THE MEETING

THE MEETING 

By Peter Woodgate

David opened his eyes, slowly, then looked around. He was standing in a large room, empty of furniture and dimly lit by various candles sited in ornamental fittings that were spaced evenly around three of the walls. On each of these walls, two heavily draped sections secreted, David assumed, windows. Elongated shadows, accentuated by the ornate candle fittings gave the room a Gothic appearance. On the remaining wall, there were no candles or drapes, just one large arched door.

    He began to feel very insecure, in panic mode almost and was praying it was a dream. Suddenly the door burst open and a blinding light had David covering his face with his hands. He opened them slowly and saw a silhouetted figure enter the room. The glaring backlight meant that David could not make out any features on the imposing shape until, as quickly as it had opened, the door slammed shut. His eyes began to adjust to the dimly lit room again and David, although unable to make out facial features, noticed the shimmering aura that surrounded the entrant. David was about to mumble something when the figure beat him to it and booming, with minatory authority, spoke!

“David, I am God and I am asking you to give me good reasons as to why I should allow you to pass through this door into Heaven?

    Well, David, being an atheist, was somewhat dumbfounded. He didn’t believe in God, in Heaven or Hell yet, here he was about to talk to God. He bowed his head and looked down on the floor, ostensibly to avert from the piercing gaze that God was giving him. It was then he became aware of the strange pattern on the floor just where he was standing. It reminded him of a portcullis and David shivered as he assumed what this shadow meant.

    As he looked up God spoke again. “That’s right, it is what you think, you are literally fighting for your death, up or down, it’s up to you.”

David somehow found some strength and answered, with bravery.

“If you are God why are you meeting me at the door? I was always told that it was St Peter who carried out this part of the initiation.”

“Yes, that is quite right David, St Peter should be dealing with this task but, the fool ignored social distancing (he got too close with one of the angels on cloud nine) and now he’s got bloody coronavirus. I've been covering for him ever since and I am getting fed up with it. Do you know the only person that has offered to cover this duty so far was one of my son’s disciples, Judas his name.  However my son has told me that you can’t trust him unless you bung him some silver, so here I am grumpier than usual and you better watch out!”

    David was becoming angry now and told God that he would answer, in truth, but felt he should be given the chance to ask some questions first. God was quite taken aback by David’s reply and felt some admiration for him, agreeing to accept questions.  David, growing in confidence, asked God the first question.

“What makes you the real God? What about all those other gods being worshipped throughout the world, are they real and who should we believe?”

    God took a deep breath and replied, “The fact is David, I am the only God the maker of all things and must be obeyed. There are only two religions in this world: My religion and that made up by mankind which suits individual dreams. I have made the universe, the solar system and the earth. Every living creature has been crafted through me and serves a plan and purpose.” David interjected, “well God if I may say so I think you have made some silly things.”

“Give me some examples then,” God threw his answer back to David.

“Well,” David hesitated for a moment before answering, “What about the wasp then, what sort of plan do they fit into? What use are they? Apart from stinging someone you detest.”

God replied immediately, “you may think they have no use but they have a use for me.” David was sure he noticed a smirk on God’s face as he continued, “I have placed the wasp in the world to assist me in judging people’s character. It is how they react to those evil little nuisances that enables me to make notes on individuals. This is then written down in the book I have before me.”

    God slammed the book down on a desk that had suddenly appeared. A huge cloud of dust swirled in the air as God swore out loud, “those bloody angels too busy trying to be goody-goodies instead of concentrating on their cleaning duties.”

    David then leapt onto the offensive asking God, “Why, if you have all the info on me, in that book, do you want good reasons to let me in.”

“I know,” God was almost jovial at this point, “it’s just a game I play, I do like to make people plead and grovel. You would be surprised how some people lie through their hind teeth, it cracks me up. I know from the start that I will be pulling the lever, for down below but have a bit of fun beforehand.”

    “I shouldn’t really tell you this,” God continued, “but I had a bloke up here the other day, cocky sod, thought He was God. Anyway, he’d contracted coronavirus, thought he was immune and shook hands with someone to show how brave he was stupid bugger. Well the lies he told were unbelievable. My hand was on the lever, ready, but it turned out that he was sent up too early, a ventilator saved him and he was dragged back down.”

    David was furious at this point and shouted at God, “look here, I didn’t believe in you before I met you, whatever apparition you may be, and I am even more of an atheist now, if that is possible.”

    “Oh come on” God’s attitude was almost apologetic, “I’m just having a bit of fun, I’ve had enough of all this “Donkey Work, excuse the pun, that should be my son's job. Anyway, I know you are a good person really and was going to let you in anyhow.”

    David was not listening now, he had closed his eyes and all he could hear was a slow pulsating thump. He opened his eyes, again, slowly and gazed into those of the doctor looking over him. “Welcome back David,” the doctor had a smile on his face, “nearly lost you there for a moment, and our special guest in the next bed too, that would have caused a stir. David managed to turn his head slightly in order to look at the patient in the next bed. He couldn’t see an awful lot but assessed the person was fairly burly. What was very noticeable however was the unruly mop of yellowish hair that protruded from beneath the mass of tubes.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 11b

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 11b

By Phil Miller

Chapter 11 continued.

“We don’t have time for this crap. Come on. Don’t worry, we will not be going back to Command Centre.” said the Russian double agent, as he offered Craig a hand.

Craig looked up in confusion. “What? What’s going on?”

“Your friend KC has a plan.  We need to get back to her, double quick.”

Craig felt a strength surge through his body when he heard KC was ok. He took Peter Donyevsky’s hand and heaved himself up. They stood hand in hand, Craig still unsure of the clinical Russian.

“We can do good my friend, East and West. We can do good in the world, with you as the beacon Craig. Come, I will explain more on the way.”

“I can’t go without Cody,” Craig stood fixed to the spot.

“We don’t have time for this, come on,” Peter grabbed Craig’s arm.

“No, just 5 minutes more.” He screamed out for Cody again. But, there was no answer.

“Look Craig, we go back now. I will call for one of my search teams on the way. If they cannot find her then nobody can, ok!”

Craig studied the cold, calculated killer before him. There was something genuine in his voice.

“Ok! Let's go.”

They turned for the chopper. They had only taken two paces when Donyevsky fell to the floor with a  long crossbow bolt lodged in his neck. The crimson blood pouring like a silken sheet over the chocolate coloured mud. Craig sunk to his knees, waiting for the final blow. He looked down at the most dangerous killing machine he had ever known and knew that there was no point in running. He stood up defiantly.

Mika walked slowly, calmly, confidently towards him, the crossbow hanging down at her side.

She stopped by Peter Donyevsky, twitching in the dirt.

“This is for Pepe, my poor little brother,” she sighed, as she fired one more bolt through his chest then dropped the weapon to the ground. She pulled a small handgun from her belt and pointed to the one hundred foot hole in the ground.

“Move, over there.”

“I don’t care what happens. Just shoot me.”

“That would be far too easy, keep walking.”

They were at the edge of the piling hole. Mika smiled at him. “Get on the floor.”

Craig was resigned to his fate. He had always felt his life would end wickedly. Maybe the dark clouds would leave him now. He sat on the floor. “lay down you dog,” Mika was on him in an instant. She drew a cable tie from her belt and zipped his hands together. “Time for a bit of fun and then some pictures for your friends and mine, I think,” she whispered as she slid out her favourite weapon of choice. She grabbed Craig by the hair, to reveal more of his throat and flicked the razor sharp garrotte around his neck. “If you can keep your head while all those about you,” she laughed loudly as she went for the kill but something distracted her. Some kind of reflective light in the distance. She tried to make out what it was but it was too late. The bullet entered her left eye, killing her instantly and forcing her body backwards into the darkness of the hollowed out ground.

Craig looked up, but all he could see was some slithers of dancing light. Then she appeared.

“Cody! Thank god. I thought you were dead, where did you get the gun?”

“I found it by the cabin, in the mud. Who is she?”

“I don’t know. Get me out of these.”

Cody helped Craig up and they walked slowly past the body of Peter Donyevsky.

“Hang on, check if he has a phone Cody.”

She found a Huawei phone in the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to Craig, who held her damaged hand for a moment. “We need to get that fixed Cody. We need to get out of here. I don’t suppose you can fly a chopper, can you?” Cody stared at him, “I thought not.  We need to move his body. Then run.”

They steadily dragged Donyevsky to the edge of what looked like hell’s hole and, with a gentle nudge, sent him down into the abyss.

Copyright Phil Miller

MAD WORLD

MAD WORLD

by Rosemary Clarke

People are dying here!
And people are partying like a holiday.
People are grieving and coming to trembling terms with going outside..
And people are in pubs, on streets no masks no care...
And people are dying there!
Still.
And there's partying and fights with police while others suffer.
People are going round the bend, their lives end.
Over bridges and on railway lines..
And people walk the streets no masks!  No distancing!  No care!
AND PEOPLE ARE DYING OUT THERE!

No cure as yet and still they party...the dancing dead.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 11a

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 11a

By Phil Miller

Chapter 11

Mika established an end to end secure link to Moscow via a Russian communications satellite. It had been a long time coming for Colonel Yassarevitch, since his superiors had ordered the shut down of the Russian embassies in Dublin and London; time was running out. 

The Colonel sat alongside other high ranking officials of the Russian military elite, within the impregnable fortress that was the newly built, high tech, Russian Defence Data Centre.  The huge war room was filled to capacity. The Russian defence system (EKS) and China’s CRC were at their highest levels. The colonel excused himself and retired to a restroom; he wished he could smoke one of his favourite Cohiba Esplendido cigar’s, washed down with a nice large Beluga Noble or Cherry Varenya, like the old days, but that would have to wait, until it was over.

After a short, thirty-second loss of connection, Mika was back. Yassarevitch tapped his earpiece, “At last! Where have you been?”

“It doesn’t matter. I lost you for a moment, but we are all good now.”

“You have him then?”

“Soon!”

“We are going to take Okhrana down but we must be sure we are in position?”

“I need one, maybe two hours more, that is all.”

“No games Mika.  Just do your job. We are at the point of no return. Our comrades in China are ready and waiting.”

Mika disconnected the call and watched the live news footage on rewind again of a possible terrorist attack on the streets of East London. The footage was perfectly clear and so was the man holding the gun. She knew Peter Donyevsky.  She knew he had turned, that he had killed her brother Pepe and Micheal Kaspersky, the man who had given her purpose. She focused on his targets, scanning into the motorbike. The registration was clear. She froze the image, copied and cropped it, then uploaded it to the Russian Secret Service database. 10 minutes later she had the information she needed. Local ANPR had caught them heading East.

Mika dressed in her combat clothing and prepared her weapons. She was meticulous to a fault; always be prepared, trust no-one, strike first. The time had come. 

Cody had ridden like a bat out of hell until she reached Standford-le-hope.  It was almost 7:30pm, when the weather had turned against them. Visibility was down to around thirty yards, causing her to slow down to what seemed a snail’s pace, as the torrential rain made riding almost impossible. The fuel gauge was on empty. An old roadwork’s port-a-cabin gave them the shelter they needed. They were clear; for the moment. The A13 had been undergoing major works which proved a blessing in disguise as it was partially blocked off by concrete blocks and plastic cones. The Kawasaki stalled in the deep excavator tracks that had been churned up by a monster digger, during the day. Craig slid off, into the cold wet mud. He lay there shivering, eyes half open. Cody leant over him then grabbed his ankles and, holding one leg under each of her arms, she dragged him towards the workmen’s hut, the adrenalin nulling the pain in her hand and nose.  Craig came back to life just as they neared the entrance. Cody tried the door, which was unlocked, and reached in for a light switch; good, electricity. The unit was around fifteen by twelve feet. Half a dozen Hi-Viz polyester rain suits hung on hooks along the prefab walls along with safety helmets. Two tables in the middle of the hut gave it a cramped feel. A hot water heater sat alongside a Baby Belling and microwave and benches sat fixed to each wall.

Cody checked the door before sitting down. Craig lay on a bench, staring at the ceiling. Both were exhausted. Cody walked over and sat down next to Craig, lifting his head onto her lap, wiping clumps of blackened mud from his hair. Craig looked up at her, his eyes were bloodshot and his body and head ached. He had a compulsion to scratch at his feet so kicked off his muddied trainers.

“I didn’t ask for this,” whispered Craig.

“None of us did,” said Cody, delicately removing some mud from his face.

“I should hate you for what you did, or rather, what you didn’t do,” still shivering.

“We couldn’t tell you, it may have jeopardized everything. You and everyone you knew would be in danger,” the pain was intensifying in her broken thumb.

“So what changed? Why save me now, and what the fuck happened to Tom?”

“He obeys orders. He’s a soldier. It’s what he is supposed to do.”

“And you! What happened back there?”

“I already made my decision when I saw the data.”

“What data?”

“We knew you would lead us to her Craig,” her voice was calm.

“What data Cody?” he asked again, “I know about Flamingo. I know about the Okhrana and I know about the plan for radical change in Russia. What else is there?” his anger rising. He started to scratch his feet against each other. It felt good, but he just wanted to tear at his flesh; If he could, he would cut his foot off, such was the irritation.

Cody didn’t answer him immediately but instead started to remove her sodden clothes. She stood in her underwear before quickly grabbing at the workmen’s waterproof clothing.

“Well! Talk!” shouted Craig, making Cody jump, knocking her hand against the side of the table.

She screamed, “alright, all right,” before throwing the protective clothing to the floor, and sat on the table staring out of the only window in the cabin, flashing lights from the motorway causing shadows to dance across her tanned body, “In the early 70’s the greatest scientific mind in the world discovered a way of using DNA to build a human clone. That man was the geneticist, Micheal Pitulko. You were that clone. But you know that already, thanks to your friend Kayse Matrix, right?” She looked over at him.

“Yes, I know that already,” his feet were getting worse.

“They also managed to create a virus. Not just any virus. This virus was built to adapt to the human body, grow with it, learn from it, building a symbiotic relationship with it. They then fused this with a mutant form of the bacterium that causes Necrotizing Fascitis. Intelligent triggers were built into the first picocells, which duplicated as you grew, but lay dormant.  You are a human biological bomb Craig. You have the capacity, if triggered, to annihilate every living thing on this planet. You are deadlier than SARS, COVID and EBOLA combined tenfold. If they activate you then god help us. Your touch alone will infect. A single expelled breath from your lungs has the capacity to kill millions. If you cough, then trillions of particles ride the airwaves looking for living organisms. Flesh blisters and bursts. Lungs are destroyed in minutes, then the liver, the heart and finally the brain. You are eaten alive from the inside out. You were supposed to be activated in Russia, during the uprising and rebellion of the Okhrana, should the coup d’etat fail. The Kremlin had been looking for Ruberov for a long time and when they found him, well! I don’t need to tell you what happened to him, do I?"

Craig sat unblinking, the words smacking him hard in the face. He had accepted the fact he was a clone, but to be a living biological weapon turned the colours of his world grey.

He felt a pain in his head and his feet were driving him insane. He noticed a foot grate by the door and trudged over to it, scraping the soles of his feet roughly over the old iron spikes, turning away from Cody as he tried to blink back the tears that were welling up inside him.

He felt sick, and he felt tired and hopeless. He felt isolated and alone but above all, he felt angry; angry with Cody, with Tom and Inspector Moreau; angry with everyone. He started punching the walls of the cabin, releasing the tsunami of emotions within, before falling to the floor in despair: a broken man.

He was distraught and flinched as he felt the warmth of her hands as she slid them under his soaked shirt. He wiped his eyes and turned slightly. Cody pressed herself gently against him and kissed his head. Craig started to sob as Cody cupped and kissed his face. They sat staring at each other for a tender moment before she helped him to remove his clothing and then her underwear. Her tanned, moist body glistened in the subdued light. Craig shook his head. He was just about to talk when Cody hushed his lips and placed his hands on her breasts. His fingers slowly and softly ran the lines of her sleek body. The urge to hold her, be with her, enter her, felt right. Cody took control. She lay him on his back, straddled him and gently eased him inside her, moving slowly back and forth before Craig rolled her over. They lay entwined as one. There was a tenderness between them. They lay side by side, gasping for breath until, finally exhausted.  They slept.

Craig woke up to find Cody had gone. He checked his watch; fifty-seven minutes, where is she?

He stood up quickly and dressed in one of the orange PVC suits, slipping on his old trainers. He looked out of the port-a-cabin window but saw nothing but the occasional red and white lights of a speeding vehicle. He felt scared. For the first time in his life, he felt real fear. He jumped down onto the muddied floor and called out for Cody, the silence deafening. He could sense something was wrong and stepped back towards the cabin, feeling for the safety of the door. The whooshing sound of helicopter blades could be heard in the distance. Craig panned around to fix its location. Somehow, he knew they were coming for him. He screamed, “Cody! Cody!”

The chopper honed in on the small prefabricated hut and landed no more than twenty metres from it. Peter Donyevsky jumped out, cursing quietly at the state of the ground that he now stood ankle deep in.

“Craig,” he shouted, “I know you are in there. It is ok! KC has told me everything. I’m on your side Craig. We have to go. I can get you to a safe place. You have to trust me.”

He started to walk towards the light of the workmen’s cabin. It was eerily quiet since the blades of the helicopter had ceased. The door was ajar. Peter Donyevsky drew his PP2 and gently pushed it open. He looked inside but could see no-one. “Craig, I can help get you out of here and away from Moreau and Singha and everyone else.” He stepped up onto the floor but was forced off-balance as Craig pulled at his grounded ankle from beneath the unit. Donyevsky fell backwards into the mud, his gun flung from his grip. Craig scrambled out and made a run for it, towards the giant one hundred metre stack of iron piling grids where it was slightly lit; just enough to shine light onto the deep foundation holes dug for the new bridge. Donyevsky was fitter, stronger than the young officer.

The mud sucked at Craig’s ankles, his thighs were burning and his legs felt cramped. He collapsed onto his knees, puffing and panting, like an animal waiting to be slain. Peter Donyevsky knelt down beside him.

“You really are a pain in the arse, you know that!”

“Just fucking kill me, please!”

“I would love to, what with all the trouble you have put me through, shithead!”

“Do it then, the world will be a safer place, believe me,” panted Craig, before spitting into the mud.

Copyright Phillip Miller

Shut In Silence

SHUT IN

by Rosemary Clarke

Shut in.
Hearing of loss, hearing of tragedy hearing the worst.

Shut in.
Can't go outside, can't leave the house something stops me.

Shut in.
Shut in from the world, shut in by my mind shut out of the future.

SILENCE

by Rosemary Clarke

I still hear her shouting to me to 'get up!'.
I lay alone in bed unable to move but still, she keeps shouting as she always did
'Come on! It's a beautiful morning!  Summer's here!'
But I look in the half-light and hide myself under the sheets..
And wish I could open the door.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

Desires reaching far beyond

Desires reaching far beyond

By Sujata Narang

Zakula lay on the thick grass that carpeted the upland gazing at the star-studded sky, he started Recollecting the ten years he’d spent in this new realm.  The sun emerged from the foot of the lurid green mountains and each evening settled in his saffron kingdom. The waterfall gushed from the mountain peak, with tremendous speed. It seemed as if the droplets couldn’t wait to dissolve in eternity having travelled the journey of a lifetime. The sound of the hummingbirds and the roar of the water created a melody indulging the senses. The spells cast in Neverland expanded into magnificent mountains covered with exotic flora and fauna. Every sight was breathtaking. A charismatic world, beyond belief.

Zakula had never seen its like. Back home Mother Nature wasn’t so kind. The trees bore fruit, but they were not edible. Hazda and its surrounding were home to reptiles and other creatures that crept and slithered. The sun was fierce and shot warm scorching rays that pierced down to the bones tearing flesh apart. Motherland was nasty and uncharitable, one could only enjoy her wealth and treasures if you had toiled enough in the unpleasant heat of the day and survived the stings of the Deathstalker scorpions, her guardians who populated the land.

Ever since he was a young boy, he was fascinated by the stories of men who made it to the Neverland.  He was inspired by their legacy of being the most respected men amongst the tribe. The tribe of Hazda believed there existed an alluring land beyond the adjoining dingy forest.  Not many men had made it to the Neverland.  Reaching Neverland was a gruelling task. One must be proficient to survive in the wilds.

The tribal tales of men who set foot in the Neverland cast a spell on him. Those stories created a web of enchantment around him. He wanted to experience the splendid adventure for himself. The tribal chief’s saga was his all-time favourite; the story of bringing the enchanted emerald from the Neverland. Each year this triumph was celebrated splendidly. The Hazdan community observed a weeklong holiday, lavish ceremonies, to honour the bravery of those men. Village craftsmen spent six to eight weeks making large figures of the Kishi monster, only to be brought to ashes by the glorious men with their flaming arrows demonstrating their victory to the villagers. The burning flames sparkled Zakula’s desires and each year these fireworks served as a source of reaffirmation.

Zakula knew one day he would have to set out on this quest. He would find the Neverland, he would defeat the monstrous beasts in the forest and conquer his fears. He would not let anything stop him, not even himself.

He knew if he wanted his dream to come true, he would have to persevere. He prepared himself well, diligently learned swordsmanship, persuaded Zataya, tribal chief to train him to hunt and survive in the wild. Each day he grew stronger, Leading a disciplined life.

So, Zakula finally found his Neverland. He had a blissfully wonderful life; his Neverland had everything he had desired. There was an abundance of food. Never a day past when he was hungry.

He never wished to return, but sometimes he felt restless experiencing a strange yearning churning like a whirlpool in his stomach.  His heart and mind uncertain, his beliefs shaken, the peace was all so strange.

“I wonder why I feel so anxious and empty inside. What is bothering me?”

A loud gush of wind brings his mind back to the present, in the web of his unsettled emotions he hadn’t noticed the passage of time, the sun has sunk beneath the earth. He prepares himself for bed. He dips his hands into the flowing stream to cleanse his face and hands.

Yet again his scars remind him of his brutal battle with Kishi, the demon of darkness, who resided in the dark forest that stood between the Hazda village and the Neverland. The battle was swift and brutal. Kishi fangs scared Zakula’s face leaving an everlasting impression of their encounter.

These scars also reminded him of the last days he spent in his hometown Hazda village, his childhood, his mother and Yakoli.

Yakoli was a spirited young maiden, residing in a dwelling just a few yards away from his own. He became engulfed in his memories of her watching him master archery, learning to tackle the wild beasts, it seemed perfect ecstasy to her. Life was eternal bliss for Yakoli. She was a slim framed girl who had deep dark brown eyes, her hair curled around her bronze face. She was beginning to transform into a charismatic young woman like a flower blossoming in spring exhibiting its full glory. Yet, Zakula never took notice of her lush magnificence. Yet He felt she lacked sparkle. He had never been attracted to her.

Yakoli loved Zakula madly and she would go to any extent to make him happy. Zakula was aware of her feelings but did not reciprocate nor encourage her.  Yet he enjoyed having her by his side because she affirmed his worth.  He believed she was instrumental in showcasing his manliness to the tribe. For him she was nothing more than good company. He never felt an inch of guilt in accepting her unrequited affection.

He shooed away his feelings of guilt, “I have told her I do not love her.”

But, Yakoli was confident, “one day Zakula will change his mind.”

Words of his last conversation with Yakoli echoed in his mind.

“Zakula, where had you been?  You promised you will go up the mountains with me to fetch berries!” she’d said.

“Fetching berries? Who do you think, I am Yakoli, A lame gatherer?  I am a hunter, an explorer, a discoverer and you must know I am preparing to travel to the Neverland. We are training to defeat the humungous beasts of the wilds. I have a lot to do before I leave. I must repair my tools and sharpen my wedges.”

“I didn’t mean that Zakula. I know you are occupied, but I wanted to show you something on the mountains today.” She sounded like a little child.

 “Don’t you understand Yakoli, I can’t waste more time with you. The clouds are clearing up. My days in the village are numbered. If I have to make any sense of my life I must leave now!” he yelled.

His words, “waste time with you,” pierced through Yakoli’s soul, as if she had been jolted from a dream.  Zakula had never considered her feelings and had been extremely rude to her.

“Spending time with me is a waste, did I hear you right?  What do you think I am!”

“Yakoli, I didn’t say that,” Zakula replied looking away from her, to prevent her seeing his face and reading more of his mind.

He’d meant every bit of what he said also she had read his words correctly, yet he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Yakoli it’s your choice to think and assume what you will, it’s none of my business. Please leave me alone, Yakoli I don’t fancy want your company.”

Gazing at the luminous sky, through the cavity from his cave Zakula spent hours lying on his rock bed. His mind wandering endlessly, keeping him awake.

“I think I know it! I must admit I miss my family. I wish I had said a proper farewell. Mother must have worried for days and spent sleepless nights. Strangely, I also miss Yakoli. I never bothered about her but, she was an inseparable part of my life.” 

 I wonder how is Yakoli, doing? Has she managed to move on and forget me?  She must by now be married with 4 or 5 children. I am sure she must have found someone else. Someone better than me, more worthy of her love and kindness. His thoughts taunted him.

“I must go back; I owe apologies to everyone.”

What if mum is no more? What if the villagers have moved to a new place? Maybe no one will recognise me? Countless thoughts and fears entered his mind.

***

The next day he packed for his journey, another quest to be completed. After a few months of toiling in the wilds and numerous sleepless nights, he returns to his village. His eyes absorbing the changes from the world he’d left long ago. He was comforted to learn that the village was still there. Heading home to face the rest of his fears.

He sees a fragile, old woman in the now dilapidated property that once was home.

“Who are you? Who are you looking for?” asked the fragile woman.

Zakula, looks down at her. As she came closer her appearance seemed familiar. Her hair is grey. Her eyes are clouded with dark circles around them. The passage of time has left its impression on her face. Yet, he can still notice the same old sparkle in her eyes.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she asked again.

He continued to stare at her unaffected by her words. His stare conveyed his heartfelt emotions. As she looked into his eyes, she began to tremble.

“Zakula” she only managed to say his name and tears started from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as if they were loosely stationed on the edge of her eyes.

“You are alive! Where had you been? Why didn’t you return?” questions and tears rolled out, her voice cracked, as she struggled to keep hold of her bursting emotions.  

“Pardon me mother for my selfishness. I have only been a source of misery for everyone who loved me. Blinded in my quest.”

“No, my child, it isn’t your fault. One cannot escape the call of fate, but I am glad that you have returned a wiser man.”

“Mother, where is Yakoli? I Must see her once” Zakula said with urgency in his voice.

“Zakula do you remember the Banyan tree on the outskirts of the village?”

“That tarnished tree is still around! It is amazing nothing has changed here in so many years.”

“Go to the Banyan tree, you will see it for yourself.”

Zakula jumps on his horse clutches its reins and raced along the path leading to the Banyan tree. As he rides his mind is transported back in time. Old narrow bushed lanes bring back a flood of childhood memories.  It seemed as if only days have passed since he last visited this place. The lanes were loaded with thick green lush of wild berries and Acacia trees loaded with densely bunched thorns. The blowing wind puffed out the thorns creating a spiked bed of misery.

As he reached the borders of the village the surroundings began to mellow. A warm pleasant scent swirled in the air. The sunshine seemed gentle. A strange intensive aura began to invade his thoughts, he was eager to find Yakoli.

The Banyan tree was close, and his heart galloped faster than the horse. The land surrounding the banyan tree didn’t resemble the harshness of Hazda village. It was filled with grass, large fields covered with mesmerising lavender, tulips and roses. The busy chirp of birds elevated the symphony of the scene. How was this possible? This place seemed to be so much like the Neverland.

A few yards, ahead he could see a woman sitting crossed leg, her eyes were closed, maintaining her posture, her skin and hair matched that of Yakoli. Her face was glowing with eternal bliss. Can it be, could she be Yakoli?

Zakula could see and feel she was attractive. He could see her femininity.

Any man would be proud to have this attractive woman by his side, Zakula thought.

Zakula mustered his courage and walk the remaining yards, he begins to rehearse his words.

“Yakoli?” he asked, feeling unsure.

Yakoli’s eyes opened and settled on Zakula. She kept her gaze fixed on him. She was trying to recollect who he was or perhaps taking time to awaken from her deep sleep.

“What brings you to me?” she asked.

“I am Zakula.”

“I am aware it’s you Zakula, what brings you to me after so many years?”

“I wanted to see you before it was too late.”

“People in Hazda village say you have conquered the mighty beast; people remember you for your courage. You are now part of the elite. I believe that you should be very wealthy and rich. I am sorry I have nothing to offer you.”

“Forgive me Yakoli.  I found all the worldly comforts, but I felt emptiness inside.  I wish I had known; one must earn love and nurture it, not throw it away.  I am here to seek your forgiveness for my wrongdoings,” said Zakula.

“No, you don’t have to; you followed your dream, your destiny. You don’t need me to forgive you. I have set you free.”

As he stood staring at her, he felt his visit has only added to his misery.  He could not forgive himself for treating her so badly. He had set out on this journey to see if Yakoli was happy, strangely he wasn’t pleased to have found her content and gratified. He wanted to know what had happened to her. How she was changed and how she had transformed this land?

Copyright Sujata Narang

The Darker Half Chapter 11

The Darker Half Chapter 11

By Janet Baldey

CHAPTER 11

The best thing about the new house had been that tree. It had been spring when they moved in and it had masses of pink blossom that had looked good enough to eat, like the candyfloss they sold at fairs. Later, in mid-summer, Anna would lie underneath it, on the sun-crisped grass, looking at picture books while its leaves shaded her from the heat. Her Daddy told her it was a cherry tree and that later perhaps her Mummy would make a cherry pie. But, no matter how loudly her mother screamed and raged and no matter how many times her father threatened to beat him, Alec wouldn’t leave the tree alone.  Anna couldn’t work out why it held such a fascination for him but this was before she understood that once Alec got an itch he couldn’t rest until he’d scratched it. At the time,  she thought it was because of her, and so she stopped going near it but that didn’t work. Roughly three times a week, Alec got stuck amongst its branches and had to be rescued by her father, summoned by her hysterical mother who constantly feared for Alec’s life. Then came that terrible day when her Mummy was proved right and from then on the tree’s days were numbered.

“Anna, go and get your brother, he’s probably up the tree.”

To her surprise, her Mummy had sounded very calm.  Then she remembered something she’d overheard the previous evening.

“Alec’s getting really good at climbing now.” Her mother said, sounding proud. “Well, I suppose boys will be boys,” she added fondly.

“About time.” Her father grunted and there was a long silence broken only by the rustle of his newspaper.

For the first time, Anna had felt a bit sorry for her Mummy, she had little enough to boast about where Alec was concerned.  But Anna wasn’t a bit pleased about Alec’s newly found skill because now she was barred from lazing in the tree’s shade. If she tried, Alec pelted her with twigs, cherry pips and anything else he could find.

“Hurry up girl, stop daydreaming and go and fetch your brother. His baked beans will get cold.”

An impatient voice interrupted her thoughts and reluctantly Anna got up from the table and went outside. The fact that her beans were getting cold didn’t seem to have occurred to her Mummy. What was wrong with her legs anyway, she grumbled to herself as she walked down the path. As she got nearer, she slowed. There was a crumpled black smudge lying on the ground underneath the tree.  It looked like an old coat that somebody had thrown down but as she grew nearer she realised it wasn’t a coat. It was Alec. He was very still, he must be asleep, although that was strange because he was always hungry and it was teatime.  Also, he was lying in a very strange way and she felt a twinge of alarm.

“Alec, are you OK?” she called but he didn’t move. She ran to where he was lying and bent over him, his face was very white and there was a thin mauve line around his lips. She felt frightened and put out a hand to shake him but then drew back, realising that maybe she shouldn’t. Turning, she raced towards the house, yelling for her father and mother.

When they came back from the hospital her father took her mother upstairs to lie down. She’d been given a sedative at the hospital because she was so upset. He sat down in a chair and lifted Anna onto his lap.

“Your brother’s hurt his head. He must have tumbled down the tree. He’s got to stay in hospital for a while.”

“Is he going to die, Daddy?”  Anna lived in terror of people dying, especially her Gran, who she loved the best in the world, except for her Daddy of course.

“No, of course not love. Although he banged his head very hard and is still asleep at the moment. Now, Mummy is very upset and will have to spend a lot of time with Alec in the hospital so we think it would be a good idea if you stayed with your Grandma for a bit.

Anna was delighted. She loved her Gran and later she remembered those weeks as among the happiest of her life. She slept in Gran’s second bedroom underneath a pink satin eiderdown, which was Anna’s favourite colour, and Gran had made a set of pink and white striped curtains that matched exactly. In the morning's Gran walked with her to school and when they got back in the afternoon, they’d have their tea. It was always Anna’s favourite, fresh tomato sandwiches, sprinkled with a little salt, and fairy cakes with pink icing. Gran would sit at the table while Anna talked about her day and afterwards she’d listen to Children’s Hour on a little green and cream radio.

Grandma used to cook delicious food and at the weekends, they’d have a baking session when Anna would help cream butter and sugar together and decorate little cakes with glace cherries. Gran would put her little radio on the windowsill and when they were waiting for the cakes to bake they would dance around the tiny kitchen in time with the songs being played. Gran liked Country & Western best and knew all the words to most of Johnny Cash’s songs. At last, all pink and sweaty, she would collapse into a chair and throw her apron over her face crying, “that’s enough now. I’m too old for this.” 

Best of all, Gran had a little dog, a Jack Russell called Binky and they used to take him for a walk in the woods every evening. Sometimes Binky would be naughty and disappear down a rabbit’s hole and had to be coaxed out with biscuits but mostly he just ran around barking at shadows. At last, with Binky safely tethered on his lead, they’d walk home along paths bordered by clumps of trees made mysterious by the gathering darkness. Slightly spooked by the crouching bushes, Anna would slip her hand into the warmth of her Gran’s and look forward to her nightly mug of Ovaltine, wishing with all her heart she could stay with her forever. It was so peaceful without Alec.

One evening, her Gran started to talk about her brother.

“Are you looking forward to seeing Alec again, love?”

 Anna didn’t know what to say and looked down at her plate. Whenever she thought about Alec, her stomach started to tie itself into a knot. She crumbled her cake and nodded, hoping that Gran would talk about something else, but she didn’t say a word. At last, Anna was forced to look up, Gran’s face was serious and her eyes looked as if they could read her mind.

“I know he can be difficult, love. But he is only a little soul and has been through a lot.” She sighed and stared into the distance and Anna had the idea that she was really talking to herself. “Poor lamb, in a coma for three weeks, fancy”. She turned back to Anna, “anyway sweetheart, we’ve all got to be very gentle with him and I’m sure things will be back to normal in no time at all. And don’t forget, I’m just around the corner and, provided your mum and dad agree, you can come and stay with me any time you like.”

But afterwards, when she was back in her own home, she knew that Gran had been wrong. Things didn’t get back to normal and as the weeks went by, Alec became stranger than ever. They each had their own bedroom but the walls were thin and at night she was often kept awake by Alec grinding his teeth and muttering words that she couldn’t quite hear.  He was even naughtier than before and she couldn’t keep him out of her room. Once she got back from school to find that he had broken every one of a china menagerie of animals her Gran had given her. In doing that he also succeeded in breaking her heart and for the first time in her life she had a screaming tantrum. His shirt soaked by her tears, at last her father managed to calm her down by promising to put a lock on her door.

Alec also took against the tree and blamed it for his accident. Screaming and crying he refused to set foot in the garden while it was still there. When that didn’t work he wouldn’t leave the house and had to be dragged out forcibly whenever the family went shopping.

“Get rid of it,” he yelled. “I hate it, the ugly thing. It tried to kill me.”

He wouldn’t listen when they tried to tell him otherwise and grew so furious that his face looked like a big red balloon and Anna wondered if he’d burst.  In the end, her father crumbled, worn down by Alec’s incessant tantrums and his wife’s nagging.

“You’ve got to do something about it, Len. Alec’s developed some sort of neurosis and ‘e won’t get better till you do.”

   One morning, Anna was woken by the dull thwack of an axe and staring out of her bedroom window, she saw her father’s muscles bulge as he took a swing at the tree’s trunk.

“No,” she shouted and ran down the stairs, without bothering to put her clothes on. Racing barefoot down the path she launched herself at her father.

“No, Daddy. Leave it alone, it’s my tree.”

Gently, he disentangled himself. “Sorry, love. It’s got to go. Alec is frightened of it.”

“But I love it.” By now, tears were streaming down her face, “Alec’s accident wasn’t the trees fault. It won’t hurt him.”

Her father let go of the axe and drew Anna to him. “I know. But he thinks it will and it’s not good for him to keep fretting about it.  And, after all, it is only a tree sweetie. When Alec gets better, perhaps we’ll plant another one to take its place.”

Anna couldn’t stop crying, how could she tell him it wasn’t just a tree?  It was more than that. It was her safe place and the only beautiful thing in that ugly garden. When she was sad, just looking at it cheered her up.

 Staring at him out of swollen eyes, Anna saw it was no good. His face was kind, but at the same time firm. Reading his expression, she knew that it wasn’t his idea. He didn’t want to cut the tree down. He’d been forced into it by her brother.  She suddenly felt scared. He was her Daddy but even he couldn’t say ‘no’ to Alec and if her Daddy couldn’t control him, who could?

Copyright Janet Baldey