Spark’l ~ Part 1 of 4

Spark’l  ~  Part 1 of 4

 

By Len Morgan

In a single instant, a being of pure energy was created by a Supernova.   She left her birthplace, at the speed of light, never to return.   Her journey through the galaxy began, taking her through many star clusters, and planetary systems.   She travelled on a beam of light, feeding off the energy from nearby stars, growing larger as she came closer to them and smaller as she moved away.   As the distance, she had travelled increased her speed began to reduce.   She was slowing down as she approached a planetary system, orbiting a rather ordinary yellow star, way out on a spiral arm of the Galaxy.   She became aware of radio waves; coming from the third planet out from the star.   It was then that she realised there was life on that planet.    She knew nothing of living creatures then; she wondered what they would look like and if they would be able to communicate with her, maybe she could visit their world, and learn about them.

    She listened in on the radio signals trying hard to make sense of them so that she would be able to talk with them.   She could pass through solid matter, without causing harm, but would she prove harmful to living creatures?   She listened to and experienced feelings and emotions.   She learnt languages; the radio signals were very informative.   Then, as she drew nearer, she began to receive television broadcasts and for the first time, she discovered what the creatures looked like.  Television was good; her favourite program was ‘I Love Lucy’.

   At this time she did not have a name.   She was a baby, feeding off stray sunlight and slumbering when it grew dark.   But, she had an insatiable desire to learn which she realised would only be satisfied if she were able to visit the inhabitants of that third planet.   She was very close now and soon discovered that she was able to read their thoughts; she assumed that this was normal.   She also found that sometimes she was able to share their memories.   This was not always good because sometimes they were very sad.  

.-…-.

   Karen’s border terrier growled and snarled at something and despite her soothing noises, he wouldn't be quiet.

“What’s bothering you Scruffy?” she asked.   He shook his head and tail vigorously and seemed to be pointing towards a large clump of deep red peonies at the end of the garden.   Karen went closer and knelt beside him to discover what might be causing his agitation.

“Grrruf Ruf rururf yap!” said Scruffy excitedly his tail wagging like a metronome.

“There’s nothing there Scr…”   Then she saw it, a pinpoint of light, shining out from one of the mature blooms.   Odd she thought, bending closer; it was as if somebody inside was shining a tiny torch.  She sniffed, aware of the heavy perfume coming from the flowers.   Suddenly the tiny beam grew brighter, dazzling her, she closed her eyes protectively.   She felt calmness, and a sense of wellbeing, as the light bathed her mind.   Then she heard a voice inside her head­­.

‘I came from an exploding star.   I have been very lonely.    I came here to find friends.   I found Scruffy.   He is funny.   All he thinks of is food, play, and being here with you.   He listens and he talks to you, all the time, but you do not understand him.’

“Who are you, what are you?” Karen was suddenly fearful.

‘I am nothing you can feel or touch, I just am,’ said the voice.

‘You can talk to Scruffy?’  Karen thought.

‘Yes,’ came the reply.

She opened her eyes and saw a star-like ball of sparkling light, the size of a golf ball, just six inches from her nose.   “Spark’l!” She said at once, the word just popped into her mind, “Spark’l is perfect.   That is what we should call you.   Would you tell Scruffy one bark for yes, and two for no please?”

“Yap,” said Scruffy.

She smiled, “Scruffy is clever, he’s a linguist, he understands English even though I do not understand dog-ish.   Do you like her new name Scruffy?”

“Yap.”

“Then that’s settled,” ‘but only if you like it,’ Karen thought, stroking Scruffy to calm him.

‘I have never had a name.   I do like it.   Spark’l,’ she thought, ‘it’s good to have friends, and it’s good to have a name also.’

.-…-.

   That evening Karen lay in her bed, in the darkened room, with Scruffy beside her in his basket.   She closed her eyes and immediately a pattern of stars appeared in her mind.   As she watched a tiny insignificant star, in the lower half of the constellation, grew rapidly brighter until all the other stars were engulfed in its magnificence.   Karen remembered, a few months earlier, Dad had shown her a new Supernova that had appeared near the Orion constellation.  

‘That was your birth?’  Karen asked.

She got out of bed and went to the window, searching the sky for Orion.   There it was, the Supernova, much smaller but still the brightest object in that part of the sky.

“It happened more than ten thousand years ago,” Karen whispered shaking her head, ‘ten with three zero’s.   Were you travelling all that time?’

‘What is time?’

“You have no family and no friends?”

‘Just me,’ said Spark’l.

“Yap yap yap.”

‘Me and Scruffy and now you…’ she added.

“One – Two – Three – Four – Five…”

‘What are you doing?'

“Counting seconds, a second is a measure of time, sixty seconds is one minute, sixty minutes one hour, twenty-four hours one day, 365 days in one year…   Ten thousand seconds would be…” she paused and thought long and hard “almost a week,” she yawned and returned to her bed.   Scruffy was already snoring.

‘What is wrong with Scruffy, he is making such strange noises’ said Spark’l.

“He’s snoring in his sleep,” Karen whispered in amusement.

‘Is it painful, snoring?’  Spark’l displayed genuine concern.

“It doesn’t hurt him in the slightest, he doesn’t even know he is doing it, but it hurts my ears and keeps me awake,” said Karen with an expression of pain on her face.  

Spark’l went closer to Scruffy until she was almost touching his wet nose; his breathing became easier and he slept on in silence.

“Shhh!   He needs his sleep,” Karen whispered.   ‘Do you remember being part of a star?’

‘Not at all, my first memory was of being ejected from a warm comfortable place where I had been safe and content.   I recall passing planets where I detected life and intelligence, but I was unable to stop, so my journey continued.’    Spark’l moved towards Karen’s oversized teddy bear, Boris, disappearing inside his head.   The bear stood up and looked around experimentally.  

‘’Boris cannot see or speak, and he has no brain,’ said Spark’l.

‘That is because he’s a toy, he isn’t alive, he’s a pretend bear.’

‘Does he know that?’

‘No, he doesn’t because he’s not a living creature.  Only living things have feelings.  If he were a real bear he would be far too ferocious and dangerous to be allowed in my room.   Mum would never allow it!    His eyes are buttons, his fur is artificial and he is stuffed with pieces of foam.’

‘Why did you do that?’

'Foam makes him soft and cuddly; it’s nice to pretend you can be friends with animals.   Go to sleep, we must be up early tomorrow,' she said turning out the light; a tiny spark persisted where the light had been as Spark’l waited.

.-…-.

"Is everybody up?" Mum placed a bowl of Doggiebix on the floor, "here Scuff."
“Dad?” said Karen.

“Yes, Sweetheart.”

“Do you really think there’s life out there?” she asked.

Dad turned the page and folded his paper in half.   “Life?   Out there?   The garden is teeming with it,” he said from the other side of his paper.

“No, I mean out there,” she said pointing and waving her hand above her head.

“Like ET?   On other planets?   In other star systems?    I would think it’s extremely likely,” he nodded.

“Then why have we not found it?   They’ve been searching the heavens forever, with radio telescopes, but they’ve found nothing.”

“It’s true we’ve not found evidence of life but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.   The Universe has been around for thirteen plus billions of years, it's a vast place so the astronomers tell us,” he said, putting his paper down.

 “Maybe there is life but it hasn’t yet invented the radio, or maybe they are an older race with a better means of communication,” said Mum. 

“Then again they could have existed and died out before the dinosaurs roamed on earth,” said Dad.

“Maybe they had this same conversation with their children,” said Mum.    

“The size of the universe, and the time scale involved, is beyond understanding; so we may never really know,” he said.

“What if they were beings of energy created by a Supernova,” Karen asked, “Born of a dying sun?”

“Mmm,” said Dad.

“Breakfast is ready, come and get it,” Mum called.

“Beings of energy?   Created by a Supernova?   Wherever did you get that notion, Startrek?”

“Is that so ridiculous?” asked Mum.  ”What about life here on earth?   We are told it was created in a muddy soup, of volcanic ash, and stirred by bolts of lightning.”

“Mmm, not sure that’s the current scientific line, we are living in the 1980s after all!” said Dad.

“I know which story I would believe and it doesn’t sound so ridiculous to me,” Mum said.

“If there are beings of energy and light spreading out from that Supernova near Orion they could well be with us right now…”  said Dad thinking aloud.

“Assuming they were travelling at or near the speed of light, in that time, they could have developed intelligence,” Mum said.   “You talk as though you’ve seen such a creature,” she laughed.

“Yap,” said Scruffy.

“That means yes,” said Karen before she thought to bite her tongue.

“Would that be one bark for yes and two for no?  Tell me you’re joking,” said Mum.

“Yap yap,” said Scruffy.

“Oh my G.. what is it called?” asked Mum.

“Spark’l,” said Karen, getting an answer in at long last.

“Very apt,” said Dad, turning another page.

“C-can we see it?” Mum asked nervously.

“Yap.”

Karen left the room returning with an eerily glowing yoghurt carton.  She placed it on the table and removed the lid.   There was a small mirror inside and a one-inch ball of light.

“It feeds on sunlight,” Karen explained as it expanded slightly.

The ball rose slowly into the air, keeping its distance.

“Can it communicate?,” asked Mum, pushing her wooden spoon gingerly towards it.   The ball edged away, maintaining the gap.

“Heavens to Milligoon!” said Dad jumping to his feet knocking over his chair and spilling tea down the front of his shirt.

“It’s alright Dad, it won’t hurt you, just close your eyes,” Karen warned them.   They did so, more from surprise than belief.

“Mmm,” said Dad, a secret smile forming on his face.

“Utterly amazing, just like meditation class,” said Mum.

The light receded and they opened their eyes again.

“I had no idea Scruffy was so intelligent.   I now know his favourite food is my vegetarian sausage, I must make him a special batch,” said Mum.

“Yap!”

“Is she staying here with us or just visiting?” asked Dad nervously.

‘What difference would that make,’  Spark’l asked.   ‘You measure life in tens of your years’ then your spark is extinguished.   I have existed for many hundreds of your lifetimes; I could visit until Karen’s children have children.’

“Mmm,” said Dad, “you’re the Trekkie Mum…”

“I know what Dad means, we might lose our anonymity.   When people know where you are staying they will be curious and want to visit you.   We should be taking steps to hide, or disguise you, and think of a way you can travel around without being seen by too many curious people?”

‘You want me to hide?   Have I done something wrong?  You wish me to avoid people?’

“No, what Mum means is, that when people know about you, we will be treated as curiosities. The newspaper and TV journalists will be camping in our garden.   We will be prisoners in our own home.”

‘People can look at me if they wish and if I decide not to cooperate I can leave.’

 “Mmm,” said Dad.

“What does that mean?” asked Karen.

“It means that when people know she is here we will never be left in peace.”

‘Then they should not know that I am here.’

“How could we prevent them from knowing?” asked Dad.

‘I could contact your authorities and cooperate with them until they lose interest.”

“Now that’s a good idea,” said Mum.

‘Don’t stay away too long though’  Karen thought, wishing she had kept Spark’l’s existence secret a while longer.

“Yap yap.”

‘Where should I go and who should I speak to?’  asked Spark’l.

“Wait a moment,” said Mum.   She left the room and returned with a small silver trinket box.   “Could you fit into this?” she asked.

Spark’l shrank to the size of a pea, whilst increasing in brightness, before slipping into the box.   Satisfying herself that the box was lightproof, Mum said, “If it isn’t too uncomfortable it would be adequate for travelling.   Tomorrow we will visit the Jodrell Bank observatory where the radio telescopes are.   You could say you were attracted by their radio dishes, and allow them to carry out whatever tests they think necessary.   Then, if you wish, you can come back home to us; you would be very welcome.”

To be Continued/…

Copyright Len Morgan

Alphabet Soup

Alphabet Soup

By Rob Kingston

I could never tell their order, for they all came out so fast
All the letters in the alphabet, all came with a blast
Words I did not recognise, words I did not choose
All of the letters they kept scrambling
All of them amused.

I see them all before me,
A vast ocean full of glee.
Words becoming sentences
Grammatically painting pictures
For one and all to see.

I see pictures from the present
I see pictures from the past
I see pictures in natures many guises
Some of them cast to last

I read of the mystical meandering, that comes from within Pandora’s Box
I read of the mythical dimensions, of Devinci his ruse that seekers seek to unlock
I read of the magical new beginnings, in nature as seasons produce its flocks
I read of the wonders of the universe, bequeathed by scientists since time started the ticking of its clock

All the wonderful letters bequeathed to those that note,
All the wonders of the mind, its senses from which the stories float.
All these special visions’ artists choose to collate,
All these special pictures writers choose to paint.

Copyright Rob Kingston

ALONE

ALONE

By Peter Woodgate

Jimmy was a loner. He worked in a call-centre for an energy company and hated it.

Never a moments peace, if the phone wasn’t ringing, his work colleagues would be idly chatting

about superfluous rubbish.

    He was a confirmed bachelor and, even though asked, on several occasions, he would never accept invitations to join them for a drink down the pub. No, Jimmy wanted just one thing, peace and quiet.

Even when, at home in his flat, He rarely experienced a quiet evening. His neighbours, especially those upstairs, were always rowing or banging just about every door they had.

    On those odd moments when he did speak to other members of the staff he boasted about one day after he had won the lottery, he would retire to a place in the middle of nowhere.

    Well, that day arrived, it was no longer a boast, Jimmy had all the right numbers and, consequently,

had won 6.2 million pounds. No bottles of champagne, no farewell party, Jimmy simply walked out

of the office, leaving a resignation letter on the supervisor’s desk.

    Away from the crowded metropolis, Jimmy had decided to buy an uninhabited island in the middle of the pacific ocean whilst at the same time purchasing a small yacht. Jimmy didn’t know anything about boats, in fact, he didn’t really want to know and only took note of what he called essential information like, how to start and stop the engine, which way to turn the steering wheel and how to re-fuel. He gave no attention to the communications equipment or the various gauges for navigation.  Jimmy simply saw the boat as a means to isolation and was unaware of the dangers this lack of information could cause.

    At last, he thought, as he lay in his hammock listening to birdsong and the rustling of leaves through the palms.  Even these normally soothing sounds were mildly irritating to Jimmy who, it seems, would settle for nothing less than complete silence.

     I will take the boat out tomorrow, Jimmy was thinking, out beyond birdsong and rustling leaves, nothing but endless sea and sky above. The following morning was sunny and the sea calm as Jimmy set off with a packed lunch and a crate of beer. If I steer direct north on the outward journey then directly south on the return I should be safely back here, no problem he mumbled to himself.

    In theory, this should have been ok, however, Jimmy had not fully taken account of the effects of drinking five pints of beer. He felt tired and turned off the engine then laid down on the soft bench seat falling asleep almost immediately. It was about two hours later that Jimmy awoke and, starting the engine, he turned the boat around and headed due south.  Unfortunately, Jimmy did not realize that whilst asleep the yacht had drifted east and that, whilst going in the seemingly correct direction, he would miss his island by several miles.

    Jimmy looked at his watch, I should have spotted my island an hour ago, he thought, then a sudden wave of trepidation swept through his whole body. The sun was shining, not a sniff of a breeze and 360 degrees of shining water was all he could see.

    Suddenly the engine gave a cough and stopped. He checked the gauge, empty.

“What do I do now? He mumbled as panic set in.

Jimmy looked at the unending expanse of water underneath of which millions of life forms were going about their business unseen. There were no birds to be seen or heard, no whispers of a breeze through leaves, in fact perfect peace.

    Jimmy should have been happy, but he wasn’t. For the first time in his life he wanted to hear noises, voices of people, even the highly irritating sounds of car horns would have been wonderful but no, nothing. Then Jimmy looked up to the great blue yonder, not even a cloud. What he did see far above his isolation was a vapour trail streaming behind the barely visible outline of an aircraft. He waved his feeble arms whilst knowing it was pointless. He was now beginning to dehydrate, the five pints of beer making Jimmy feel extremely thirsty. He was now beginning to panic and looked around for something to drink. There was nothing, not even a beer, although he realized that this would just exacerbate his condition.

    “Stupid, stupid, stupid”,” he mumbled to himself, why, oh, why did I not bring water along?”

Jimmy then attempted to use the boat’s radio system to no avail, he simply did not have a clue.

He did manage to switch it on and heard crackling noises, but was oblivious to the button used for speaking and receiving. It was probably a waste of time anyway as he simply had no idea of his position.

    The sun continued to beat down mercilessly as Jimmy’s dehydration was beginning to frazzle his brain and he began hallucinating. He was in a cool lake and leaned over the side of the boat scooping the cold water up into one of the empty beer bottles.

    Laying down on the bench seat he started to pour the sea water down his throat then, almost immediately, sat up with a jerk and started to vomit explosively.

Jimmy,s eyes were now red and staring;  staring at a mirage. It showed Johnny, who used to occupy

The seat next to his whilst working at the call centre. Johnny opened his mouth and Jimmy could hear the words that Johnny had whispered to him on the day he left.

“You need to be careful about what you wish for.” 

Copyright  Peter Woodgate

MY VALENTINE

MY VALENTINE

By Peter Woodgate

Although at present we are far apart,

the result of mankind’s dark insanity,

I focus on the dreams within my heart

not tainted by the world of negativity.

For each and every day I think of you,

untouched by earthly deeds and selfish thoughts,

within my heart the purity of love is unconfined,

not physical, as in the way that we are taught.

Whilst free of matter, wonders cannot be destroyed

and ecstasy will burn beyond our dreams,

although we cannot touch, as in the worldly sense,

our spirits intertwine, or so it seems.

For we have more than love that fades

as flesh grows old,

not bound by laws of nature we are free

from all restrictions that withhold mere mortals

and no longer blinded, we can see.

Our passion is euphoric, joyous to the end

and down some by-way in the mists of time,

I will take your hand and we will realize

what it is to love, My Valentine.

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Road Kill

Road Kill

By Jane Scoggins

George had recently been dumped by his girlfriend. He was back living with his Mum temporarily and that wasn't going well either. She had house rules, and this made him feel like a teenager again. He had gone to the pub to get out the house, and by chance met up with some old mates. He had told them his tales of woe and being the wind-up merchants they had always been, they laughingly taunted him. Knowing that George quite easily lost his cool, as had been the case since school days, they enjoyed the fun of watching him rise to the bait. Jed and Mac were the worst and led the others. When George felt he was getting to boiling point he took his leave. Driving away from the pub he felt angry. His so called mates had teased him and made fun of his inability to keep his girlfriend, and about having to return home to his Mum. He didn't have the personality to take it and he was a hot head. He banged his fist hard a second time on the steering wheel in recognition of his stupidity and humiliation and took a few swigs from the half bottle of whisky he kept under the seat. He drove on in the darkness feeling thoroughly dissatisfied with his life. There was no other traffic on this back road which was lucky as he was not paying attention around the bends and suddenly there was a thud and then silence. George knew he had hit something so he slowed down and stopped the car and turned off the engine. All was silent. The thud had sounded substantial. 'Bound to be another bloody badger, they are everywhere around here ’ he said under his breath. He opened the car door, got out and peered back down the dark road. He couldn’t see anything. He checked the front nearside bumper, there was no damage, and decided not to look any further.  Whatever it was had gone now and he didn't want to hang about knowing he was over the limit.  He had chosen to take the B164 rather than the main road for that reason and wanted to avoid even a slim chance of another motorist stopping, and then reporting him if they smelt his breath, or if he came across a member of the Save The Badger league who were sometimes around at night checking the sets. Badgers were big solid animals so maybe he just got a nasty bump and had run back across the field .So he put the Audi into first gear and slowly pulled away. Accidents happen, but knew he was at fault whatever it was he had hit due the speed he was driving and lack of concentration. ‘Good job it wasn’t an oncoming car that would have been nasty. He had previous form and convictions for drink driving and currently had six points on his driving licence. He banged his fist hard and angrily yet again on the steering wheel, suddenly feeling more sober than he had ten minutes ago, but his mind was in a mess, thinking straight was hard, and he fought back tears of wretchedness.

         Letting himself into the house very quietly George went straight up to bed. He could hear his mother's gentle snoring as he passed her bedroom door.

Setting the alarm and getting up early he took paracetamol with a glass of water for his hangover and went to work. Trying to put the loss of his girlfriend, and the events of the previous night out of is mind, George concentrated on his work as best he could. Arriving home in the evening he was relieved to find a post-it note from his mother telling him she had gone to see her sister for the evening and there was shepherds pie in the oven for his dinner.

        The next few days passed uneventfully and George's mother was pleased that they seemed to be getting along OK. She took the opportunity to chat to him about her job at Tesco supermarket and the bits of news and gossip that arose from her interactions with other staff. He listened but didn't show much interest until his mother mentioned the body that had been found rolled down in the ditch near the sharp bend along the old B164.

       Seemingly the dead man, a youngster really, was the younger brother of a man she remembered George had gone to school with, a Jed Thompson.

        ''The police found his motor scooter back up the road, broken down. They think he had left it hidden in the hedge and started to walk, probably hoping to get a lift from a passing car. He had been working somewhere away, and his family were not expecting him home.

       ''They didn't even know that he had bought a scooter,'' she said ''He must have wanted to surprise them. His mother will be devastated.''

        The funeral date was announced, and his Mum read it out from the local newspaper. It was she who suggested he ought to go, out of respect. He said he would. He dressed carefully and slowly on the morning of the funeral in his one and only suit. His boss had shown concern and sympathy when George had approached the subject of time off for the funeral. He had noticed that George had been in low mood of late.

       ''Of course you must go, take the day off. A terrible thing to have happened to a youngster just starting out in life. Your schoolmate will appreciate you being there for him.''

   The church was packed with old and young alike. Flowers were everywhere; on the coffin, in the church, and carried in bunches by those attending the service. Tears were also in abundance and George felt the power of the sadness and shock of those all around him. He was enveloped in their grief. He had intended to slip away after the service, when he had paid his respects to Jed and his parents, but they had insisted he go along to the pub where the wake was being held. George bought a pint of lager and stood with it at the bar. Several of Jed's and his school friends were there and they chatted in subdued voices for a while. He made an excuse to go to the gents toilet, just to get away. Jed approached him when he came back into the room. He looked a different man to the one George knew. He looked broken. He did not recognise this person who had always been cocky and self assured, the boy who had regularly teased him at school, and ribbed or taunted him at every opportunity since leaving school. Jed grasped George's hand and spoke in a voice choked with emotion.

  ''Thanks for coming mate, I am still in shock. My little brother, gone forever. Come outside with me for a minute will you whilst I have a cigarette. Jed had half finished his cigarette before he spoke.

  ''I know I haven't always been nice to you George, in fact I have been a pig at times, but you were always so easy to bait. I am sorry. I should have outgrown all that nonsense. But we have known each other since school and I need to confide in you. It is because of me that Pete died. He had asked me to help him buy a car, and I had said no, even though I could easily afford it. I didn’t get any help when I wanted to buy my first car, and I couldn't see why he should have it easier than me.  I wanted him to struggle. And do you know, he never complained. The only time he asked me for something I turned him down flat, out of spite. I have always been jealous of him. He was more clever, happier and better looking than me. So he ended up buying an old scooter which broke down. He walked along a dark road at night hoping for a lift and tripped and banged his head or was knocked down. We don’t know. He was coming home to surprise Mum and Dad. Apparently, the firm was taking him on permanently after he did so well in his apprenticeship. They would have been as proud as punch.

 Jed paused before going on.

    ''I haven’t told anyone what I have just told you. Mum and Dad would never forgive me for not helping him so I can't ever tell them.  Please don’t tell anyone? I will carry that guilt now till I die.''

George nodded in agreement.

    ''Thanks mate, sorry to have burdened you.''

The two men parted and went their separate ways. Knowing now the date and place of Pete’s death, George could not forget the noise of the thud on his nearside wing the night he drove home from the pub.

Copyright Jane Scoggins

I wish I could live longer

I wish I could live longer

By Sujata Narang

I wish I could live, I wish I was alive.
I wish I had a longer life and had more time by my side.
It wasn’t that I wanted to travel across the world or
desired to make a world record of any kind.
I only wanted some years to cherish life, spend time with my little daughters and walk along for a few more miles.
Be there for them when they are off mood, cook my girls some ordinary food.
Wake them from bed, knot their hair and wave them off to school.

I wish I had some time to live.
My girls needed me and I needed them.
I wish I wasn’t only considered only a female
A unit capable of reproducing, specifically a male.
I wish I was strong enough, to stop the vicious trial of child rear.
I wish I had a longer life and had more time by my side.

I wish you could understand my girls needed their mother,
instead of a younger brother.
I wish I could have gathered some courage.
To save my soul experiencing the fierce rage.

I wish I had some time to live.
I wish I had a longer life and had more time by my side.

Here I lay my life, leaving behind desires unsatisfied.
Now that I am gone forever, I say the same prayer.
I wish my girls can have a better life.
And, I sincerely hope they live longer and have more time by their side
After giving birth to a girl child.

Copyright Sujata Narang

The Dark Half Chapter 4

The Dark Half Chapter 4

By Janet Baldey

ALEC 1953

He lay on his back in front of the fire. His skin felt hot, but he couldn’t be bothered to move.  Slowly, his lids closed, and he began to drift.  He could hear the background mumbling chant of his mother droning on and on, boring her hairdresser into a coma. “Natter, natter, natter”, he thought but, for a change, she wasn’t irritating him.  Nothing could stop his slow slide into sleep and even as the thought surfaced, it was snuffed out as he closed his eyes. His lips parted, and his breathing deepened and he was transported into a technicolour dream-world as he slipped into his favourite fantasy.  

         Mouth open, sweat streaming down his face, his muscular body pounded down the track as his tanned legs flew towards the finishing line - a narrow strip of luminous white stretching across a backdrop of brilliant green grass. Beyond the tape, a blur of pastel coloured shapes leapt in the air.

         “Alec…Alec…Alec….” As he drew nearer, the surf-like roar of the crowd deepened and screwing up his eyes, he caught a glimpse of his friends pogo-ing with excitement. As quick as a blink of an eyelid, he turned his head and saw his rival, scarlet faced and desperate, a hair’s width behind him. “No chance,” Alec thought exultantly and lengthened his stride. The tape broke against his chest and the crowd surged towards him, slapping his back and deafening him with congratulations.

         A shutter-click later and he was slicing through the pool, drops of glittering water spraying from his cartwheeling arms. “One lap to go, one lap to go, one lap to go,” the mantra ran through his head as he forced himself on. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he could almost feel the weight of the heavy gold cup as he raised it above his head in a salute to the crowd.

            A heavy hand shook his shoulder and in slow motion the image first rocked, shimmered, then disappeared.

         “Wake up, son. Yer too near the fire. Yer clothes are scorching. I can smell ‘em.”

         Alec opened his eyes to see his mother’s fleshy face looming above him. For a moment he lay motionless, relishing a tidal surge of white-hot hate. Dreams like that didn’t come very often. Why couldn’t she have left him in peace instead of dragging him back to his horrible life and this horrible room? 

          Rolling over, he first levered himself to a kneeling position then brought his good leg up and grasped the side of a chair, straightening his body until he was on his feet.   Crablike, he dragged himself towards the window seat.

         He took a moment to recover and then his eyes flicked to the clock. Almost four-thirty. Anna was late. Perhaps she’d been given another detention. He wriggled with glee as he thought about what he’d done. Clenching his fists, he pressed them against his lips to hide his smirk as his imagination played out the scene.

         “Anna.”

         His sister would have looked up to see her teacher’s crooked finger beckoning her forward. Miss Tutt’s face was expressionless but there were deep grooves running from nose to chin and her eyes were cold.

         “What’s happened here, Anna?  How am I supposed to mark this?” She’d slapped her hand against the open copybook and Anna would have gasped. The page was a ruined mess. Her essay, which she’d toiled over for hours, was almost totally illegible, the ink smeared and blotched as if it’d been dunked in water and smeared dry with a towel.

         “Anybody can have an accident, Anna. But you can’t turn in work like this. Can you give me a good reason why you didn’t re-write it?”  

Moments passed and Miss Tutt’s face hardened.

         “I’m waiting, Anna.”

         Alec imagined his sister’s mouth opening and closing as if she were a fish. Anna was so careless. Her reputation had followed her from primary school. There were so many times she was late because of missing plimsolls, library books or pencil cases, all of which she swore she’d packed in her schoolbag the night before.    

         “But I did Mum, honest.” The sound of her whiny, tear clotted voice had always made him feel sick and even the memory turned his stomach.

         Best of all, had been the money. His face brightened. Somehow, she’d managed to lose the cash for her longed-for school trip. Mum and Dad had saved up hard for that.   Even Dad had been angry with her that day.

         He wondered if Anna had guessed why she was so unlucky? If so, she’d kept very quiet about it. But then that was just like her, the snob. Always pretending she didn’t care. Well, she would in the end. He’d make sure of that.

           His eyes lit on something and he held his breath, a small figure was turning the corner heading towards the house.  He watched as it drooped along, shoulders slumped, feet dragging, regretting every step. He glanced towards his mother, her mouth was still moving, as it had been for the last hour. She hadn’t even noticed the time. He leant forward and rapped, three times, on the window with his knuckles, the sounds echoing like pistol shots through the fug of the room.

         The hairdresser started and dropped a perm curler. His mother slopped tea in her saucer.

         “Here she is, Mum. It’s Anna. She’s so late. I was worried in case she’d had an accident.”

         His mother’s head, covered in marching lines of pink and blue plastic, turned towards the window and then swivelled towards the clock. Her lips disappeared.

            “That young madam had better have a good explanation,” she muttered as she levered herself out of her chair.

***

         The strap of her leather satchel cut into her shoulder and she paused for a moment, running her finger under it, trying to lighten her load but the satchel was so heavy a few steps later she had to stop again. There was extra homework that night, it was part of her punishment and that meant extra books to carry. Her eyes started to fill and she blinked rapidly, determined not to cry again. If she went home looking like a pink-eyed rabbit there’d be no sympathy, just more questions. She licked a finger and rubbed it around her face to erase any trace of tears and took a deep and shaky breath.

In a determined effort not to think, she looked upwards, past the chimney pots with their plumes of smoke coiling into the air.  She was searching for Venus the first star of the evening and at last, she saw it, a tiny speck glittering in the sky. Hurriedly, she made a wish before any other stars appeared. “Star light, star bright, the first star I see tonight.  I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I make tonight.”  Then closing her eyes and pursing her lips, she blew her prayer heavenwards despite knowing that it wouldn’t be answered.  How could it be when the person she wished for had died two years before?

 To calm herself, she lowered her head and looked around, but the houses with their trim front gardens shimmered as her teeth chewed at her bottom lip.  

         “Oh Gran…” and then she just couldn’t help herself. Sobbing helplessly, she slumped against a nearby wall and pressed her face against the cold brick that drained all warmth from her body. She remembered the very last time she’d seen her Gran.  She’d crept into the ward and there she was, lying in bed, her face almost as white as the starched linen, her hair spread about her head in a delicate explosion of thistledown.     Suddenly, her eyes had opened and found Anna. The faintest hint of rose had coloured her cheeks and her lips parted in an echo of her familiar smile.

         “My bird…” was all she’d said and Anna had flown into her arms.

         Afterwards, Anna had pulled away and looked at her. Gran’s flushed cheeks had made her eyes sparkle even, and Anna was sure she hadn’t imagined it, the one made of glass. Long ago her Gran had told her how she’d lost her eye.  

         “In those days, my love, we wore leather boots in the winter. They reached to well above our ankles and were tightly laced all the way up.  It always used to take ages to undo the blessed things and one day those dratted laces got into a knot. Try as I might, I couldn’t unpick it, so I went and got a fork from the kitchen. The next thing I knew was my mother screaming and passing out and me sitting there with a fork sticking out of my eye. They tried to save it, but there wasn’t any penicillin in those days.  It got infected so, in the end, they had to take it out…”  

         Ever since her Gran had one eye brown and the other hazel, but Anna still thought she was beautiful and she’d never looked more so than on that day.

         “Oh Gran, you do look pretty,” she’d said.

         Fascinated, she’d watched the wrinkles melt and caught a glimpse of Gran as a young girl.

         A week later she’d opened the front door to her mother who’d come clumping down the path, her legs moving slowly like a mechanical toy that needed winding.  

         “Yer Gran’s dead.” Her face expressionless, she’d pushed past Anna, dumped her bags in the kitchen and heaved herself upstairs.

         Anna hadn’t been allowed to go to the funeral. Instead, she’d sat through a geography double period listening to the dry rasp of Mr Wilkinson’s voice as he recited something about the Continental drift. The only thing that she ever remembered of that lesson was the hollow thud of soil landing on wood.

         With a determined effort, Anna pushed herself away from the wall and started to walk. The paving slabs were a maze of cracks and she remembered happier days when she was little and Dad used to take her to the sweetie shop at the end of the road for her weekly treat.

         “Remember, you turn into a toad if you step on crack…” Together, they’d hopped from square to square all the way down the road. She blinked, and felt her lips pull into a watery smile At least, she still had Dad. He’d never let anything bad happen to her.  

         As she walked up the path, the front door opened, and her mother appeared.  Without saying a word, she folded her arms across her chest and a slab of mottled flesh formed a barrier between them.

         “So, what’s yer excuse this time?  No, don’t tell me. You got kept in again, didn’t yer?”

         Anna felt her face stiffen as she locked eyes with her mother. With the slightest movement of her head, she nodded.

         “Well, it’s just not good enough my girl. What was it this time….gabbing in class was yer?”

         “No.”

         “Then what?”  

         Anna shrugged.  

         “Don’t look at me like that, you sulky little madam. You, my girl, are going to have to pull yer socks up. I don’t know what yer Dad is going to say.”

         Her mother sighed heavily, already losing interest.  She put her hand up and patted her curlers.

         “Well, I can’t waste any more time now. This neutraliser needs to come off otherwise me perm’ll be ruined. But don’t think you’ve heard the last of this. I’ll ‘ave a word with yer Dad later. Now come on, get inside and be nice to your brother. ‘E’s been worried sick about yer.”

         Anna doubted that but obediently followed her mother’s broad bulk into the house.

As Anna walked into the living room the smell of ammonia made her eyes water.  She blinked and rubbed them thinking if anyone noticed they were bloodshot, at least she’d have an excuse. She looked over to where her brother sat with the coiled stillness of something venomous about to strike. His eyes glowered as they met hers. He didn’t look worried, she thought. Not one bit. He looked wired. His skin, always sallow, had a dusky quality as if blood was storming through his veins and his body was tense.  She thought that if she dared reach out and touch him she’d get an electric shock.    

         Suddenly she felt sick as she realised why he was so agitated. He’d been listening to “The Story” again. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, then opened her eyes and looked around the room, trying to calm herself. The dull beige wallpaper with its vertical pattern of identical roses, the veneered teak coffee table, the maroon uncut moquette sofa, all reminded her of other afternoons just like this. The only thing that was new was the hairdresser, testing the curl in her mother’s hair by bouncing it on her palm. Anna had never seen her before. Usually, it was Mavis, a stocky no-nonsense Brummie, who Anna liked, chiefly because her flat adenoidal voice steamrollered over her mother’s. Ever since she was little, Mavis had done her mother’s hair. Anna remembered crayoning on the kitchen table when her feet couldn’t reach the floor, listening to Mavis in full flow, her flat vowels as familiar as the wallpaper. She was a part of her childhood. Perhaps she had retired. This girl was much younger with pale china blue eyes, slightly milky as if covered by an invisible filter and Anna realised that she’d switched off and the monotonous chant of her mother’s voice was falling on deaf ears.  As the hairdresser’s slim fingers deftly unclipped another roller and tossed it into a container to join the others, plastic meeting plastic with a dull clatter. Anna wondered at what point her sleepy eyes had sharpened as her mother started on “The Story”.

         “Course,” she would have said, “my Alec over there is a twin.  His sister’s still at school. She’ll be home soon.”

“Oh!  You’ve got twins.  How lovely. That’s what I always say to my boyfriend.   If we’re gonna have kids, I want twins. Get it all over and done with in one go.”

         “Yeah. Well be careful what you wish for. I had no idea. Everyone just assumed I was just having the one, even the doctors. It was a shock to everyone when he appeared.”  Anna imagined the sideways gesture of her head towards Alec.

         “Just as I was about to have a cup of tea and the midwife was packing up, I felt a Gawd Almighty pain down there and the next minute another brat had popped out.  Mind you, nobody thought he’d survive. Like a skinned rabbit he was. Turns out me girl had been hogging all the nourishment. She’d grown big and he’d been half starved. Plus, somehow, he’d got squashed underneath her. That’s why they didn’t notice ‘im and that’s why he’s like he is. Poor little bugger.”

         It would have been then that Alec would have been caught under the spotlight of the hairdresser’s stare and despite everything Anna felt a twinge of compassion as she imagined the girl taking in his withered leg and hunched body.  

         Anna didn’t dare look at him. She knew what he was thinking. “But it wasn’t my fault,” she pleaded soundlessly. “It really wasn’t.”

Copyright Janet Baldey