Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 10b

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 10b

By Phil Miller

Chapter 10b

KC was observing her screens. “You might not want to see this.”

Cody covered her broken nose, trying to stem the blood, the thumb on her right hand was throbbing. Her ears had popped but the ringing was still there. They watched the footage unfolding above them as Tom lead the Elite killing machine to the door to prime the explosives. Cody was shocked. How could he? “Bastard!” she screamed.

The CCTV screens went blank, the dull thud of the blast just audible to them.

KC began punching away feverishly at her keyboards and then turned to Cody and Craig.

“You only have about two minutes then you’ve got to make a break for it. The guns will take care of most of them. The air vent is the only way. Over there,” she shouted, pointing to a small silver panel.

“It goes up to the roof. You’ll have to move, now,” she smiled at Craig as he and Cody eased the panel away. Cody was bearing up the best she could with the pain from her broken thumb, as she forced her way into the square ducting. Craig turned before joining her; he knew it would probably be the end for KC.

“You don’t have to say anything,” sighed the Hackney hacker, as she sat back in her chair and pulled a large packet of Turkish delight from her drawer. Craig blinked back a tear as he bent down to squeeze in behind Cody.

 “Hey! Craig!? What’s it like being a billion-dollar bug?” was the last question that echoed through the shaft.

The machine guns fired 120 rounds a minute. Most of the squad were cut to pieces in the blink of an eye; It didn’t matter; all were expendable.  

Donyevsky sat in his jeep, observing the carnage, before ordering in the second wave. “Get the dead out of there and send in E2. I want Kayse Matrix in one piece.”

Cody and Craig emerged from the air con shaft above the Archway, both supporting each other as they made their way along the gritted flat felt roof. From their vantage point they could see Donyevsky orchestrating his minion.  They made their way along three adjoining buildings, eventually arriving at a small plant room, the door unlocked. They dashed inside and carefully made their way down an old metal spiral staircase, at the bottom of which, was a long narrow passage. Cody was feeling the strain. Craig was aching and his head was thumping. The door at the end of the passageway was locked and they could hear what sounded like machines in operation. Cody booted the door open and was immediately confronted by around fifty Asian machinists who all stopped work almost simultaneously. No-one moved until a short puffed up woman started to scream at them. Then they all joined in. Cody and Craig ran the gauntlet of abuse till they reached another door, the angry mob following, launching coat-hangers, and the odd chair. A large overweight man stepped out of an office in front of them and grabbed Craig in a bear hug. He was squeezing the life out of him, and Cody was trying to defend herself against the mob of angry women. She quickly picked up a small lighter on one of the tables and made a dash for it, grabbing the odd bit of cloth here and there on the way. The gang had gained ground and were about to grab her when Cody lit the cloth and launched it into a large linen container, which burst into flames almost instantly. There was pandemonium. Craig was almost losing consciousness, but as soon as the fire took hold, he was dropped like a rag doll. The floor caught fire very quickly. Chaos ensued as Craig and Cody leapt down another flight of stairs and out through the front door, followed by panicked, screaming women. Donyevsky turned his head towards the commotion, signalling his men. He ran towards Cody and Craig, his PSS-2 held low. He opened fire, hitting two of the factory workers. Cody and Craig ran for their live’s but they were not in a good state. Peter Donyevsky and two of his men were closing in fast. Cody spotted a biker dismounting from his BMW 650. She tugged at Craig to follow her as she made a dash for the urban street bike, still ticking over. The rider lifted his helmet off and as he lowered it, Cody caught him with a reverse turning kick to the solar plexus, then axe kick to the back of the neck. He was out like a light. Cody grabbed the helmet and mounted the bike.

“Get on.”

“Your joking, you can’t ride.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Fucking hell!” he shouted as he hopped on behind her. She revved it a few times then shot away like shit off a shovel,  just as Donyevsky and his men emerged through the smoke and chaos they had left behind.

“Get onto E force. All units, they will not get far. We need them alive. I will re-phrase that; we need him alive and well. Kill her if need be,” he waved his men away and took out a cigarette, calmly lighting it as he watched the building burning before his eyes while sirens sounded in the distance.

Copyright Phil Miller

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 10a

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 10a

By Phil Miller

Chapter 10a

S.W.A.R.M was in conference. Admiral Stark shuffled his notes before the assembled heads of the mighty allied military machine. Major Singha sat, poker-faced, awaiting any news from Donyevsky. The Admiral stood to deliver his final address.

“Gentlemen, as you know, we have a networking issue, at the moment, which could potentially jeopardize our operation and so, should the need arise, I will have no compunction in initiating HADES. We are now in phase two. Her Majesty has been informed of our progress and is now making her way, along with her entourage and family, to the launch site via Bletchley. The U.S. President has initiated DEFCON 1 with command at Asia Pacific on red alert and in battle mode. S.S.A.D’s (satellite search and destroy) are in line. Now! We know the Russians have Arkhangel M-2 but that is not an issue; MOBY has her and is ready to drop her to the bottom of the shelf. Trojan 1 has been activated and is on standby in Beijing. The recent Sino/Iran arms agreement coupled with satellite imagery shows previously undetected Iranian nuclear missile launch sites. Trojan 2 is now established at Parchin.  Major Singha, Sir! I understand Flamingo will be ready by end of play,” he looked down and shuffled his papers again before sitting down.

The Major stood, loosening his tie, then cleared his throat. He looked around and was puzzled when he realized that Cody and Tom were not in the room. He turned his head slightly towards Moreau, “Where are Cody and Tom?” Moreau shrugged, “I’ll go and check.” The Major nodded, “I need them and our Flamingo here, now.” Moreau left the room and contacted security. “Can you do a trace on Cody and Tom. Seems they have gone AWOL. Highly unusual for them to drop off.“   

Major Singha took a sip of water and began his update.  “As mentioned by Admiral Stark, Flamingo will be despatched within the coming hours. UF45-D’s from 201 squadron are aboard HMS Regina Ignis, awaiting the arrival of Flamingo. Okhrana is set. Time to prepare Gentlemen. This is the last meeting before Strike 1.”

Moreau had stopped off at the Major’s office to collect his reading glasses and was just about to help himself to some more of the Major’s favourite tipple when he received a call. He froze, open mouthed, and cursed as the light amber whiskey spilt onto the floor. “My God! No, I don’t believe it. How the fucking hell did he get out!” he shouted down the phone, quite out of character, “get your arses into gear. I want them found now, right now, you hear me?  Get Donyevsky online.” He hobbled as fast as he could to security and was confronted by two armed soldiers and a Sergeant.

“Sir!”

“Don’t, Sir! me. What the hell happened?”

“They managed to by-pass security as bio is down.”

“Really! You mean to tell me they managed to get past three layers of physical security and armed guards! How could they use the lifts? The systems are paralysed,” he started to pace up and down, biting hard on a knuckle of his closed right fist.

The sergeant muttered something under his breath, “magna-rail, Sir.” Moreau thought he heard wrongly. “Excuse me? I thought you said magna-rail, soldier,” he placed his hands on his hips, taking

in a deep breath. His body was taking a long while to heal from the beating he had taken at the hands of Mika and Kaspersky, “That is correct, Sir! magna-rail operates under a completely isolated system.

 It automatically switches to an old UPS which was used during the very early stages of Command Centre build, Sir! it is the only thing operational down here right now”

Moreau’s complexion went from healthy and tanned, with flushed cheeks, to ashen grey. He clutched at his chest and dropped to his knees, rolling to his side. He never thought that his life would end staring at the black jackboot of a military man. He prayed to God; the first time ever.

Cody, Tom and Craig jumped off the magna-rail shuttle as it slowed to a gentle stop beneath the old sidings of the once half-timbered, gothic looking, Fenny Stratford railway station, a short distance from Bletchley. They made their way up to the disused railway station platform via the emergency staircase. Tom took the lead. Cody and Craig followed. They didn’t have long; only a matter of time before they were hunted down by the Elite forces that would shortly be in pursuit.

“Where are we going Tom?” asked Cody.  Craig was puffing and panting heavily, slowly falling behind, and within the space of 300 yards, pulled up abruptly, clutching his calf muscles and holding his head; the intense pain that had been bugging him ever since he first discovered the dead body of Ruberov, was back. “Wait!” he shouted. Cody and Tom stopped in their tracks, turned and ran back to him.

“What’s up?” asked Tom.

“I don’t feel too good,” he held onto Cody, his vision blurring.

“We need to get hold of a car, some wheels, anything,” said Cody, an urgency in her voice.

Tom looked Craig up and down with a degree of disdain, “Watling street is just along here. We need to get out of here, double bloody quick before they track us.”

There was an awkward silence before Cody shook her head looking at the floor, “We need somewhere safe. They’ll find us,” she said, softly. “What’s the point of running then?” exclaimed Tom. “You know why,” said Cody.

“Ok! We run and hide, but they'll come. Eventually, they'll come for him. I’m not talking a few days, more like hours, if we're lucky.”

“We have a good head start. We can just meld into the mainstream. They’ll never find us,” Craig stood upright.

 “We have no cash, no weapons. We cannot go to friends or family,” said Cody, an edge of  frustration creeping in.

Craig looked at Tom, “you were family, Tom.”

“Forget that. You have no idea do you?”

“What do you mean?”

Tom was just about to reply when Cody stepped between them, “Look, all this is doing is delaying us. We need to move”

“Nowhere is safe,” barked Tom.

“I know someone who can help,” said Craig, wincing at the pain in his head, “We need a car, let’s go.”

They kept to a slow pace, so Craig could keep up, finally arriving at Watling Street car park, where they split up to try and find an unlocked vehicle. Just as it looked like they were running out of luck, Cody tried the driver’s side of a rather well kept, 1993 Ford Mondeo; bingo! They were in.

Cody and Craig sat in the back and watched as Tom popped the casing under the steering column and attempted to hotwire the car.

“Where did he learn to do that?” asked Cody,

“Mis-spent youth,” said Craig.

Tom jolted back as he took a small shock, “Shit! That hurt.  Come on! come on!”

The old saloon spluttered as it grumbled into life; They were away.

“Soon as this car is registered, you know it’s just a matter of time before ANPR grabs us,” said Craig, as he searched for his seat belt dock.

Tom looked in the rear-view mirror, the car park’s cameras panning round to them as they exited onto the high street.  “Should be there in about ninety minutes, if we’re lucky. Archway you said, right?”

“Yeah! KC should still be there, hopefully.”

Cody put her hand on Craig’s knee. It startled him slightly and he checked to see if Tom was looking, which he wasn’t. She looked at him in an almost pitiful way before laying her head against his shoulder. Craig tensed up for a second and then shot a glance at Tom who was staring straight at him. For a moment, Craig felt unnerved. Tom had a look in his eye. One that he’d never seen before; hate or anger or both, he couldn’t tell.

They headed straight down the M1 to M25 turnoff.  Tom was concentrating on the road; things had changed since the last time he'd entered London from the North. They all sighed with relief when they finally reached Forest Road, Hackney. They parked at the back of the arches near the top of the road and behind a local Rastafarian fast food joint. An old 60’s reggae tune was blaring out and the aroma of spiced food hung in the air. There were quite a few people milling around as it was market day, so Cody, Tom and Craig made their way to the old purple arch that was KC’S lair.

Craig was surprised to see the window had been smashed, remnants of shattered glass still lay on the floor. He looked through the shutters and was shocked to see the state of the place. It looked almost derelict.

“Weird!” said Cody.

“What’s weird?” asked Tom.

“The glass door is still intact. You would think anyone trying to get in there would go through the front door, smash that first, in and out,” she replied, as she sussed the place out.

Craig casually walked up to the entrance, feeling around the frame, “It’s re-inforced, and bulletproof, no one can get in there unless KC wants you in there,” he touched the ballistic glass and it slid open.

He tentatively stepped in, Cody and Tom following closely behind. The cleansing pod was inactive. No sign of life at all. They walked in, the toughened glass door locking behind them. Craig stood staring at the abandoned desks and monitors when a voice came out of nowhere.

“Who do you have with you?”

“It’s Ok! KC, they are with me. They got me out. This is Cody and Tom. Tom’s my bro….was... Cody is his wife. It’s fine, KC,” Craig was looking around wondering where the voice had come from.

There was only silence. No answer from KC. Tom walked over to a monitor and checked it for power.

“Come on KC, we need cover. I need your help again.”

“You can come down, Craig. The other two have to wait there,” the voice was low but stern.

“Ok!”

Cody glanced over at Tom, who kept looking out through the shutters every now and then, when suddenly, a segment of wall moved forward then sideways to reveal a metal staircase.

"Just you." Craig turned to Cody and Tom, “I won’t be long guy’s,” he moved swiftly down the dimly lit staircase till he reached a solid steel door. As he went to touch it, a metal panel dropped either side of him and out popped the nozzles of two machine guns, aimed directly at him. He held his breath as he heard them engage.

“Don’t worry, just a precaution, sensor-activated but fire on command. Come in,” said KC, as she released the entrance to her sanctuary.

“Hello darling. Didn’t think I’d see you again and I can’t believe my little plan with the virus would prove so destructive. You did very well indeed Craig,” KC remarked as she sat, tapping away on her keyboard, checking the screens that offered a discreet view into the old office above.

“It’s only a matter of time before they find me,” said Craig resignedly.

“I know. That is why we need to get you to a place where no-one would dream of looking for you, ever.”

Tom seemed nervous. He was pacing in front of the window, checking the odd passer-by every now and then.

“Just chill for a minute Tom, you are starting to worry me a bit,”

Tom ignored her, then turned and held his hands up, as if surrendering, before he dived to the floor. The next few seconds felt like slow motion to Cody; The initial blast took out the entire brick enclosure surrounding the front entrance to the building, throwing Cody up and over the monitor desk. She smashed her head on the floor face first, breaking her nose in the process as she hit a small broken cabinet on her way down. The room was filled with dust and debris. She couldn’t hear anything, just a very high pitched sound. Her body felt paralysed, she was trying to roll over, but couldn’t. She started to cough as the brick dust and debris flew around her. “Tom! help me, Tom!” she screamed, spitting blood as it dropped down the back of her throat.  Suddenly, she was grabbed under the arms and dragged along the floor to the staircase. Cody looked toward the gaping hole that was the bulletproof doorway and could just about make out the figure that was Tom, his eyes firmly fixed in her direction, as she was pulled into the stairwell. He ran towards her, followed by half a dozen armed Elite Force soldiers, but the reinforced door slammed shut as he reached it. Cody and Craig rolled down the stairs and Cody screamed in agony as the thumb on her right hand snapped back as Craig trapped her against the bottom step. The two machine guns locked on instantly and Cody looked up in horror as she noticed an infrared light on Craig’s head, realising that she must also be a target, and so held Craig’s hand, squeezing it tight and looking at him fearfully. She was just about to speak when the fortress door unlocked and they both clambered in.

Copyright Phil Miller

Baldy Pants

Baldy Pants

By Dawn Van Win

No ones’s going to notice

No one’s going to care

So put your pants on back to front

And shave off all your hair

Wake up each day

Rejoice anew

And go and be

Your you-est you

Amongst the crowds of insta-clones

Who twitter in a huddle

Rise up and dance your happy dance

And give yourself a cuddle

Because it’s hard

This simple thing

In living we discover

By bravely being our true selves

We shine lights for one another

And so when passing on the street

We can never really say

Just who may need a shining light

To help them see the way

Back to themselves

Their one true home

And know that they are not alone

Copyright Dawn Van Win

The Darker Half ~ Chapter 7

The Darker Half ~ Chapter 7

By Janet Baldey

CHAPTER SEVEN

ALEC 

It was too hot.  The sun was much too hot. It was burning the top of his head and his back felt as if his skin was bubbling, despite the olive oil his mother had rubbed into it. If only it would rain. He took a quick glance at the sky, pure blue with not a wisp of cloud. He blinked. He’d made the mistake of staring at the sun and now he couldn’t see properly because of millions of tiny black suns bobbing in front of his eyes. He squeezed them half shut and peered longingly towards his sun hat abandoned in the sand where he’d thrown it after being told he couldn’t have an ice cream.

         “If you think,” his mother had said, “that I’m going to slog all the way down the beach to buy you a lolly just when I’ve got meself comfy, then you’ve got another think coming. Ask yer Dad, or go and get it yourself. I’ll give you the money.”

         But his Dad was already asleep, sprawled in a deckchair, a hanky tied on top of his head and a newspaper over his face; Alec could hear him snoring. He scowled. She knew very well he couldn’t plough through the sand with this horrible metal thing on his leg.  It would take him forever and everyone would stare. His Mum finished smearing oil all over her arms and legs and turned her glistening face towards the sky, her skirt tugged high over knees. She’d burn, thought Alec scornfully, she always did and never learned.   He hated the beach but although he’d whined, grizzled and dragged behind, it hadn’t made any difference.  His mother could have had cotton wool stuffed into her ears for all the notice she took but then, she liked nothing better than lazing around, especially in the sun. 

         As usual, the minute they’d got to their chosen spot, Anna had run down to the sea leaving Alec behind. There was absolutely nothing for him to do except try to make silly castles out of dry sand that collapsed as soon as he turned his bucket over. It was so boring. So he’d just sat and buried both legs in a sandy grave so no-one could see his bad one and now he was stuck and couldn’t even reach his hat.  He’d probably get sunstroke and die and then everyone would be sorry. Except he had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn’t. His mum might be, a bit. At least she’d make a lot of noise about it but his Dad and Anna would probably be pleased.

         Where was Anna?  He squinted to where he could just see the water, a glittering line in the distance. Then he saw the black shapes of three figures digging in the firm sand at the edge of the water and recognised one of them. She’d found some friends already. As he watched, one of the smaller shapes, a boy he thought, detached itself from the group and ran towards the sea a bucket in his hands. With all his might, Alec willed him to trip and end up face downwards in the sand. He began to grin at the thought but the child skipped into the waves and out again without falling once and Alec’s scowl returned.  He looked at the ocean, it was flat and still with just a few small waves rippling in and out, pushed by the tide. He prayed for an enormous tidal wave to appear from out of nowhere, surge towards his sister and wash her out to sea   Or, better still, a shark; a sinister black triangle cutting through the water heading straight towards her. He imagined people screaming and scattering and the dead silence that would follow as the shark retreated with its prey. That would be so good.  

He flinched as a sudden gust of wind whirled along the beach, blowing sand into his face. Some got in his eyes and without thinking he rubbed them with a hand that was even sandier. The grit stung his eyes and made them water and he let out a piercing howl.

         “Oh, for heaven’s sake.  What have you done now?”

         He heard the rustle of newspaper and, with his eyes streaming, looked up to see his father standing in front of him. “Stop rubbing them, you’ll make it worse. Now, open up and keep still.”

         He felt his chin being lifted and the tip of his father’s hanky, moistened with spit, probing the corners of his eyes.

         “Now blink hard and keep on blinking. What are you doing sitting here anyway? You’ll burn in that sun. Get in the shade, or go and play with your sister.”  

         Alec shook his head, tears flowing freely now. He hated himself for being so weak and felt worse as slime began to run from his nose. His father wiped his face and pulled him out of his sandy tomb.  

         “Right, now keep out of the sun. Do you want an ice cream?”

         Alec watched his father’s broad back as he trudged across the beach towards the ice cream van. He’d asked for strawberry but he bet his father came back with vanilla.   His Dad got everything wrong. His mum said so. He heard them rowing about it at night.   His Mum didn’t like the house they were in now. She said it was too small and poky and that if his Dad hadn’t lost the contract they could have stayed in their old house. Alec agreed. He’d liked it where they were before, there were woods at the bottom of the garden and you could do what you liked in the woods because there was no-one to tell you off.

         If his father did come back with a vanilla cone, he’d throw it in the sand. He hated vanilla. In fact, if he hadn’t wanted an ice so much, he would have thrown it down whatever the flavour, just to see the look on his father’s face.  He liked making his father angry it gave Alec another reason to hate him. And, he did hate him. He hated him because his Dad liked Anna the best, and he knew why too.  It was because she was clever and had two straight legs and he didn’t. He ground his teeth, remembering how he’d overheard their skinny neighbour describe him as that “poor crippled boy who lives next door.” He hated her as well, the ugly old thing. Alec sat and brooded about what he’d like to do to them all if ever he got the chance.

         At last he spotted his father’s figure gradually getting bigger as he walked towards him. He was holding four cones, two in each hand. Then Alec watched in dismayed disbelief as his father totally ignored him and veered towards the group of children playing by the edge of the sea. He saw Anna running up to him, claiming her cone and his father handing one each to her playmates. Alec clenched his fists. The ices must be already melting, there’d be nothing left except a soggy cornet by the time he got his. Stupid, stupid, stupid man; he started to grind his teeth. Anna always came first and Dad always gave her that special look whenever she spoke to him. Then, there were all those evenings they spent together in Dad’s workshop. What did they do in there?  Alec had been in there once or twice and it was nothing special. A grimy, bare little room with no plaster or paper on the walls. Just a workbench and two shabby old armchairs by a stove that burned wood, yet they both spent hours in there every evening. He’d never been invited in after that last time and again that wasn’t fair, he'd only been trying help. His father’s worktop had been such a mess with nails and screws scattered all over the place and Alec had only been trying to tidy them up.  It wasn’t his fault that he’d tripped and spilled them all over the floor. His mouth turned down and his eyes began to water again as he remembered the hiss of his father’s breath.

         “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Alec. Now, look what you’ve done. Just sit down and keep quiet if you want to stay.”  

         Alec hadn’t dared look at his sister, he was sure she was smirking. Instead, he’d blundered out of the door, went back into the house, climbed the stairs to his bedroom and lay in the dark. Since then, he’d never set foot in the place. All the same, he ached to know what they did in there night after night. Maybe they talked about him. Maybe they were plotting to kill him. Recently he’d got into the habit of spying on them. In spite of his bad leg he’d got quite good at walking quietly. He liked to think of himself as ‘The Creeping Shadow’ as he slipped out of the kitchen door and into the alleyway leading to the workshop. Slowly, he’d inch up to the door and press his ear against the peeling wood.  So far, he hadn’t heard much, just the creaking of chairs, the sound of his father’s saw and the low mumble of the radio in the background. But they had some sort of secret, they must have and he’d give a week’s pocket money to find out what it was.

Copyright Janet Baldey

Garden Magic

Garden Magic #1                 

By Dawn Van Win                                    

Seeds resting in

A furrow deep

Awaken from

Resplendent sleep

Soft rain falls gently

From above

And beckons life

To grow

In love

Copyright Dawn Van Win

Lose the game within win the game without

The game within the game

By Len Morgan

 "My name is Erik Weisz. There are marks out there by the thousand, they swarm like flies around rotting meat, only too willing and eager to be divested of their funds!  Who am I to deny them?

 Any scam I devise will attract suckers who part with money willingly, eagerly.  Yes, there are gullible takers for every scam.  At times, I have to fight them off like flies, so I pick and choose who to fleece by the cut of their jib.  Give em a sniff of easy money, and a glib tale from a sharp-witted cove, like myself and they're hooked.

 I know it's been said before but, there's only one type of person you can't con, and that's an honest man.  Fortunately, the honest man is one in a thousand.  I've met a few in my time but, I could count them on the fingers of one hand, (they can play havoc with a well-devised scheme)."

"Interesting, and you're telling me this, why?"

"Because my friend, you appear to be that rare breed, an honest man.  I could no more scam you than beat you at a game of chess.  Why I notice you have a board and chessmen to hand."

"If you wish to play a game to wile away the time, I am your man. but I warn you that scheming will not avail you for I am no pushover."

"I like a man who is confident in his own ability, perhaps a small wager would make the game more interesting?"

"Perhaps it would...  What have you in mind?"

"A guinea say, you have the advantage of me, pray what is your name sir?"

"My name is Edwin Holloway and I am not prone to passing up easy money." 

So, the board was set up and play began, Edwin chose the white pieces:

Pawn to King4

Pawn to King4

And so it went on, neither of us offering or receiving quarter.  We reached the end game.

"I have you Erik!" said Edwin.  "Mate in three moves..."

I scanned the board, smiled and toppled my King to signify defeat.

"You play a mean game, sir." I put my hand in my pocket, and produced a golden guinea and pushed it across the table. "Another game Edwin?"

Edwin smiled, "I suppose I should give you an opportunity to recoup your loss.  Same stake?"

"Mmm, shall we say 10 guineas?"

"You're on!" So, twenty minutes later I handed him ten guineas more.

"Well," said I, That's me tapped out.  Fortunately, I deposited a hundred guineas in a box at the local rail station.  Sadly, I can't just go out and collect it..."

"Do you have the key to that box on your person?"

"I do, but I can hardly nip out and collect it," I said, holding up my manacled hands.  "Unless you would trust me to return posthaste,  Perchance you could open the cell door and allow me to go collect it?"

"Erik, Erik!  Don't take me for a fool, you would never return..."

"Well it was worth a try," I smiled, took the key from my pocket and held it up before his eyes.  "It seems box 215 will have to wait.  If I'm found guilty of theft in court tomorrow morning, which I surely will, It could be six months before I get to spend it's contents..."

"Well, If you are seriously contemplating another game, I could, if you wish, recover said funds for you.

"Would you do that for me Edwin?  You are too kind Sir," I said handing over the key.

My Jailer left his post with the key in hand.  I smiled, easily divested myself of the manacles. Opening the cell door was child's play..."

When Edwin located and opened box 215, a puzzled frown populated his face as he recovered the envelope it contained.  He opened it.  His expression turned to anger as he read the note:

Sure as my name is Erik Weisz, you have been duped!  You're not after all an honest man.

signed: Harry Houdini

Copyright Len Morgan

MIRROR IMAGE

MIRROR IMAGE

By Peter Woodgate

On reflection, I don’t see

My individuality,

In essence, all’s from nature’s past

That doesn’t end, is here to last.

For molecules that form my whole

Were once inert, without a soul,

From raging seas and crumbling stones

Grew sinew, tissue and my bones

And at some point beyond the flame

Revert, as trace, from whence they came.

But out of view and out of touch

Sentient, alive as such,

An individual spark, that’s me

Ignites this personality,

Unique, unmatched, completely free,

An incomparable entity.

Unlike the atoms cyclic term

Where tangible will be reborn,

This inimitable soul will be

Unchanged for all eternity.

So, mirror hanging on the wall

It is not “me” you show, at all.

Copyright Peter Woodgate