a great movie. 08 – STABLE - The line “As stable as Denis Leary in a vegan restaurant” was the first thing into my head and it amused me so much I had to continue in a vein that he would approve of. 09 – GIVE - I knew a lot of songs began with the letter “G” so following a little research a beautiful break up/make up story was born. 10 – AIR - This one shocked me. I started this twice and the second time took me somewhere I wasn’t expecting to go. This truly felt like “automatic writing”. 11 – CLIMATE - This is me doing what I love doing: a simple, almost mundane story in a fantastical setting. 12 – CASE - The mix of fantasy and game show somehow appealed to me on this particular Friday. 13 – IDEAL - Just a simple case of sitting down and listening to the voices in my head talk to one another. It sounds weird when you type it down doesn’t it. 14 – JUNGLE - This was the first story I took a “run up” at. As it was Valentine’s day I wanted to do something special and a little saucy too. 15 – TRACE - I said it on Facebook at the time of writing it but this could well be the most personal 104

piece of writing I have ever created. 16 – CROSS - A nice little piece that went dark right at the end. Surprised me too. 17 – WORM - This was always going to be a whimsical one, the fact it got a bit metaphysical too is not surprising if you know me at all. 18 – FLOAT - A spot of research and a wallow in a spot of childhood memories brought forth this little piece. 19 – OFFENSE - I remember I had several thoughts about what to write before Mr Jones and his antics stormed into my head. 20 – ROBOT - The day this prompt dropped was also the day Perseverance, the latest NASA Mars rover landed and the temptation to incorporate this fact was strong. A spot of research and future casting soon gave me the necessary basis to begin my little thing. 21 – HEAVY - As much as anything this piece is inspired by a short story by one of my favourite authors: Jeff Noon. His is rather out there and a delight to read. 22 – EXHIBIT - I can’t remember if it was the twisted art pieces or the weapons the artist was found with that first inspired this piece. Let’s say both shall we. 23 – BLOCK – Working with the inspiration of the 105

world of Judge Dredd and Mega-City One and a smattering of research I was able to weave this little piece. 24 – SHIVER – It was never, ever going to be a horror story. I’m too big a scaredy-cat to do anything along those lines. So I went with “shiver of excitement” instead. 25 - EXTEND - This came to me line by line, similar to “IDEAL” but with placards instead of voices I suppose. 26 – OLD – Another one of my “mundane tales in a fantastical setting”. 27 – IF – The 1968 film “If....” directed by Lindsay Anderson is my all time favourite film. This is also the second of the stories I took a “run-up” to before writing, mainly to try and not just write the plot of the film. I think I just about managed it. 28 – BREAK – After a bit of consideration just a simple story about breakfast, nothing more.

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