Pandemic Pause 

By Natalie Hudson

Sitting in my bedroom,

Feeling really bored,

Scrolling through websites,

For things I can't afford,

Listening to music,

Playing lots of games,

Monday turns to Sunday,

And everything's the same,

To save lives, they tell you,

You have to stay at home,

But what of all the people,

Who have to be alone? 

Yes, we know it must be done,

But it won't mean it's not hard,

Especially if you're in a flat,

No garden or a yard,

But stay at home we must,

And stay at home we will,

To stop ourselves from being at risk,

And not make others ill,

So when we've all been stuck indoors,

For however long this lasts,

It won't have been much fun,

And we won't have had a blast,

But we'll have done our level best,

And helped towards the cause,

Of keeping COVID-19 down,

By all staying indoors. 

Copyright Natalie Hudson 

Abbalar Tales ~ 17

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 17 Orden’s Gambit

By Len Morgan

He lay silent and pale, comatose, for three days and nights.   Orden looked on with parental concern.   At this stage none could predict with certainty if he would live or die but, the odds were in his favour, 5:1, and there really was no alternative procedure.   Orden was napping on a cot beside Aldor when suddenly he sucked in a deep breath holding it as though it were his first in this world.   His eyes flew open, immediately fixing Orden with a hostile glare.

"I could have died!   What could you have done to save me?" he yelled, continuing to gaze angrily at the cause of his malady.

"Nothing!"   Orden replied in a tired voice, "but I'm damned please you are still with us, I was starting to fear the worst," he said with obvious relief.

 

"You stabbed me!   What was in that thing!"   Aldor demanded.

"I did what was necessary," Orden countered.   “The fluid in the syringe was a viral blood plasma modifier designed to increase the life expectancy and potential of short-lived carboxy species such as your own.    Even now it is reprogramming your genetic code, making it a hundred times more efficient.   It is self-replicating, and will eventually rebuild your blood, and then it will start on your muscles, bone, and other tissues.   In time, all your cells will be renewed, enhancing both your physical and mental states.   You will not develop magical powers, but your natural attributes will be greatly extended."

"I'm not sure I understand, it seems to be having the opposite effect on me."

"Give it time."   Orden continued undeterred, "I will simplify it!   In future, you will age one year, for every fifty you live.   You will be stronger healthier and faster.   Your brain capacity will increase over time, mayhap a hundredfold, mayhap more."

Aldor attempted to rise but staggered as the world spun.

"Take it easy sprout you've just slept for three days, without so much as a muscle twitch.   Your body has undergone rapid changes, and there is yet more to come.   You should rest as much as possible."

He lay back down, "What is the point of all this improvement and longevity?"

"You get to learn from past mistakes for one thing, and in addition, you get to make significant improvements and changes to the lives of ordinary people."

"But, it would take just one sure and swift cut from a blade to wipe it all out as if it had never been.   Like all men I am vulnerable, I could die tomorrow…"

"Not so sprout!   Your wounds will heal a hundred times faster, mortal wounds, though painful, would be minor distractions.   Short of cutting you into pieces and spreading them the length and breadth of the land, any physical damage will repair itself in days.   Why you could regenerate a whole limb in less than a week.   In addition, you will find that your mind is only just awakening, and starting to work, to its true potential.   You will need to sleep only one night in five.  You will experience heightened perception, senses, and speed; whilst your ability to think and learn will increase exponentially.   There really are no limits to what you could be capable of, only time will tell.   You are no longer constrained by the natural limitations of your race,” he said with a chuckle.  

"There are, no doubt, disadvantages also?"  Aldor asked.

"There is no returning to how you were, 'Ahlendore' I'm afraid is gone forever."

Aldor shook his head and smiled, "I have no quarrel with that.   I was not exactly proud of him and won’t miss him in any way.   It just seems too good to be true."

"So, what if I had offered to make you fitter, stronger, more intelligent, a super being, an immortal, better in every way, what would you have answered?"

"I would have accepted!" Aldor replied at once.

"Then, in answer to your question: in my experience, your hair will turn grey - but it can be dyed.   Your eyes will turn blue like Wizomi's."

"I always admired his blue eyes," said Aldor.

"You will become more desirable to the females of your species but, you will be unable to sire children with a normal woman."

"No children?"   His face betrayed his disappointment.

"It is not impossible just unlikely, because your genes have been altered.   You would have to find a new woman, one with similarly altered genes, an augmented woman."

"Is it possible that Genna could become such a woman?   She is certainly special enough to justify her selection…"

"Too old," Orden said, shaking his head sadly.

"She is the same age as me," he reasoned.  

"Females of your species mature earlier," Orden explained, "when Wizomi met you both it was already too late for her…"

"Then I must return to her at once, I have to get away from here, as soon as possible."  

"I can understand that desire, but first you must do something for your own protection," said Orden.   "You must create a repository for your alter ego, an artefact that will be used to focus the energy and the power of your mind."

"I really do not see the need…" Aldor began.

"YOU do not see the need?"   Orden replied, making it plain he could not accept 'No' for an answer, his eyes flecked bright with yellow and orange.   "This is not negotiable!"

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

A CHRISTMAS WISH

 An Unexpected Meeting - A CHRISTMAS WISH

By Bob French

I could still feel the slap she gave me.  The heated anger and the hurt in her eyes that is engraved on my soul to this very day as she stormed out. It had been a stupid argument about nothing. That was last Christmas. Since then I had wandered the streets looking for her, but always returning home alone; my heart in purgatory.

It was two days before Christmas.  We always went to Liberties, and stood in front of their window.  Holding hands, admiring the window display provided by mannequins who portrayed the love and happiness of this time of the year.  But this year, they stood there, cold and unreal. My world was in turmoil.

Subconsciously I felt the wind getting colder on my face and realised, as I glanced around, that the light of day had grown darker and the array of neon lights seemed to be much brighter.  Snow had gently and silently fallen all around me. The joy of it lost on me, as my memory refused to accept the happiness of the season.

‘God, I missed her’ I said under my breath as a warm tear slipped down my cold cheek.  I stayed staring at the window for a while longer, hoping for a little salvation, but the cold and despair had eaten into my bones and my heart.  I turned away and walked home alone. 

Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. Each year we would go shopping down the High Street and buy each other Christmas presents, then drop in at McGinty’s for a hot toddy, then as the neon lights started to come to life, we would slowly walk down to Liberties and stand and gaze at their window display and make our Christmas wish. 

I avoided the office Christmas party and left work early and made my way down to Liberties, hoping she would appear as if my only wish for Christmas had come true, but deep down I knew that Santa had me at the top of his naughty list.  I did not deserve her.

It was late when I turned away from the window, cold, rejected and forlorn.  As I passed a heap of cardboard boxes and dirty blankets, a pale hand extended from the shadows, begging for a few coins for a hot meal.  I felt my heart strings tug and knelt down and held out the bank note; my Christian duty fulfilled I thought.

As the hand took the note, I caught sight of a silver ring with a heart shaped ruby encrusted upon it.  My mind froze.  My heart started to pound and I leant forward and gently removed the dirty woolen bobble hat that hid a dirty face. 

Staring up at me through tired eyes was Jenny.  Time seemed to stand still as we both looked at each other.  All sins forgotten as we recognized the one person we loved more than anything else.  Without a word being spoken, we leant forward together and held each other, then broke down in tears.

          “Oh Mary, I’m so sorry” was all she said, then clung to me and sobbed. I gently lifted her to her feet and cradled her in my arms.

“Come Jenny, let’s go and stare into Liberties window and make our Christmas wish like we usually do.” 

I smiled at her and took her hand, knowing that my Christmas wishes had already come true.

(Christmas story 2 of 4)

Copyright Bob French

Blue

From Natalie Hudson

I look happy on the outside,

And mostly, that's enough,

But feeling it on the inside,

Is where it gets more tough,

I get up in the morning,

I try to raise a smile,

But really, on the inside,

I want to run a mile,

It takes all of my energy, 

To just get out of bed, 

I find it so much easier, 

To hide away instead, 

Quite frequently I just wish,

That I could disappear,

Climb into a bubble,

And hide from all I fear,

It really gets quite tricky,

To learn to love your brain,

When all it seems to serve you,

Is uncertainty and pain,

Why can't I just be normal,

And think like others do,

Have happy thoughts inside my mind,

And not feel so damn blue,

I really do feel stuck sometimes,

With thoughts that fill my mind,

So negative, so miserable,

And to myself unkind, 

I hope this poem helps people, 

To start to understand, 

That although a smile is on my face, 

My mind is not so grand, 

I really wish this poem, 

Had a positive refrain, 

But I'm afraid that's not the case, 

With what's inside my brain. 

 

                                                                                   Copyright Natalie Hudson 

A real life horror story

By Janet Baldey

‘Piss-arse.’   Jamie screamed, his face fiery.   ‘I hate you…..’

His brother turned, his eyes wide, his mouth a comical ‘o’ of surprise.  ‘Language Jamie’, Ben wagged his finger.  ‘I won’t be long.  Just stay in the house.  Read a book – you can borrow one of my Stephen King’s if you like.’

         ‘I’ll tell Mum…’  The ultimate threat, but both boys knew he wouldn’t.   Ben was charged with looking after him while his parents were at work and if he was grounded, Jamie would have to stay in with him and being cooped up with a sulky teenager was a fate far worse than death?  

         ‘Read a book!’  Jamie clenched his hands into two small rocks.  It was high summer, the sky was blue, birds shrilled and a soft breeze beckoned.  It was no day to say inside. Anyway, Stephen King books were scary.

He watched as Ben’s skinny figure vanished into the distance to where his mates were waiting.  He knew what they were going to do.  They were going to play the ‘Wall of Death’ game at the local quarry - the game that Ben said was too dangerous for Jamie.  ‘I hope you break your neck,’ he yelled although he knew his brother couldn’t hear.  Anyway, his fingers were crossed so it didn’t count.  He quite liked his brother sometimes, especially when he played computer games with him.

He didn’t know what to do.  None of his friends were around, they were either on holiday or not available, but suddenly he had an idea.  He’d do something that would make his brother jealous, something that would prove he was brave and not the wuss that Ben believed.  He’d explore the old Manson House, or at least sneak inside, maybe take something away to prove he’d been there.  Even Ben didn’t dare do that.  Left derelict since before Jamie had been born, the house had a bad history and was slowly decaying as ivy crawled over its walls and grime screened its windows.

Stiffening his small body, Jamie turned and trotted away from his home, up the street and away down a narrow lane. His footsteps slowed as he neared its end where the old house loomed.  A cloud slipped across the face of the sun draining all colour out of the day, the wind dropped and the birds stopped singing.   A shiver crawling down his back, Jamie forced himself forward, through the stone gateway and up the drive but just as he neared the front step, he tripped and fell flat on his face.  As he lay on the ground biting the dirt, he felt a sharp stinging pain in both knees.  His eyes flooded and he opened his mouth, preparing to bawl even though there was no-one to hear him.

‘Ups a daisy.’  Two strong arms gripped him firmly and hauled him to his feet.  Through his tears, Jamie saw that his rescuer was a boy with rosy cheeks and a mass of golden curls. He seemed to be not much older than his brother.  

‘Hi there,’ the boy grinned.  My name’s George.  Right, let’s see the damage.’  Jamie felt his clothes being brushed down, dust flying in all directions.  ‘Hm, grazed your knees.  Think we should give them a bit of a wash, let’s get you inside.’

‘Inside’, wide-eyed, Jamie stared at the boy, ‘inside there’.  

‘Sure.  It’s where I live. I know it doesn’t look much on the outside, but that’s just to keep folk away.  Inside, it’s okay.’

‘You live there?’ Jamie repeated, bug-eyed.

‘Sure, why not?’   Jamie couldn’t think of an answer but as he stared at the boy, he noticed something, something that made him uneasy.  The boy’s skin was no longer peachy smooth, in fact, it looked distinctly stubbly, almost as if he was growing a beard.  What was more, the boy’s grip on his arms had hardened.  Jamie tried to wriggle free but couldn’t.

‘Come on.   You’ll feel better once you’re inside.   I promise.  In fact, you may never want to leave.’

The boy’s voice had roughened and suddenly Jamie wanted to get away very much indeed.   What did the boy mean?  Never want to leave – that would mean he’d never see his family again.  This time he didn’t try to hide the tears that rained down his cheeks.  He wanted to feel his Mother’s arms around him, play football in the garden with Dad or wrestle with Ben, even though Ben always won.  

‘Come on. Don’t be scared. The house is waiting for you. It needs a new little boy to play with.  It needs fresh blood.’   The boy/man tugged him towards the house and as he did Jamie smelled him for the first time.  It was an acrid stench and the nearer to the front door they got, the more feral it became.

Fighting an urge to vomit, Jamie twisted and as he did he caught another glimpse of his captor.  A torrent of iced water swept through his veins.   No longer a golden-haired boy, he was a man who aged visibly the longer Jamie looked at him.   His stubble thickened into a full beard then greyed and withered into straggly wisps.   His skin wrinkled then thinned and sagged like melted wax while his eyes disappeared into craters surrounded by a maze of lines.

‘I was once a boy like you.  Just like you, in fact.  But now my time is nigh and the house needs a fresh guardian.   No need to worry.   It will take care of you.’

As he spoke his yellow teeth stirred in his gums.

‘Help me.’ Jamie prayed but then he discovered something and his heart leapt.  The crone was weakening as its muscles wasted.  Gathering all his strength, Jamie burst out of its grasp and without once looking back streaked away out of the drive and down the lane, not stopping until he reached his house.

A few minutes afterwards Ben bounded through the door, his eyes shining with excitement.   Stopping abruptly, he eyed his brother.

         ‘Hi kid.  You look pale.  Been reading a horror story?’  Jamie didn’t answer.   Fiction would never frighten him again.

Copyright Janet Baldey

 Christmas Group Message

By Sis Unsworth

I wish all our members, happy Christmas cheer,

and hope things are better when we all meet next year.

I’ll try to keep busy with paper & pen,

and give a big thank you for help from Len.

Your ZOOM nights seem to be going so well,

I may try and join you, sometime, who can tell?

So, keep washing your hands, I know it’s a task,

but we’ll beat this virus with vaccine and masks.

Take care and stay safe, the message is plain,

and I’ll make a bread pudding when we all meet again.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

Abbalar Tales ~ 16

 Abbalar Tales ~ 16 Orden’s Gambit

By Len Morgan

Dawn broke and the scoreboard showed 21-23, there were four points available for a win in the final event, ‘The Duel’, and Aldor needed a win to clinch the contest.   On the other hand, Angxy only needed a draw to reach 25 points and victory.   The contestant with the highest number of points got to choose weapons for the final event and Angxy chose the ScY.    Aldor had been drilled in its use over and over; its intricacies had been rammed down his throat until he could recite them in his sleep.   But, it was not a weapon that existed on Abbalar so it offered a definite advantage to Angxy.   Aldor tested its weight manipulating it with intricacy in his hands and in the air.  It was a duelling weapon and a throwing weapon in one.   They faced off with the two-handed crescent blades, measuring each other's stance.   His opponent moved, and he felt the weight of his first blow.   He sidestepped and countered, in a single movement, landing a blow of equal strength.   They separated and he looked into his opponent's eyes.   The body was bog-standard and would tell him nothing, the clothes at least were unique, but the eyes were an indicator of the mind behind the body.   Orden had warned him never to be surprised or awed by anything he saw, but the twinkling delight in those eyes almost brought him to a standstill.   He nearly failed to move at all as a heavy overhead blow threatened to split him vertically in two.   At the last instant, he dropped and rolled towards his opponent, who hopped neatly over his moving form.

“Nice try sprout,” he said.

For the second time in the contest, he froze for an instant and the blade sliced through the flesh of his calf.

“First blood” the judge’s voice resounded and the scoreboard showed 21-24. 

 He squeezed the wound together, hobbled to his feet, still stanching the blood, and backing away.

Angxy closed in for the kill, his blade raised for the strike high above his head.   Aldor’s blade caught him just above the waist, scything him in two, 25-24 said the scoreboard.   He had won!    In truth, he knew the advantage in this event had always been with him.   Angxy was a being from a heavy world.   He was used to working with, powerful rhythmic movements, what Aldor called ponderous.   He had used similar moves to defeat Orden when they sparred.   Orden had never learned to change his style in thousands of years so he had not expected Angxy to do so in a matter of days.  The Arena faded like a dream and he slept briefly...

   He awoke with a start, grabbing at his damaged calf, he was back in his room but had only a phantom ache to remind him of the wound; and it quickly passed.

.-…-.

  During his waking hours he worked closely with Orden, completing his final tasks swiftly, and with an ease that comes naturally to the young.

It was with pride, therefore, after trouncing Orden at 'Kingdoms' for the hundredth time, that he accepted a gift from his mentor.   It was a thin five-inch spiked blade with a transparent crystalline hilt, containing an opaque iridescent metallic gold fluid, in a slim white wood case.  

"Place this beside your bed as you sleep tonight," Orden instructed, "we will have need of it in the morning."

As he slept, his dreams were particularly vivid.   It seemed as if the whole universe was at the ceremony to witness him Join the "Hive Matrix" and take the oath of brotherhood...

.-…-. 

In the morning he awoke to the familiar aroma of Orden's cooking.   He shared a repast with his mentor, relating to him the details of his dream.

Orden had been there as a witness, but would not dampen his exuberance. 

"You have done well sprout!   Be so good as to fetch the artefact you left by your bedside at my behest."

Aldor did so, handing over the syringe without a second thought.

"Do not think badly of me.   You still have to be finished, and there is no easy way for me to accomplish what I now have to do," he said, plunging the needle deep into Aldors chest. The fluid entered his body and started working instantly.  

The young mans face turned towards Orden in disbelief.   Hurt and betrayal both, played fleetingly on his face, as fire erupted in his veins and ice formed at his extremities.   He felt consciousness ebbing away.   He struggled to focus his mind.   His body began to stiffen as the rigours began, and his muscles turned to stone.

"I am dying, what have you done to me?" he croaked, his eyes added a silent 'WHY?'    His lids stayed open, unmoving, his eyes accusing, full of emotion, pain, and hurt but his condition had already progressed beyond that.

 

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan