Number 95 Hawthorn Drive

By Bob French

At the far end of Hawthorn Drive sat an old stone cottage; number 95.  The cottages around it had all been purchased by YUPYs and torn down and replaced with smart town houses.  The land upon which the old stone cottage sat was surrounded by idyllic ancient oak trees and wrapped in climbing ivy. For more than sixty years it had been the home of Mary Duval, a gentle widow whose only wealth was the cottage she loved and the memories it held. After her husband had not come home from the war, she was left with bringing up her son who was now the manager of a city bank.

        One autumn afternoon, a young couple arrived claiming to be sent by the council. With convincing smiles and forged documents, they told Mary that the cottage was dangerously unstable and would soon be condemned. Frightened and confused, the elderly woman believed every word. They offered to buy the property immediately, promising enough money to help her live comfortably for the rest of her days. They even allowed her to remain in her cottage until the deeds were signed.  This kindness clinched the deal. 

        Desperate and trusting, Mary accepted a small deposit, while the couple assured her that once the bank had confirmed the deal, the balance would be paid to her within a month. Feeling unsure, she wrote to her son and explained what had happened, but heard nothing.

        The payment never came.

        By the time Mary realised she had been deceived, the couple had legally changed the deeds into their own names and disappeared behind expensive solicitors. She remained in her beloved cottage until early winter had set in.  Then on the 10^th of November, storms and high winds hit the region causing much structural damage.  Mary knew from past experience that her little cottage would easily survive the storms, so she remained in her comfortable parlour; refusing to leave.  As the howling of the storm raged outside, Mary sat and took stock of her situation.  She knew she was frail and was about to become homeless.  Heartbroken, and too frail to fight, the establishment, she wrapped her shawl around herself and quietly passed away.

        The young couple celebrated their good fortune in secret, not wishing to let on how they had tricked Mary.  Within a few weeks, they had arranged a loan from the bank, increased their mortgage and quickly moved to have their newly acquired property torn down and a new town house built on the same lines as those around them.

        Within a week things started to change, much to their surprise. The bank were questioning the legality of the paperwork regarding the sale and the manager of the mortgage lender firm wanted to speak to them urgently.  The couple realised that any plans to demolish the old cottage would have to wait until all the paperwork had been sorted, so they moved into the old stone cottage. 

        On the first night the couple were woken by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. The second night, the kitchen window was opened, causing a cold draft to rush throughout the cottage.  The couple decided to tough it out claiming that these old cottages moved with the heat and cold.  Then on the weekend, a door slammed and when the couple went to investigate, they heard the ghostly sound of Mary’s voice whaling throughout the cottage.

        “You will never live in my cottage.” 

        This appeared to be the last straw for the couple.  In the morning after a sleepless night, someone rang their front door bell.  When they opened the door, they were met by a tall gentleman in a smart suit.

        “Good morning. I have an order from the Bailiff’s Court.” and held out the envelope. “Consider yourselves to have been served. Good day.” A left without another word.

        By mid-day the bank had called and informed the couple that their loan had been refused on the grounds that there were some inaccuracies in their application.  They were now completely penniless. The manager took pity on them and agreed to allow them to stay in the cottage until they got their affairs in order. In the late afternoon they discovered that their electricity had been cut off.  As they sat in the darkness, the haunting sound of Mary’s voice crept through the cottage again causing the couple to break into screams and tears of fright. 

        They managed to stay in the cottage for another two days, then they cracked. The people who lived next door to them called the police after hearing screams and thought that a domestic disturbance was taking place.  The police didn’t waste their time and called the local doctor, who after listening to their gibbering account about the cottage being haunted, approached the NHS regarding temporary custody in the nearest mental institute.

         James, the son of Mary was a senior bank manager in the city.  He was also a member of the Territorial Army and held the appointment of Commanding Officer of the Special Signals Detachment. After he had heard that the couple who had caused the death of his mother had been removed from the scene, he called his son.

        William, it’s Dad.  Are you still interested in living in Grandma’s little cottage?”

        “Yes please Dad.”

        “Good. Can you contact Sergeant Phillips and ask if he can pop down to the cottage and remove the hidden cameras and bugs, including the piped voices.

Copyright Bob French

 

The Family Trip & Memories

 The Family Trip

Marion Anthony

The car is packed and ready to go

Loaded with toys, baby food, bottles and baby grows;

For we are going to visit grandparents and stay overnight

Come on we said As the time is getting tight;

In urgency we rushed out of the door, eager to get on the road;

After traveling for a while, there’s a jolt, the car suddenly stops;

We look at each other in horror and shock

Oh No!  There’s something we’ve forgotten…

THE BABY!

Copyright Marion Anthony

 

 

Memories...

Marion Anthony

    I am drinking tea with my dad. Someone I have looked up to all my life. An engineer, he had a workshop in the garden where he made, repaired and sometimes invented things.

 If he was using sharp tools my sister Karen and I would stand at the open door to watch.

He would describe what he was making. I learned a lot. He would sing silly songs and tell jokes as we stood watching.

He was entertaining and fun. When I was very small he made a box on wheels that he attached to his bicycle so I could accompany him on rides down country lanes.

He would tell me the names of trees and birds as we went. Later he made us a tree house with a little ladder and a basket on a rope so

we could haul a picnic up to the platform. At the seaside he created such wonderful intricate sand castles all the children nearby would come and watch and admire.

I was so proud to have such a clever dad. He helped with school homework, giving me confidence. Just like him I loved to learn.

He and Mum proudly drove me to Uni and I was thrilled to be going.

  When mum got cancer, dad took early retirement and saw her through many successful treatment. At dad’s suggestion they celebrated by traveling through Europe in a camper van.

------

 ‘How long will your mum be do you think,’ He asks, ‘is she shopping?’

     Mum’s cancer returned. She died four years ago. Dad now 73, was a clever man, diagnosed with Alzheimer’s two years ago.

He is in rapid decline and gets distressed if we tell him his beloved

wife has died. He goes out looking for her. It’s so heartbreaking…

 

Copyright Marion Anthony

 CONSCIENCE

Peter Woodgate

One day God spoke to me

And I could clearly see,

Not outwardly, but deep within my soul.

My transgressions were laid bare,

As if for all to share

And confessing every sin was now my goal.

Oh, I had this strange belief

Almighty God was real, my chief,

And all before my eyes revealing him.

So, I trod religious routes

Wearing out so many boots

On the path to rid myself of every sin

But each denomination entered

Had a schism, was self-centred

And I questioned why these factions should occur,

Surely, He, who fashioned all,

Should have the final call

And faith not for diversity to stir,

Mankind, acutely flawed

Cannot be guided or assured

By a God that seems imperfect just like me.

It appears that god allows

So much pain on beaten brows

With death, destruction, grief, for all to see.

My blind faith has faded fast

And I fear it will not last,

Yet conversely, I see things that make me wonder,

The detailed structure and design

Of each creature down the line

A rainbow, lightning and almighty thunder.

I can’t believe it’s all by chance

That this earth has learnt to dance

Our existence then is open to suggestions.

If it’s true, God is our maker

And I should meet him at the crater

Then I'll beg answers to so many questions.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 Sandcastles in the Sky

Jane Goodhew

Sandcastles in the sky reminiscent of times spent with you

Staring at the stars and dreaming of

When we were young and swam in the sea

Then found a bucket and spade and made a castle for two

Just me and you

A moat surrounded it to keep us safe

Which filled with water from the sea

Pretty shells decorated the walls

We pretended to climb up to the turrets

And look out as far as the eye could see

For that was our land our dream

We thought it would be for ever

Our imaginary land and life by the sea

But a wave came without warning

And flattened our castle and then we heard

Our mothers call come on you two it is time for tea.

But fond memories of our sandcastle remain

Even though you now live in the sky for that was the day you died

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew

                                                              

 

Mojave Beginning ~ (Part Two)

 Mojave Beginning ~ (Part Two)

By John Abbott

Reality kicked in as Charlotte spoke to me in her soft tones.

" Mr Hireson - ten, twenty minutes maybe, OK. Would you like a drink ? "

" Yes, sure. Why not ? " She turned and my eyes caressed her buttocks. I admired her curves and thought what a shame it was that I could not really get involved. Body and looks - eight. Brain and life - probably not as much as I might hope for? I thought that I knew quite a lot about the personnel that I traveled the highways of space with. You could say, I knew all the important information about them, but even my limited experience had taught me to treat that remark with caution. One of my God-given skills was immense patience, which, coupled with intense and careful research on the net, normally gave me most of the relevant information on my fellow travelers.

And as I knew - information is power.

……………

Charlotte passed me my drink with a questioning glance. " Mr Hireson ? "

 

" Yes Miss ... Charlotte, isn't it ? " I said gently as I grasped my frosted fruit juice. I sipped from the glass and looked straight ahead into Charlotte's eyes. Name tag or no name tag, I knew more about Charlotte Fuller than she could ever have realised.

" Yes, what can I do for you Charlotte? " I asked. 

…………… 

" Well Jim ... Julius Caesar can't see a thing - it's cold, whatever it is. Bloody space junk! "

“ Shelt ... I know that you think I'm an old woman, but tell'em to go to Amber anyway. Space junk or not. we don't want it hitting us unprepared do we ? “

" No question Jim, you are an old woman ! But I'll get our customers to take some care - OK !"

" Thanks Shelt ... Standard Condition Amber - OK. "

" You got it Jim. " I said glancing yet again at my watch. I opened the channel to our passengers and put on my official captain's voice.

" Ladies and Gentlemen, we may have a minor fluctuation in our steadiness. Please proceed to Condition Amber now. Please return to your seats immediately . "

My eyes checked the instructions on my Head Up Facial Display. Each section of the lander was able to operate independently at a push - only from orbit to the lunar surface of course. My eyes blinked the relevant responses to Condition Amber :

Activate Emergency Ground Lights. Yes. Activate Independent Operation Pilots. Yes. Activate Emergency Warnings. Yes.

Activate Emergency Sealing Units. Yes. Activate Emergency Stabilisers. Yes.

Activate Radio Beacons. Yes.

Activate Emergency Extinguishers. No. 

No need to have the extinguishers in or around the Moon, any fire would be snuffed out immediately by the near-vacuum of Space. I checked our height and stability. I slowed old Lutter just a tiny bit, that should give us the manoeuvrability for any minor adjustments as we come in to Alex.

" Ladies and Gentlemen, please remember we are on Condition Amber - please ensure that you stay in your seats. "

I checked on my display where the girls were, as expected, Susan was in Section C, Jen in B and Charlotte in A, no problem ... everybody aboard should be happy enough.

 

Except for the delays - no problems. I crossed my fingers and hoped that nobody at Alex had got the jitters. Christ knows, times were hard enough with the trouble in the Belt without any extra security nonsense.

……………

Charlotte smiled as she spoke " Mr Hireson, I don't suppose ..." she paused,

“I hope you don't think it too forward of me, but, would you fancy a drink sometime with me would you ? " Her smile grew wider.

I was mildly surprised ... rather Charlotte than Jenny I thought.

" Ermm ... I don't know. I've not got a lot of time. " My head was working overtime. I told myself, I'm only young and must take every opportunity that comes my way, but I had plenty of problems on my plate already.

 

" I'll give you a call after we land maybe, eh ? " her smile stayed upon her face, but not as broad, I was glad to see that I hadn't disappointed her entirely. 

Then something happened ... 

A massive blast was heard and the shock rattled through A section, my head and neck were immediately forced back into the padded seat. Charlotte was flung like a childs doll at speed up the central aisle as the front end of our section closest to section B was sent spinning over my head, the whole section was rotating end over end backwards. The rapid spinning rotation indicated our separation from the remainder of the OTL which was standard in emergency situations. In a second, darkness enveloped us only for the the emergency lights to crash into our consciousness, and for what seemed endless seconds - there was silence ... total silence. The spell was almost immediately, outrageously broken by the shockingly loud wailing siren. It cut through the hot air that hung inside our section of the lander, splashed itself into our faces and assaulted the eardrums of everyone aboard our section of the Lutter. I felt rivulets of sweat dribbling down my sides. The siren was screaming at us through the stifling air, one or two people who hadn’t heeded the earlier warnings were tumbling in a weightless panic - I'd briefly imagined an OTL full of screaming lunatics, but it wasn't like that at all. A few faint groans, a little whining, but generally pretty calm which was relatively surprising due to our present circumstances. I had no doubts that we were hurtling through space and I assumed that we would all soon be dashed into the desolate, dead lunar landscape.

 

No doubt if this is my death I see approaching, then a few officials on Earth would by now be thinking about my guilt. I feel sure that my death would be seen by them as God’s justice.

 

Almost immediately, our section of the Lutter kicked violently sideways ... you could hear the passengers gasping. One weightless woman (Anne Jackson I believe?), a yard to my right, although unconscious, was spinning wildly, globules of blood and tissue gyrated around a large gash on her her head, it reminded me of some strange psychedelic effect. Again our section kicked violently sideways, much stronger than the earlier one ... It was in opposition to the direction of our tumbling and noticeably slowed the end over end motion. The couple of unstrapped passengers appeared much gratified by this, whilst the nearby woman still twirled amidst her own blood. A third extremely violent kick sideways tipped the section up at an angle, my seat straps strained along with everyone else, the ridiculous sirens stopped their wailing and thankfully the tumbling end over end was now almost imperceptible. I couldn't understand why the sirens were used at all, all they had done was scare the shit out of the passengers and numb their brains for a short period. All these types of landers had separate sections, each pressurised individually and each with limited although necessary piloting capability, I figured that someone had sorted the stabilisers out first to enable us to have a chance of surviving. As the tumbling stopped, my thoughts turned to what sort of catastrophic problem had caused our little calamity. There must have been a blast, exact cause unknown, and what the hell had happened to the rest of the Lutter?

 

A voice then stuttered into life onto A section's intercom and an overly-loud male voice began to speak. “I have stabilised the section.”

Not quite true I thought. We still had motion, but backwards and subtly right, it was at least no longer violent and was a damn sight safer than earlier.

“I would be most grateful if somebody with flight dynamics experience could help me out back here?”

I knew a bit, but kept silent ... a low profile was best in my position.

Not that it mattered, a small man - Parkin, was that his name? - five or six seats back on the port side of our section of Lutter moved tentatively towards the rear using the seats to stop himself from spinning in the weightlessness. He was dressed in combat gray overalls and wasn't instantly recognisable - although I had guessed his name, as I mentally scanned the passenger list that I had retrieved on Sunday, but then I had only noted people that I perceived to be of any importance or that I would have to talk to or deal with directly. He stopped and guided the unconscious Anne Jackson back into her seat - the globules of blood remained free floating to my right.

The section had been fully booked on Sunday - eighteen passengers in total.

 

Obviously I hadn't checked to see if anybody would cancel or not and when I had arrived at Houston early on Monday, A section turned out to be two passengers short, then there was Charlotte of course and presumably the section's steward as well. Hopefully, Charlotte should be OK, Yeah, she should be bruised and shocked but generally OK.

In the shock of our situation, I had almost blotted her entirely out of my mind.

I loosened my seat straps and turned to look down the central aisle for her. I couldn't see her at first, but then someone had got her seated. No doubt I would see her pretty face again after we'd got ourselves down.

The loud male voice boomed out over the intercom,

“Ladies, Gentlemen ... This is Steward Fredericks speaking. We ... that Mr Parkin and I, have made a quick assessment and we figure that the best policy right now is simplicity. We have therefore decided to land upon the Moon as soon as possible and signal for help.“

As I heard it, I knew straight away.

“Hopefully, this delay will take no more than two or three hours. When Mr Parkin and I have more information, we will relay it immediately.”

Lies - unadulterated lies. It must have been obvious to the other passengers as well in particular the regular shuttle-riders. I wondered ... If we had been only twenty to thirty minutes from landing at Alexandria, then we would almost certainly be quite some distance away now, and definitely north of Alex, probably over the highlands somewhere, which wasn't good.

My brain began to grind over the possibilities for myself, not that I didn't trust this pair, but they weren't looking out for the personal safety of John Hireson ... I was!

If we land ... it’ll be bumpy but relatively safe, when the beacons are turned on ... we shouldn't have to wait more than a few hours.

Of course there were major flaws with this little idea ... we don't know where we are for a start, hence the delay before rescue could be a long one ... possibly longer than our on-board supplies of air and water. And this plan assumes that we haven't sustained any damage to our major systems. The beacons should work but we don't know what happened to spark our little disaster initially on our journey into Alex do we ? Personally, I'd have gone with another plan. Spend a little time looking first, set off our beacons now, something is bound to pick up the signal, then get as close to a base as possible before landing. There might even be a base fully within range of our limited fuel ... although I doubted it. Steward Fredericks loud voice again spoke,

" Please strap yourselves in tightly ... we will attempt to land in a few minutes. "

……………

 

I tightened my seat straps as far as I could and stupid as it might have seemed, I crossed my fingers and hoped we'd be ok. I couldn’t believe that my personal safety would now depend on a ‘Fredericks’? Weird?

I spent a fleeting moment allowing my mind to caress Eleanor, which was another story entirely.

Obviously the descent was in itself not at all dangerous, but, the landing ... Now that was another thing entirely.

These old types of landers were similar in design to most classes of modern sub-orbital buses, but because they only operated from orbital transfer stations to bases they weren't very rugged, especially as separated sections ...

Normally, I'd have opted for one of the excellent first-class OTL's, but I didn't want to attract any attention to myself, so I'd taken the cheap commercial one instead, dear old Lutter.

Brilliant strategy ... I thought sarcastically.

(To be Continued)

Copyright John Abbott

 

THE JOLLY SAILOR

  THE JOLLY SAILOR 

By Peter Woodgate

I knew a jolly sailor

He went to see, of course

Not sea because he cannot swim

But he could ride a horse.

He thought that he could make some dosh

And went to the race track near by

He pretended that he was a jockey

I’m a champion they heard him cry.

The owners of the favourite horse

Allowed him to ride their prize mare

Unaware that he had agreed to a deal

That would bring him half of the share.

Well the race went ahead

And off went the horse

Heavily backed to win it was

But came in last of course.

There was an enquiry

An outcry, I think,

Then the sailor, not jolly,

Was locked away in the clink.

It was a short sentence

And the sailor was free

Whilst serving in jail

He dreamt of the sea

So down to Southend

He went full throttle

Then low and behold

He found a strange bottle

Not just the bottle

A letter inside

It was still readable

Despite the strong tide.

As he read the strange letter

He was horrified to note

A young lass was marooned

On Canvey, afloat.

So off strait away

And jolly once more

the sailor would rescue

Her from the distant shore.

Well, to cut it short

Imagine the glee

When he first saw her

And she looked at he

What followed was love

At first sight, no less

And now on the telly

O My what a mess.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Mojave Beginning ~ (Part 1 of 2)

Mojave Beginning ~ (Part 1 of 2)

There was I.

Alone, stuck here … for ever as far as I knew.

Money was tight … it had always been so. I knew exactly what was needed to change the situation and whose responsibility it was to act as a catalyst. 

I began to plan. I planned for the day when I would have the opportunity to rattle the corporate cage and break free. 

I worked hard and squeezed in my time on the net, and finally the day that I had planned for arrived. 

I took all the money I could lay my hands on, then I relocated … fast

……………

2108 AD - Earth Space

I am twenty-six years old and I’ve been to Space seven times and actually been out onto the lunar surface on three of those occasions. now I realise that that doesn't make me one of Earth's greatest explorers or come to think of it, even put me up there with an Ice miner out in Jovian Space, but the desire was the same...

I didn't want to eke out my existence in my own little plot, seeing similar down-trodden people in similar down-trodden places. I just couldn't see me foisting my own little sarcastic sense of humour on anybody for their whole life. I wanted desperately to explore, to see things with my own eyes and to do things that others simply hadn't had the opportunity to do.

It was this desire that had left me going nowhere. I had no knowledge of my real parents, they either did not want me or could not afford to keep me - it didn't matter, compared to some, I had indeed been blessed. I had been recognised as an intelligent child (whatever that meant) and been pushed into the correct educational facilities by my foster parents for most of my life, all of which, I had vivid memories.

……………

I was half-laying in the chair as I flipped the white plastic cup sideways out of my hand, it spat globules of light brown liquid into the air like raindrops as it clattered into the dark grey plastic bin that stood a couple of yards away.

 

I had finished my third cup of sugarless, strong tea, I didn’t recognise any special flavouring, just traditional boring tea, not some disgusting Earl Grey, and was anxious to get on with the task in hand - I only had the rest of the week to see out and PDT Kravitz was out of my short life. I had little doubt that memories of his persistent shouting would haunt me for some time, perhaps forever.

I turned round, sat up and verbally logged on.

"Hireson, John." The computer in front replied quietly, sounding very laid back. (nonchalantly)

”Hello, what can I do for you?"

"Job Search please?"

"Thank you." pause  "Begin when requested please.  I wish..."

…………… 

None of us were searching for a profound answer to life's mysteries when we had agreed on our plan. Alright, that's not precise enough, I certainly wasn't searching for an answer - and all of my three friends had spoken to me at great length on the subject of life and the Universe. I suppose we all had reasons/questions, but no answers.

 

In this day and age, I find it highly amusing that we still send snail-mail, but, it is relatively quick, even by todays standards and it's certainly safer than any form of electronic mail. And so that's how we had confirmed our agreement on the final rendezvous.

Any Wednesday, (July to September) - Alexandria Base - Griffin's Bar - 20:00 hours.

 

Bink !

The red light came on ...

The CPU had been given instructions to run it's program on some random occasion within a three year time-span. That random moment was now... The program had begun...

In the eerie near-vacuum of Space, the program had a start date of the fourth February 2108. It's eyes and ears began to look and listen, to separate the cacophony of sounds and to assess the vast number of images that passed within it's range. It was searching

... searching ...searching ... calculating ... re-calculating ... searching. It was hunting for it's prey ...

……………

Earth Space - Tuesday February 8th - 11:05 GMT - 2108

On board Commercial Orbital Transfer Lander “Lutter”, approaching Alexandria Base - just south of Julius Caesar Watch Station on the Moon, marginally east of the Sea of Tranquility.

……………

"What's that Shelt?"  

"What?"

" That ? What is that ? " said Jim.

Amidst a huge array of blinking lights on the headsets, something nagged.

" Uh ? "

" Shelt ? What the hell is it ? "

" Christ knows ? " Replied Shelt glaring into the headset.

" Shelt ... call it in. That blue one shouldn't be there ! "

" I know, but Jim ... what about the time ? "

" Sod the time. Call it in ! "

" Jim ... ? " I queried his obvious fear.

" No ... No sodding about. I want it called in ! "

" We don't know what it is. "

" Precisely Shelt. I'll do it myself if I have to. “ Said Jim impatiently.

" OK., OK.. I haven't a clue what I'm gonna tell’ em though. "

" Tell them what you damn well want ! But for Christ's sake tell’ em ! "

" Delta Five ... Delta Five. This is COTL Lutter. We have a problem. Possible bogey. I repeat, Possible bogey. Please check our sector. "

A small crackle of officialdom replied. " Affirmative. Sector check for Commercial OTL Lutter - await our comments please. "

" Shelt ... help them to find it ... we don't want no nasty surprises do we ? "

" What are you ... my mother ? Said Shelt, they’ll find it and it will be some pile of space junk. Just you wait and see. "

" You hope ! " My thoughts were elsewhere.

I was more concerned about the time. Another poxy hold-up. I hated the work and nothing ever seems to go with the schedule nowadays. I'd promised the girls that I wouldn't put up with any shit like last time - but here we are, fourteen hours late already, we'd had a hold-up at Troy Transfer Station waiting for some Earth government officials - any more hold-ups and the base would want strip-searches again, which would really set the girls off. I'd told them that we'd be straight out, minimum stop-over at Alex, then dock the Lutter back at Troy, hey presto, then a quick return home to Houston via a shuttle. Unfortunately, there had been all sorts of wild reports coming out from the ‘Belt’ about various craft and different issues, etc, etc.

" Shelt. I'm sorry to keep on, but what about the girls ? "

“ Christ ... he's a nightmare. “, thought Shelt,  “ OK, OK. I'll tell them. OK. Just give Julius Caesar a chance to sort it. I'll give them four or five minutes OK ? “

……………

“Well Jenny. What do you think ? "

" He's OK. He's not exactly my cup of tea, but ... " Charlotte broke in, she always did. " Yeah, yeah. But do you think it's worth a try ? " giggled Charlotte.

" Look Charlotte - he's probably married or homosexual. " My mind added - or simply uninterested in your dark locks, Charlotte dear ...

……………

I hoped that Charlotte gave me my drink and not Jennifer. Jenny was certainly attractive, her medium length, shaggy blonde hair and her general demeanour were pleasant enough, but I think she had probably eyed-up everyone aboard, including the women, and that sort of girl wasn't for me - short-term or otherwise. Now Charlotte was a different matter. She too was attractive, but her smiles seemed more genuine.

She also had beautiful shiny, dark hair, cut short and an arse I would sing for.

……………

" Wish me luck Jenny, eh ? " beamed Charlotte.

Jennifer’s answer was a smiling quip as she strode from the galley. " No chance, he's the only decent looking guy on board. " I realised that I didn't actually know that, we only serviced section's A and B, the rear and the centre. Section C was off-limits to us stewardesses. Section C at the front of this lander, was probably full of government lackeys, civil servants and their ilk. Who cared. She had momentarily depressed me, for every man I'd met, Jenny had met ten. God knows, she'd probably slept with most of them as well. I was split, sort of jealous and sort of glad. Jealous of her luck ... alright ... charm, I understood it, but didn't like it nonetheless. And glad that I wasn't such a tart. I was just about her closest friend and obviously I been told all the tedious details. That wasn't fair - it might have got tedious at times, but I had enjoyed hearing about them ... My, my, my, we have had some laughs, I thought.

My earpiece cackled. " Charlie, everything OK ? " Poor old Shelt. He hated these trips, but he had to put in another few months to get his pension.

" Charlie ... One last run with the drinks OK. We've got to be down in thirty-five minutes. OK Charlie ? "

" No problem Shelt. I'll do section B and Jenny has already started on A. “ 

…………… 

As I opened my eyes, the sight that enveloped my vision was exactly what I had expected to see. I had never tired of the view to Earth from an Orbital Transfer Vehicle. This elegant blue and white orb has a special place in my heart - of course it was home, but I felt something deeper, stronger, more profound, the reason was - natural environmental safety. For all humans, Earth was special, it was the only planet with a breathable atmosphere - or to be precise, the only one at the moment - Mars was down for terra-forming and the search for others was taking place out there in deep Space. I had become a frequent visitor to various parts of Earth Space and I returned to the gracious gentle environment of earth as often as time allowed. I believed that although an Earthman and despite the fragility of humankind, I was born to travel into Space. My mind wandered back over  years in a moment. I could remember being fourteen years old with the clarity of a book being slammed down in front of me. 

……………

Slammmmm !!! went the book hitting the desktop.

" What's up Hireson ! You can't recall, can you ? Think boy, think hard and then think again ! Get that memory into gear will you ! "

The present bane of my life ... Mr 'blasted' Kravitz ! Tall, thin, bespectacled, moustached, grey-haired PD Teacher. PD officially meant Personal Development, but we all called our Personal Development Teachers, Permanent Dimmer Twats. Obvious reasons really, One; they were always there. Two; they have the universal effect upon us of lessening the light. And finally, three; they were unpleasant and stupid, apparently incapable of having coherent thoughts.

 

Magically, the alarm bell rang, hence saving me from further embarrassment.

" OK Hireson, you're off the hook. Tomorrow's session will be easy. That is, for me. You've been jamming in the work for six or seven weeks now, so we are going to throw you in the deep end and see just how bloody gifted you are, or not, as the case may be. Tomorrow's session will be a lengthy essay on you ! We would like a minimum of five thousand words on what path you wish to take with your life. It will be entitled " I wish. ". Don't bring any materials or books with you, you won't need them. You will have the whole days session to produce this piece of work and must present it by 16:30 hours. OK Any questions ?

My mind leapt, the fools ... the careless fools - a walk in the park.

……………

My mind skipped the short sequence before the next day and rammed into fast forward.

To me, it was just like a dream sequence from a movie. PDT standing in front of me, watch face being keenly studied. A word emanated from PDT Kravitz's mouth, " Begin! ". I began to hit the keyboard.

“ I wish. “

“ I wish to be able to dream. I ... “

(To be Continued)

Copyright John Abbott