Tuesday 31 March 2015

Worlds



The hall is astoundingly huge - a polyhedron of impossible dimensions formed of some sort of semi-transparent crystal.  Through the glass-like surfaces stars and galaxies wheel in a spectrum of incandescence... and every surface is covered in doors.  Wooden doors and metal doors, opaque glass doors and even some stone doors.  There is no clue to where they might lead, no marking or symbol upon them.  There is no guide in the hall, nothing but vast empty space between them.  It is not until you find the key that you notice the key-holes...
But which door to use the key on?
You walk to a stone door and peer through.  Beyond is a planet of orange and red swirling clouds, its moons slowly spinning around one another.  You look through the next door, black glass, and see a rocky, lifeless world, cratered and grey.  You walk a few paces before seeing what lies behind a wooden door - this one is a bright mass of blue and green with rings encircling its waist.
Each door you look through shows you a new world.  Some you know are not places you should go - whether they are meant for others or no one you can't tell, but you are certain they are not meant for you.  With others the only thing that stops you from turning the key in the lock and stepping through there and then is the niggling feeling that another door might hold a better world - might be a better match.
You walk and walk and look and look, telling yourself that when you see your world, the path that was meant for you, you'll know, and then, and only then will you use the key.
But you're never certain.  There are too many doors to see them all - and you know that by the time you have walked the length of the hall you would have forgotten what you had seen at the start anyway. You stop and look back and forth, trying to decide on how many more doors you should look through until you choose.
You know that whichever you do choose, you will always wonder what lay beyond a different door.
But still, better to see a world in all its glory and life and magnificence than to always stand on the edge...
Time to make the choice.  

Monday 30 March 2015

Abracadabra!



Bob was a wizard.  He lived in a tower which you could only reach by crossing the swampy forest.  It made getting the groceries a little inconvenient, but he never lacked for leeches or toads for his spells.  Now and then he would get visitors - Knights asking for magic swords, Peasants asking for potions, and sometimes even Kings asking for counsel.  Most of the time what he gave them was common sense advice instead, but as long as he made some sparks puff from the end of his staff and his voice boom, they would go away happy.  Some of them even took the advice, too.
One day he was sitting in his tower when there was a thump thump thump at the door.  He glanced out of the window to see who his guest was (it always impressed if he could greet them by name) but he could only see a little girl.
A peasant come for a potion, no doubt, he thought.  He scanned his shelf of ready made concoctions - mostly healing potions - and satisfied he probably had what she wanted, swept on his starry robe, grabbed his staff and made his way down the spirally stairs.
He swung the door open dramatically and in his deep grand voice said:
"Welcome little girl!  I am Robert the Remarkable!  Keeper of the tower and magical secrets!  For what do you seek me out today?"
The girl stared up at him, her eyes as big a saucers, a wooden walking stick clutched to her chest.  For a moment Bob thought that maybe he'd overdone his greeting and frightened her into silence - she was very small.  But no, suddenly her face lit up into the biggest grin he had ever seen.
"Wow that was great!" she bounced up and down, then her face went serious again and she cleared her throat.  When next she spoke, she was attempting to put on a deep booming voice.  "My name is Emily the Extraordinary!  I have come to be your apprentice!"
"You what?" Bob said, forgetting to make his voice deep or booming.
"I brought my own staff and everything!"  She held up the walking stick proudly.
"Oh.  Um, well aren't you a little young to be a wizard's apprentice?" he asked gently.
"No.  My Mum said I could."
"Where's your Mum now?"  He looked around, expecting to see a woman on the path from the forest - perhaps the girl had ran ahead.
"At home," she replied.
"You walked through the swampy forest yourself?  Don't you know that's dangerous?!" Bob was amazed that she hadn't gotten eaten by a crocodile - or worse.
"It's ok, I already know a spell."  She grinned proudly.  "I used it if I met anyone, to protect myself, just like Mum said."
"Really?"  Bob was impressed, despite knowing he ought to take her straight back home.  "Which spell?"
He wasn't ready for it, else maybe he could have stopped her.  He was expecting her to create some kind of shield, or a smoke screen or something.
"FROGGUS CROAKUS!" the girl yelled, pointing her walking stick at him.
"Noo-ibbit!" Bob shouted.  She turned me into a frog!  "Ribbit!  Turn me back!"
"Oh," Emily looked down at him.  "I don't know that one."
As soon as she'd finished speaking a dozen frogs hopped out of the forest, along the path to the tower, to his front door.
"There she is!" one of them croaked.  "Turn us back!  Or we'll tell the wizard that lives here what you've done!"
Well, thought Bob, this is going to be embarrassing when they realise who I am.

Thursday 26 March 2015

Camping






The man from the city read a book on camping.  It told him what he would need; tent, stove, USB solar charger (to make sure your phone was charged - mustn't forget your phone), pots and pans, spork, boil in the bag meals, energy bars, water bottle, sleeping bag, canvas trousers that zip off at the knees, a shirt, a waterproof jacket and a fleece, hat, walking stick (come in a range of colours), hiking boots, thick socks, compass, first aid kit, torch, whistle... the list went on and on.  He considered it carefully and went to the camping shop where he bought the best quality two-man tent (this one wouldn't even get blown away in a hurricane! the salesman claimed), clothes and a gas stove, cooking pots (specifically for the gas stove), eating utensils and a selection of silver foil vacuum packed meals.  He chose a blue walking stick, and ended up buying two, because the salesman insisted two was better.  He got the charger and the torch and the whistle, maps and a guide book.
Finally he was ready to go.  He drove to the campsite, pitched his tent, and chatted to the other campers - compared walking sticks and solar chargers, then phones.  He enjoyed discussing their cars, parked in the carpark, and which did the most miles to the gallon.  They ate the boil-in-the-bag curries, but didn't really enjoy them.  Still that was part of camping.  He used his twin walking sticks to hike around the marked trail through the wood, while chatting on the phone to his brother about being in the wilderness... oh and had he played that new video game set in a forest yet?
When the man went home, he was satisfied.  He had done camping properly, just like the book had told him to do.

A man from the city decided to go camping.  His cousin had an old tent he could borrow, so he shoved a few things he thought he might need into a backpack and set out.  He found a good place to pitch his tent in the campsite, and collected some sticks to build a fire.  He chatted to the other campers about different places they had been, mountains and lakes and valleys that he should visit.  One of them showed him how to catch fish from the river and which plants you could eat, and they baked the fish and the tubers in the fire.  They were delicious.  Afterwards the man shared a bag of marshmallows, which they toasted over the fire on green twigs.  The next day they went walking.  The man found a sturdy stick to use as a walking stick, and one of the other campers explained how he could even carve it and keep it as a memento of his trip.  He saw birds and animals scurrying across their path, and that night he looked up and saw the stars for the first time.  When the man went home he was satisfied.  He had done camping properly, he felt it in his bones.

Wednesday 25 March 2015

Coming Home





It's been a long time.  Six years, nine months, and four days.  I've marched through jungles and deserts, I met the enemy in forests and towns.  Rain swirled with fire, dust blew with ash.  I forgot what life was before.  I tried to remember sunny days by the coast, the sun, the sand the waves, but all I could see when I closed my eyes was the baking stretches of desert and the crash of shells and mortars.  I tried to imagine my family - my children, what would they look like now?  I couldn't conjure it - they are still babies in my mind.
But now they tell us that the war is over.  We no longer have to fight - we can go home.  They loaded us onto ships and we spent long weeks on the ocean.  Every unfamiliar bang or creak had us panicking and reaching for our rifles - but no, we no longer needed them.  Finally we were free once more.  We spoke of our dreams.  Friends I had known for half a decade spoke of farming and gardens, flowers and walks in the country with such life and enthusiasm... we spoke of a paradise.  No war, no fear, no death, just families laughing, roses at the door, bread on the table.
But it seems the war didn't just happen overseas.
My family are tired-eyed and fearful.  My children hide from me - the stranger that has come home.  They live in canvas now, and their rations are worse than what we were fed on the march.  The townsfolk have hollow eyes and thin faces.  There is no laughter.  We take a walk through the old village, up the lane where we would walk holding hands and picking blackberries in the sun.
I stand before my home, an empty shell of blackened brick and shattered glass.

Tuesday 24 March 2015

Blogspart



"The thing about learning to fly a spaceship is there is no "up" in the conventional sense... however... things can still be above you," the instructor pointed out with tired patience.
"Yeah, uh sorry about that.  I didn't see him," the student fidgeted in the pilot's chair, making the old leather creak.
"No need to apologise to me," the instructor replied.  "I have insurance."  He glanced up at the huge freighter that they had become entangled with.
"The question is, do they?"
"They're bound to, right?  I mean, a ship that size..."
"That's a Blogspart ship."
"Oh.  I've never met a Blogspart.  But I've heard that they're rich right...?  There's not much damage... maybe-"
There was a echoing knock on the airlock.  Both instructor and student glanced back over their shoulder.
"I hope you know how to fight better than you know how to steer."
"...fight?"
"The Blogspart aren't known for talking."  The instructor got up and went to the airlock control.
"You're not going to let it in?!" the student wailed.
"Prepare yourself."
He pressed the green panel, and the airlock opened.  A tiny alien, not more than a foot tall, waddled onto the ship.
"I just wanted to let you know, the antenna on your ship snapped off.  We can fix that if you like?"
"Oh that would be very kind of you.  We'll pay for the damage, of course."
"No need, no need.  It's just a scratch.  Well, good luck with your lessons.  Don't forget to look up next time!"  The alien waved at the student and then waddled off, back out the airlock.
"I thought you said that we'd need to fight?" the student asked, once the Blogspart was gone.
"Got them mixed up with the Blagsport," his instructor shrugged.  "Blogspart are lovely."
It didn't take long for the Blogspart to fix the antenna and untangle the two ships.
"Now, take us out of the port."
The student nodded and hit the upper thrusters.  The ship lurched downwards and banged into a skiff.
"Oops."
"Oh," his instructor said.  "That's a Blagsport ship."

Monday 23 March 2015

The Book of Directions




The book is older than it looks.  The leather is still supple, the gold embossed on the cover still bright.  "The book of Directions" is written above a symbol - arrows spreading out in a star.  You flip it open on a random page.  There is an arrow pointing down the centre of the page, in solid black ink.  Around it, the text is handwritten, but as clear as print.  It says only three words:  "You are here."

Thursday 19 March 2015

Mystery at the Blackfield estate.





They gathered in what had once been the small hall of the castle - now a lavish sitting room.  The famous detective, Robert Milton, stood in front of the huge fireplace, waiting for the guests to assemble.  They drifted in, in ones and twos, sitting in the massive floral armchairs.  All of them seemed at ease, not betraying even the slightest hint that they had anything to hide.  Lady Woodhall even called out for brandy, and a few snifters were passed around, as if it were any normal gathering.
"You all know why we're here," the detective started, giving each equal measure with his gaze.  "The murder of Lord Blackfield took place in this very room."
"We're aware, old chap.  Who didn't hear him scream that night?"  Langton grinned at the other guests assembled.
"Yes... and perhaps you heard him best of all Horatio Langton.  The rope marks around his neck suggest someone with great strength pulled that noose tight..."
"I didn't like the old fool, but neither did I kill him.  I told you before, I was in my bathroom, having a shave when I heard the cry.  Why, I'd only just washed off the last of the foam, I came down in my vest to see what had happened!"
"So you say, but who shaves at eleven in the morning?" the detective shrugged dramatically.
"I hadn't long been up and thought I should make myself presentable for dinner."  Langton frowned in annoyance.  Milton nodded slowly.
"As it happens, Mr Langton here is telling the truth."
"But he's the only one strong enough to have choked the old boar."  Miss Quincy protested.
"So the killer wants us to think.  But, there is one thing that all of you have agreed on, without a doubt: You all heard Lord Blackfield scream.  I ask you, Miss Quincy, how did he scream if he was being choked?"
Miss Quincy shifted uncomfortably.
"And is it not a fact, that you, Miss Quincy, were the female junior weightlifting champion only five years ago?"
"But I haven't lifted weights for two years, due to an injury!"
"So you would have us believe.  But I saw you lifting that cast-iron pot yesterday, and I realised that you are only pretending that your injury has prevented you from lifting.  You're stronger than you look."
Miss Quincy turned red and looked away.
"However... you were only trying to hide that fact from... Colonel Ryers.  You liked him and he had expressed how he liked "pretty little delicate things" and you, in your foolishness had tried to hide who you were to impress him."
Colonel Ryers looked over at Miss Quincy in shock.
"Is this true Nanette?"
"It is," she sighed.
"You can lift?  That's damned impressive," the Colonel grinned.  "Damned impressive - I should like to see that."
"Really?"
"Really.  Oh Nanette - you should have told me!  I love you!"
"Oh Antony!  I love you too!"
"It is well then, that the Colonel is not the killer, I should hate to have to separate you when you have just found each other," Milton smiled gently.
"Enough of this old boy!  Tell us, who killed Lord Blackfield!"  Lord Tatham cried.
"I would not have thought you so impatient for the killer to be revealed... Lord Tatham.  For it was your very own lady wife!"  The detective rounded on Lady Tatham, who had remained quiet until now, and she nearly choked on her brandy.
"Me?  You are quite mistaken!"
"No mistake, madam.  You are the killer!"  The detective started to pace in front of the fire.  "You see, the thing that I couldn't understand about Lord Blackfield's death was why he had a theater mask in his hand?  He was no actor, or collector of memorabilia such as this.  But he was a skilled evaluator - he knew the worth of a range of old pieces.  You, Lady Tatham, worked in the theater as a girl, before you married Lord Tatham - and you knew the tricks of the stage!"
"This is absurd!"
"Is it?  Think on this - the mask was an exact replica of the Mask of Hiburn, a valuable piece that went missing over thirty years ago.  This one was worthless, but to the untrained eye.... well only an expert would be able to tell it wasn't the real thing.  An expert like Lord Blackfield.  You had hoped to sell the mask to relieve the pressure on your accounts - oh yes, I know of Lord Tatham's financial troubles!  However Lord Blackfield saw the mask and recognising it, asked for a closer look.  How could you deny him?  He was your host and if you had said no, he would have doubted its Genuineness.  However, if he looked at the mask he would also know it to be a fake.  What to do?  You did the only thing you could do - you painted the inside of the mask with a poison, so clever, that when he touched it he would be overcome - you had hoped it would look like a heart attack."  He raised a finger, captivating the audience.
"But!  You didn't account for the pain - oh yes this poison is deadly - but it takes time to work.  Time enough that Lord Blackfield would have been able to cry out.  One scream was enough - you knew you had to keep him quiet.  You grabbed the curtain rope and put it around his neck to cut off his screams.  No doubt you wouldn't have had the strength to choke him if he had been able to fight back, but he was weak from the poison.  You were able to hold him there in silence while he died.  When you removed the rope you saw the burns to his neck; an unintended effect, but one that you were quite pleased would throw everyone off your trail."
"Margret!" Lord Tatham gasped, "Is this true?"
"Yes it is!" Lady Tatham stood, the meek veil removed to reveal her in her unrepentant glory.  "I did it for us William!  Can't you see?  We would have lost everything."
"Oh Margret..." Lord Tatham shook his head sadly.
"Sargent."  Milton nodded to the bobby lurking in the back of the room, and he stepped forward to escort Lady Tatham away.
"Bravo, Mr. Milton," Lady Tatham applauded as she retreated from the room.  "Another case solved."
Milton bowed.

Wednesday 18 March 2015

Guard Duty


The problem with guarding the Fountain of Youth was that it was just so boring.  All it did was sit there, and all Fred did was sit there too.  It had been interesting when he'd first arrived, all exotic and scenic.  But now that the standard metal fences had gone up, and the standard booth had been installed, it had lost that mystic charm and been reduced to just another attraction to be watched overnight.  Fred stretched and flicked his gaze over the CCTV monitors in the booth.  They showed the same as they had ten minutes ago, and the same as they had yesterday, and the same as they had the month before and for the past year.  Boring.
But wait!  A jeep, approaching from the south...
He leaned forward and watched it trundle up the road towards his booth.  It stopped just around the corner.
"Oh come on, stop arguing about whether it's a good idea or not and come try and talk me into letting you in."
Finally the jeep set off again, and he looked up to see headlights rounding the corner.  With a grin on his face he straightened his tie, checked his weapon holster and clicked on his torch.  He then stepped out of the booth and waved the jeep to stop.
A young woman wound down the driver-side window.
"Oh hello," she said, flustered.
"Can I help you miss?" Fred replied with his sternest expression, while flashing the torch into the faces of the car's occupants.  Three women, all in their early twenties.
"Oh erm, well, we were just wondering if you'd let us in to see the fountain?"  She gave her best smile, although it didn't reach her eyes.
"No."
"Oh well, uh, ok, sorry to bother you."  She started to wind the window back up.
"Now, wait just a minute!" Fred stopped her in her tracks.
"Yes, sir?"  The woman's eyes had grown wide and fearful.
"That's all you're going to try to get in?  Ask me nicely?  Come on.  There's three of you.  Maybe you could try to rush me, tie me up and steal my keycard, eh?"
"What?"
"No?  Well how about I pretend to be asleep?  You can get in and then I can stop you once you're inside the fence... be all like, "FREEZE OR I'LL SHOOT!""
"We don't want any trouble..." the woman quickly started to wind the window shut again.
"How far did you travel to get here tonight?  Don't give up so easily!  I'll give you a good head start!"
The woman slammed the jeep into reverse and roared backwards, away from Fred, then performed an excellent J-turn, and careered around the corner and out of sight.
Fred watched them go with a chuckle, then returned to his booth, put his feet up and pulled his cap down, and went to sleep, same as he did every night.





Tuesday 17 March 2015

The most obvious explanation is usually the right one.




"Observe."  Fredric Longton held out a compass on the palm of his hand.  The needle swung around, appearing as if it were going to settle at the magnetic north, as it should, but then started to speed up again, and swung wildly from side to side.
"Something is interfering with it."  Roger Greene, self-proclaimed local expert on the scientific wonders of Derbyshire, looked around.  There wasn't anything obvious that would do such a thing. The teashop was set at the edge of the valley walk, well away from any other buildings or machinery - and it didn't even have electric lights yet.  He walked a circuit of the room, stopping to study each of the sturdy wooden tables, white linen tablecloths, and floral-patterned china teacups.  "Have you bought anything new in the past few days?"
"Only the abacus."  Mr Longton nodded to the counter, where a painted abacus stood alongside the till and a display of homemade scones.
Roger nodded seriously and made his way over to it, giving it the proper consideration.  It was a completely normal abacus, wooden beads strung over a wooden frame.  He flicked one of the beads to the side and it whizzed across and knocked into the next with a resounding clack!  At Mr. Longton's irritated look, he returned the bead to its original place.
"And you say this only started two days ago?"
"Yes.  We had walkers asking us what was happening - if there was some kind of anomaly that should explain such strange behavour in their equipment."
Roger nodded slowly, his face schooled into an expression of wise consideration, as if he was turning over several possibilities.  In truth, he had no idea what was causing the strange behavour of the compass.
"You say that walkers were complaining of this when they came into the shop?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"Well then, I conclude that it's nothing in the shop itself - clearly they were experiencing the effects outside."
"But there isn't anything but grass and trees and rocks outside."
"Some rocks can give off magnetic interference," Greene insisted.
"I don't know much about science, it's true," Mr. Longton conceded.  "But don't rocks normally stay the same?  They weren't giving off any magnetic effects before."
"That is true... unless perhaps there is a new kind of natural phenomenon here that we haven't seen before..."
"Like a new rock appearing?"  Longton raised an eyebrow.
Roger could see he was losing the proprietor's respect.
"Well, let's take a look."  He strode to the door with more confidence than he felt, and stepped out into the warmth of the summer sunshine.  "Do you see anything out of place?"
Longton sighed, but cooperated, shading his eyes and scanning the horizon.
Roger did too, although he didn't know what he was looking for and was unhappily deciding that he would have to admit defeat and confess that he didn't know what was happening.
"There!" Mr. Longton suddenly called out, pointing an excited finger towards a pile of stones.  "That rock there is new!"
Although it had been his silly statement that had started it, Roger felt himself flush with annoyance.  Did Longton really expect him to believe a rock had just "appeared"?  Especially one the size that he was pointing out.  He judged it would have stood waist high to himself, and he was not a short man.  Just as he was about to give Longton a piece of his mind about mocking him, the rock lurched.
"Goodness, did you see that?!" the Proprietor exclaimed.
"Did it move?"  Greene frowned, squinting against the sun.
Again the rock lurched, and then slowly hovered upwards.  The two men watched in astonishment as it rose higher and higher, and then suddenly whisked away, speeding through the clear sky until it was no more than a speck in the distance.
"Well," Greene said, with an air of authority.  "Well, that explains that.  Shall we have a cup of tea?"

 

Monday 16 March 2015

Like


The sky is an endless blue, streaked with the vapour trails of sleek white aircraft.  The sea laps gently against the shore, small foamy wavelets darkening the golden sands.  The trees sway gently in the soft breeze, and the colourful birds sing piping tunes.  A turtle, one of the last of her kind, pulls herself from the breakers and starts her long journey up the beach.  She makes the slightest of noises while she digs a hole with her flippers, flicking sand in shimmery arcs.  Once her eggs have been laid, she covers them and returns to the sea.  You don't see any of this.  You're too busy, checking your phone to see if anyone else has seen anything interesting today.

 

Thursday 12 March 2015

Who?


"Where does the monster live?"
"I saw him go in that cave."
"Why does the monster roar?"
"That's just how monsters behave."
"What does the monster eat?"
"Honey and berries and fish."
"How does the monster fish?"
"A strike of the paw and a wish."
"Who is that person there?"
"The one all covered in hair?"
"With the big sharp teeth...yeah."
"Oh, don't worry that's not a monster, that's just a bear."
"Bear?"
"Bear."
"RUN!"

Wednesday 11 March 2015

Bridge


If you looked closely, you could still see the shape of the bridge, as it had once been.  Over a hundred years ago, someone had looked upon this very same river, and devised a plan both practical and elegant to span the flow.  In those days, the details had been as carefully thought out as the structure; a wrought iron swirl here, a flower there, to blend the work into the landscape, to bring as much pleasure to look upon it as to walk over it.  The iron groaned again.  The red and white warning tape fluttered in the wind, its flimsy line holding back a crowd of curious onlookers.  Like a huge animal that had been infested with parasites, the bridge was now covered in padlocks.  All shapes and sizes and colours clung to its old black iron, and when they had run out of room on its flanks, they had started on each other, layer upon layer of bulbous metal ticks.  It was not picturesque here anymore.  There was no graceful arch, no people ambling along in the sunshine.  There was only the sad moans of the old creature in its death throes.  They hadn't meant to destroy it.  Just to leave a mark.  But now that special place, that graceful walk over the river was gone.

Tuesday 10 March 2015

If wishes were horses...


"The Peppermill wishing fountain," Karen swept her hand dramatically in the direction of a rather small fountain in the courtyard of the old castle.  She was reading from the little glossy guide book - £2 from the gift shop.  "Legend says that if you drop an offering into the fountain, the fountain will grant you a wish to do with that item.  One story from 1605 tells of a young kitchen boy who dropped a bridle in the fountain and made a wish, and went on to become a knight who owned the best horse in the land."
Lauren wrinkled her brow thoughtfully.
"I wonder... if I dropped a tyre in there, would I get a Ferrari?"
"You'd probably get thrown out of the castle," Karen chuckled.  "It seems most people toss a coin in - look."  She pointed at the coppery layer of glittering discs at the fountain's base.
Lauren fished in her pockets.
"I don't have a coin," she sighed with disappointment.  "But..." She fished her phone out of her pocket.  "I could use a new phone."
"Oh, come on," Karen snorted.  "You're not going to throw your phone in there."
Lauren gave her old brick of a phone a long, pondering glance, and then tossed it into the water.
Plop!
It quickly sank to the bottom and settled among the pennies.
"I can't believe you just did that!" Karen gasped.  "Quick, fish it out, it might still work!"
"Wait, we have to give the fountain time to work!" Lauren insisted, holding her friend back.
Suddenly the phone started to ring, vibrating across the floor of the pool, and sending little bubbles to the surface.
Lauren glanced at Karen in surprise, then dipped her hand into the icy water and snatched the phone out, trailing a stream of little droplets as it came.  She hit the answer button and gingerly put the damp phone near her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello Lauren Prince?" a cheerful voice asked in staticy tones.
"...yes..."
"This is Linda from the Phone Company.  Congratulations!  We're ringing to tell you that you're our lucky raffle winner this month and you've just won a state-of-the-art smart phone.  We'll be posting it to you by courier, and it should arrive in the next couple of days."
"Oh wow, thanks!"
"Have a nice day, Miss Prince!"
"Thanks, I will - bye!"  Lauren hung up.  "I don't believe it!"
"Who was that?" Karen asked
"I just won a new phone."
Karen stared at her for a few moments.
"Let's get a tyre."
Lauren nodded and they both hurried away, back towards the carpark.

Monday 9 March 2015

Diary





The diary is bound in crusty leather, stiff and cracked with age.  A tiny lock still hangs on the clasp, although rust has eaten through the metal to the point that the book falls open when you pick it up.  You wonder who left it here, in the attic?  The previous owners perhaps?  You carefully turn to the front to see if there is a name, or something to identify the owner.  The ink, once black, has faded to a rusty brown.
You frown.  It's your own name.  What are the odds that someone who had lived here before had the same name as you?  That's funny.  You intend to put it down, maybe ring the previous owners of the house to see if they know who it belongs to, but you just have to peek at the first page.  It's dated 1785, and reads "I know you won't believe it yet, but yes, that is your name.  Yours.  I am you.  I was you.  Please, read on.  These are the things you'll need to know - the mistakes I've made, which you can fix."
You snap the diary shut with a shake of your head.  As if you'd fall for a joke as silly as that.  You put the diary to one side, and carry on clearing out the attic.

Friday 6 March 2015

Looking for Direction




The tree is old.  Its thick, gnarled trunk and heavy boughs twist up and tower over and around you, blotting out the sky, the land, the river.  There is only the tree.  Its leaves are smooth and oval, tapering to a neat sharp point.  You reach out, running your fingers along one of the branches, feeling the rough ridges and rises of the bark.  You reach a cluster of leaves and spying a large, even blade you pluck it.  The leaf is silky smooth and soft, almost warm to the touch.  As you watch, the veins of the leaf begin to glow, spreading a yellow-green fluorescence along its length, and then splashing out onto its surface, until it is blazing with light.
You hold out your palm, and the leaf spins upwards, you can feel the air tickling your skin as it turns and turns... then it stops, pointing the way forward.  You note the direction, and gently take the leaf in your hand once more.  You say thank you to the tree for its gift, and bid it farewell, as you take the first step on your journey.

Thursday 5 March 2015

Stunning Views and a Prime Location




I was walking through the fields one day when I heard a huffing and puffing growing closer and closer, like someone had been running so hard they could barely catch their breath.
"Hello?" I called out, although I couldn't see anyone.  "Are you alright?"
The sound stopped but a few paces from me.  I was curious, and a little concerned now I couldn't hear the breath - what if the fellow had fainted or worse?  I made my way forward through the long grass towards the hedge, when:
"Ooof!"
I had stepped into someone, although I couldn't see them!
"Mind where you're going!" a voice cried out angrily.
"I... I can't see you!" I replied, more puzzled than afraid now.
All of a sudden a troll popped into view.  He was no higher than my waist, with a big nose and horns and massive feet, one of which he was hopping on, whilst rubbing the other. (Apparently I had stepped on it.)
"Oh my!" I exclaimed.  "I'm terribly sorry."
"Yes well, you humans are always tromping everywhere.  Stomp stomp, over my bridge, over my foot!" he mumbled crossly.
"I thought that was goats..." I ventured.
"Goats?  Why would goats build bridges?" he frowned.  "Anyway, I must hurry, I have a long way to go."
"Back to your bridge?"
"No, I'm moving."  He scooped up a stick, on the end of which was a loaded knotted hankerchief, and slung it over his shoulder.  "I want to upgrade - bigger bridge, quieter location."  He pointed behind me.
I turned and followed his point.
"I can't see a bridge.  I'm not even sure there are any rivers near here..."
"I'm not going for a river bridge.  I'm going to live under that bridge."
I looked again, and realised he was pointing into the sky.  A rainbow arced across a stormy grey, its colours bright and strong in the sunlight.
"The rainbow?"
"Yes.  But I have to hurry if I'm going to catch it.  Mind where you walk in future!"
And with that he was off again, flapping those big feet and huffing and puffing his way across the field, chasing the rainbow.  I often wonder now if the little troll made it to his new bridge, or if he's still running about trying to catch up with it.  Still, there are worse things to do than chase rainbows.

Wednesday 4 March 2015

The Whole Wide World



Buzz had explored the whole world.  She knew every nook and cranny.  The world was hexagonal and waxy, and full of others like her.  There were tasks to do which took her from one end of the world to the other - young to look after, cells to build, cells to repair...
One day Buzz was recruited for a task she'd never done before - she was to help one of the older bees, called Zip.  Zip would fetch the nectar and Buzz would transport it into the inner chambers of the world.
"Where do you get the nectar from?" Buzz asked as she followed Zip up to the top of the world.
"From outside," Zip replied.
"Outside?"  Buzz was confused.  Outside where?
Then she saw the other world.  Her own world became tiny, almost insignificant, even though it had been all she had ever known or needed.  She was almost overwhelmed at the size, the strange shapes, the colours!  Zip seemed not to notice, and zipped off to collect some pollen.

Over the following days Buzz helped Zip, collecting the pollen and nectar as the older bee landed, and transporting it down into her world.  She felt safe back down in the familiar sanctuary, but she also felt the urge to follow Zip growing.  It took her by surprise when it happened.  One moment she was sitting at the edge of the world, the next she had leapt into the air and was skimming away into the beyond.  As soon as she realised what she was doing, she turned back.  But now that the first step had been taken, she found herself doing it over and over, flying further and further from the others.
Zip showed her were to find the pollen and nectar.  Buzz could have never imagined such beauty!
These storehouses of food were bright and patterned and soft beneath her feet.  With each flight her world grew, but so did the sense of importance of the world which she had left behind.  Each time she returned and passed the pollen she had collected to a younger bee, she knew without a doubt that small though her world had been, it had to be protected at all costs.

The days wore on and she became comfortable, and found the edges of her new world.  Great blue swaths of water surrounded it, extending on to forever.
She felt wise now that she knew how big the world really was, and whenever she returned to her home she would smile knowingly at the younger bees as they peered out in awe from their little nest.
Age crept up on her, but she was content, knowing she had seen all there was to see and done all there was to do.  She had explored the whole world.

Finally a day came when she knew that soon the flowers would go and the bees would have to hide in their nest from the cold.  She climbed to the top of a tree and looked out across the world, admiring the view before she would have to retreat away from it once more - when she noticed a curious sight, one she had never seen before.
She thought she had seen movement in the water past the edge of the world - a flash of silver.
Yes - there it was again!
"Could it be?" she wondered aloud to herself in her excitement and fear, "Could it be, that there is another world beyond this one?"
She looked back.  The sun was setting, she should return to the nest.  But she had to know, the urge was too strong.  She took to the sky and flew, flew over meadow and flower and tree, flew over stream and cliff and sand... and beyond the edge of the world.


Tuesday 3 March 2015

Parachute



"Hello?  Is this Parachute Training Inc?"
"Yes sir.  Are you looking to book a jump?"
"No, no.  I can't say I've ever fancied parachuting.  No head for heights, really, and well.... oh god, the trees are so tiny!"
"Oh, perhaps you'd like to book a gift for a friend?"
"Ah, no.  All my friends CRRRRUUSHHHHHpop on the ground."
"I think we lost the signal for a moment there - there's a lot of noise.  I didn't quite hear that last part."
"Oh I just CRHHSSSSSHHHH not my friends I'm ringing for.  It's me."
"But I thought you said you didn't want to book a jump?"
"I don't CCRRRUUSHHHHHHH"
"Sorry sir, you keep breaking up.  Are you in a car?"
"A plane actually, and that's what I'm ringing about.  I'm a bit pushed for time and I wondered if you could explain to me how to use a parachute?"

Monday 2 March 2015

Home




Jenny pressed her nose against the glass.  Her breath steamed up the panel, and hazed the view below her.
"Earth!" she gasped.
Her mother, Erin, nodded, and gently pulled her a step back from the window.
"You see there?"  Erin placed a finger on the glass, her pad all but obscuring the green island.  "That's where I was born."
"Really?"  Jenny's eyes were wide.  "It's beautiful!"
"It is," Erin agreed softly.
"Can we go see?" Jenny asked eagerly.
"No," her mother sighed.  "It's all locked up now.  No one can go to Earth anymore.  We can only look from here."
"But it's your home isn't it?"
"Yes."  Erin took a step forward - her turn to lean against the glass.  She pretended to look more closely, but really she just didn't want Jenny to see her cry.  The girl was too young to understand.  I'll never be able to go home.