An unexpected meeting

By Len Morgan

I've met more people over the last nine months (walking my dogs) than I've met over the last 20 years living in Hullbridge.  There seems to be a friendly atmosphere (almost wartime comradery) did we need to endure such adversity to bring out the best in us?  There must be a million stories out there... 

I’ve not left home other than dog walking, most of the people I’ve met recently have been on YouTube. 

So, I got to seeking old acquaintances from my youth.  In my teens I was a singer with a pop group in Barking, ‘Tony Nelson & the Colts’ we played local pubs, clubs, & Weddings, but we split up in the 60’s and went our separate ways.  I hardly remembered their names, but slowly through the mists of time, they began to return.  It’s quite a process trying to remember a forgotten name: 

I start by picturing faces, and when I have a likeness firmly in mind I begin to compile the information I recall, adding little details as I go.  Then two days later, in the middle of the night, I wake up with a first name ‘youreeka’.  I write it down then a few weeks later I read what I’ve written and the Christian name just pops into my brain by osmosis (the gradual, often unconscious, absorption of knowledge or ideas through continual exposure rather than deliberate learning).  It’s not a fast process, it takes weeks but eventually, it comes. What can I say, some people have quick brains, mine works by slow assimilation. 

So with a name in mind, I Google it and I’m astounded at how many people have the name ‘Paul King’.  So I trawl through the entries, looking for a UK resident, view pictures looking for somebody my age, with vague similarity to the 15-year old I knew 60 years ago.

All those old fogies, why couldn’t they have stayed young & handsome like me?  Then I look in a mirror.  So, I gave up and went back to walking the dogs, maybe I’d try the other members of the band when I get time. 

June said, “the kids are getting tired of the same old walk, let’s take another route for a change!”

“Okay, to be honest, I was thinking along the same lines.”

So, we varied our route, wishing everybody we met a good afternoon, as usual.

One chubby old baldie said, “Aint you Tony Nelson?” (stage name).

I stopped two meters away, “How d’you know that?”

Then I looked closer ”Stevie Oliver?”

“That’s me,” he said.  He was the group’s bass player.

“Can’t believe you live two hundred yards away from me.”

“The others don’t live far away.  Paul King has a guesthouse in Shoebury, and Glen Dethridge has a string of pet shops in Essex, If you can play rhythm we could reform the old group…”

“You’ve stayed in touch with them?”

“Of course, we meet up on Skype on a regular basis, here’s my email,” he produced a piece of paper, got a pen Tony?”

I produced a pencil.   Now when Covid is over we plan to meet every Thursday for a Jam session.

June still want’s to know who this Tony Nelson is!  

Len Morgan

 

 

ABYSS

By Peter Woodgate

The tempest rages

dashing fury on the rocks,

the sound screams out to drown your cries

amid the darkened rolling skies.

The heart is fearful

lest the storm should last forever,

aberrations seen through moistened eyes

leave sorrowful, weakened, fitful sighs.

Lightning,  flashes,

sanctuary glimpsed through blinding rain,

winds subside, the clouds depart,

you see the harbour once again.

 

Is that solid ground?

and why so hot?

Your trembling step recoils,

the sea, so deep, above your head

still boils.

Copyright Peter Woodgate (first published 1984)

Abbalar Tales ~ 18

 Abbalar Tales ~ 18 Return to Corvalen 

By Len Morgan

Wizomi made his way to Corvalen with all due haste, hot on the trail of Jazim and Genna.   Yes, they had been seen en route.   Four mounted men and a coach with two occupants.   One, a woman of obvious quality, the other may have been her maid but, nobody at any of their stops got more than a cursory glance at either.   He pressed hard to make up time, but he started seventeen hours behind them.   Not easy to make up that sort of time on a four-date journey.   He was confronted by heavy traffic as he entered the city and immediately realised the trail had gone cold.   But, he knew where they would be.   He entered the palace grounds, heading boldly for the main entrance.

"Yes!"   An officious courtier asked.

"I am here at the request of your master 'the Caliph' to tell stories at his court."

"Your summons pleases sir," his voice modified seamlessly, to suit Wizomi’s potentially elevated status.

Without hesitation, Wizomi removed a document from his body pouch, and looking the man straight in the eyes, said: "I think you will find these in order."

"Thank you, sir, that is fine," he replied handing the document back with a smile. 

 Wizomi walked past him without a backward glance.   Without hesitation, he walked along the main corridor, heading away from the main entrance.   He knew exactly where he was going, he had consulted with Aldor through the HM, and had a detailed map of the palace fixed firmly in his head.   It was unlikely that a young woman would be housed in the dungeons, so he needed to find either Jazim or one of her Huren escort.   He was heading for Jazims quarters; her two sons had been good friends of Ahlendores.   Unlike most of Endrochines wives, Ahlendor's mother had not treated Jazim as being of inferior status, because she was just a concubine, and the two women had become good friends.   Had Jazim known who they were tracking, she may not have been so willing to help Skaa and his band of bounty hunters.   She may indeed have been more sympathetic towards Genna, knowing that she was with Ahlendore.   Could be she would be more willing to co-operate with Wizomi to effect Genna's release.   As matters transpired, that was not to be.   She was not in her apartments; neither did her sons expect her back, anytime soon.   Changing tack, Wizomi decided instead to seek out Ahlendore's mother.   An hour or so later, he discovered she also had absented herself from the Palace.   In the emotive climate that now existed, she had decided upon a visit to her home in Pylodor, where her father still ruled as Caliph.   After a moments reflection, he realised it was the safest course of action for both her and her son.   In Pylodor she could not be used as a weapon against him.

His plan of action changed for a third time in as many hours.   He now needed to track down Jazim or the bounty hunters, preferably both.   No easy task in a city like Corvalen, even for one who is of 'the weirding caste'.   He would however give every effort to the task, he was not one to give up before he'd even started.   It may , however, take a further excursion into Aldor's experiences, to discover a link.   He was not able to discover any links to the group that had forcibly removed Ahlendore from the city.   However, he did discover the link between the Huren and Grym-Baal.   It was only a slim lead but, he was determined he would follow it up.   He took up post, watched the house of Grym.   He waited and watched for several days, allowing sufficient time for a situation to develop, during this time he noted the old vines had been grubbed up completely changing the profile of the house.   Day three was just a few hours old when he spied a familiar figure approaching the side entrance, through the infamous courtyard.

"Yes."   He whispered under his breath and settled down to see what happened.   He had about given up.  Dusk was falling, and there had been no further developments.   Only a thin blue crescent of Veinen was visible in the sky, as he waited, it cast soft blue light and a harsh shadow. 

 Ten minutes passed without further sign of activity.  Then, a light shone out from the room where Eldoriel had been murdered.   It burned dimly, it had been turned down low, and would only have been noticed by one who was expecting it.   For about fifteen minutes it was constant then abruptly extinguished.   A further five minutes passed before a man slipped out through the courtyard.   He turned right, heading swiftly down narrow and badly lit cobbled side streets.   His route had many twists and turns, most of the alleys he used did not appear on the map from Ahlendore's memory.   Only once did they cross a recognisable main road, so Wizomi took the opportunity to get his bearings.   Then, rounding a corner he realised the surroundings were very familiar, his hair became charged with static, and stood on end, he'd been led around in a circle, he backed away from the place immediately but, too late.    Heavy hemp netting was dropped over him from above.   Its weight alone bore him to the ground and a gang of men efficiently wound it around him, constricting his movements.   He was hit soundly on the head.   The inside of his skull momentarily became illuminated with light, then everything went black.

"Are you alright old friend?" somebody asked, with obvious concern; the voice was familiar and close at hand.   He continued to fake unconsciousness and carefully cracked opened one eye.   They were in a small stuffy windowless room, a pale yellowish luminescence emanated from the ceiling, enough to see by but no more.   On closer examination, the ceiling appeared to be completely covered with close-fitting perfectly symmetrical tiles.   He could smell her presence even before she spoke a second time.

"Wiz?   It's me…"

He opened his eyes and there standing before him was Genna.   "I found you, thank goodness," he said starting to rise.   His head spun, “oh!” he groaned.  That was some blow," he said rubbing his skull gingerly.   "What is your plan?" he asked of her.

"Plan?   I thought you were here to rescue me,” She answered.

"I was trying to find you, and since you've been here awhile I assumed you had made some notes on possible avenues of escape?"  

"I was originally held in a locked room, in another part of the house.   But, I managed to pick the lock and nearly escaped, that was when they brought me down here.   I've only been in this room for a few hours, the door is locked and there are no windows.   The air is stuffy but it not warm."

"Have you found anything?"

"Such as?"

"A key, weapons, food, drink, clothing, material, have you found anything?   What do you have on you apart from your clothes?   Flint, Tinder, knife, rope, a piece of steel wire, a nail?"

She laughed.   "I was thoroughly searched, and anything of use was taken long since.  There are shelves over here," she continued motioning towards the far wall.

"Good!   You search that side and the wall over by the door, while I search this side.   Be sure to investigate everything, leave nothing to chance."

There was a clinking sound.   "What was that," he asked.

"Bottles," she replied, then after a pause, "Ugh, Vinegar wine…"

"All of them?"   He asked.

There was another pause.  “There are five more but the others are all sealed, I can't open them.   Ah, this is interesting," she said tapping something that sounded metallic, ”a pipe," she said revealing her curiosity.   She tapped it again three times in quick succession, pause a while then repeated the same pattern, on the third attempt somebody echoed the pattern.

 

"We are not alone here," she said.   Wizomi didn't comment, instead, he blew into his cupped hands, rubbing them together vigorously as if trying to warm them up.   He removed his right hand, leaving the left upward facing, revealing a small bright orb of white light resting lightly in his palm.  He blew into his left palm and the orb rose above their heads taking up a stationary position above them, just below the ceiling.     By its light, they would be better able to explore the shadowy areas in their place of confinement.  

"Impressive," she said.

"Don't look directly at it," He warned, "it will spoil your night vision and fine discrimination."

Genna was first to spot the metal grill on the outside wall.   It was two feet long and eight inches wide, hidden beneath the bottom shelf, at ground level.   After closer examination, they decided it would be possible to crawl through the slot that would remain, if the grill were removed but, to do that they would need some rudimentary tools.   They tried, without success to pull it out using their fingernails, then looked around for something to use as a lever, there was nothing.   After five minutes, the globe began to fade.

 

Orden’s Cave

"Lovely work," said Orden, peering appreciatively over Aldor's shoulder.   He was admiring a jewel the young man was in the final stages of cutting by hand.   It was the culmination of a three-day self-imposed act of inspired creation.

"I was not aware that Gemmology was one of your talents."

"It was not when I first arrived.   My only prior experience with gems was, wearing them.   But, if you will recall you asked me to create something, that would concentrate my mind and this is it.   I spent some time studying, with a number of master craftsmen, through the HM.   You would I know have preferred me to craft a sword but, if I am to become the controller and diplomacy is to be my weapon, I must at least believe that I can become a good one."   He smiled briefly, accumulated tiredness showing in his eyes, "It is said that war is a failure of diplomacy.   If I attend negotiations with a sword at my side, it will only serve to increase the likelihood of failure.   There are other ways of showing strength, being confident enough to choose not to wear a weapon is but one."

"Well said sprout," Orden was barely able to disguise the pride in his voice.

The amulet was a thin band of white gold, a circlet with one perfect purple stone, an inch in diameter, on its outer rim.   The stone itself had a pale smoky lavender halo.   He tried it on his head with the stone resting on his brow, Orden nodded his approval.   Removing it Aldor stepped from the cavern, into the night.   The full grandeur of the bright blue orb of Veinen, contrasted with Vexen which revealed barely a third of its true glory.   Blue totally dominated the heavens; even the bright show of stars in the clear summer night could not compare, with its soft pastel hue that added stark highlights to discriminate the deep black shadows.   Orden remained within the cavern, this night was for Aldor alone. 

.-…-. 

He viewed the circlet critically, lovingly cleaned and polished.   He gazed up into the clear night sky, the stars seeming to draw closer, spinning in the firmament.   He raised his creation to the heavens, "See what we have created!" he cried aloud.   He chanted a litany in a strange unworldly tongue, words of power from the hive.  Reinforced by the humming of a tune with magic undertones and something else, something feral untamed, chosen carefully to unleash the fury of the elements.   As the echo of his final utterance died away certain stillness came over the land, as if it were holding its breath…   

Lightning burst, forth from the heavens, randomly striking and enveloping the creation and its creator.   He became like flotsam on a raging sea of living coloured filaments of flame.   Seductively fibrillating, caressing him and the artefact, binding them into one entity.    Great gouts of sinuous blue-green and white fire burst into existence, fed by successive bolts of lightning.   Licking tongues of flame assailing the insignificant but immutable figure, randomly lashing and binding him to his familiar, now indistinguishable from his brow.   The band had sunk beneath his flesh, becoming one with the bones of his cranium.   Now, only the stone remained visible in the centre of his forehead, though it too would become invisible to eyes of mere mortals, err the night was over.

"AAAAAAAH!"   His yell of defiance, hurled at the heavens, was a bestial primordial sound, silencing the elements at a single stroke.   The sky became silent and passive.  He fell to his knees head bowed, rolling slowly onto his side into a foetal position.   Orden went outside, sensing it was ended he removed his cape and draped it over the sleeping figure.   He sat beside his protégé, keeping vigil over him, for three days and nights, until he too finally slept.  

When he awoke he found his cape had been draped over his own sleeping form and the boy was gone.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 Drought

By Janet Baldey

All through the summer, the villagers had been watching the skies. But all that moved in that hard blue desert were waves of heat burning their upturned faces and scorching the grass at their feet. Around them, their crops withered and bony cattle raised dust in arid riverbeds, pawing the ground as they searched for water.

Kofi bent, dug his fingers through the rock hard crust and scooped up a handful of gritty soil. Slowly he let it trickle through his fingers. Rising, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and his shoulders sagged as he turned homewards. As he walked his son Chidi, trotted by his side, his dark curls barely reaching his father’s elbow. They were halfway there when Kofi felt Chidi tug at his sleeve. A steer was staggering drunkenly along the dusty road. It bellowed mournfully as its front legs buckled and it fell to the ground. By the time they reached the animal its eyes were glazing over.

   “That’s one of Jengo’s,” Kofi said. “We must tell him”. He looked down at his son.  Chidi nodded and immediately turned left at a fork in the road.  Kofi followed him without argument. Chidi was different from the other children. He’d never uttered a word but he knew things that others didn’t.

 

“My well ran dry this morning. I pump and I pump but it does nothing but wheeze. That poor beast is the first to go but others will follow. I think I’m finished. I think we all are”.

  Jengo’s hands were hanging limply by his sides and his eyes were sunk deep into his face. He was but forty, Kofi knew, but at that moment he could have been seventy. The two men looked at each other. Things had never been so bad. Droughts were not new to them but this one seemed unending. Their womenfolk struggled to put food on the table. Their flour was almost gone, so also was the salt beef and pork and if the water table was drying up their crops would be lost and so would they.

“I hear the Elders are calling a meeting tonight”.

 Jengo shook his head. “We need to pray”. 

   That evening, a tide of anxious villagers surged towards the Meeting place. As if magnetized, their eyes were once again drawn upwards to where the baleful sun was melting into a blaze of orange fire as day gave way tonight. Muttering to each other, they entered the Hall and took their seats on the wooden benches that lined its perimeter.

In the centre, a group of black-robed elders were huddled together, their grey beards wagging as they talked.  When the last of the villagers had been seated and the babble of sound had muted, their Leader rose. His face was grave. Deep marks etched into his forehead as he looked at the sea of faces before him.

“My friends.  We all know why we are here. We have fallen upon hard times.   For three years now we have been fighting an enemy we cannot touch. The sun. Without rain, we cannot survive another winter.  Up until now, we have managed to survive by living off the fat of previous seasons but this we can no longer do. Our stores are empty. We have no fat left.  My friends, it is time for us to leave this place. It will take courage but we must flee or die.”

Although most of those present knew that what he said was true, his words shocked.  Panicky whispers ricocheted around the Hall.

“What about the old folk?”

“What about the children?”

Generations ago, their ancestors had travelled to this place searching for a place of peace and plenty away from the world. Ring fenced as it was by the mountains, their hideaway had remained a secret ever since. The villagers looked at each other with fear in their eyes. It would be a long and arduous journey through the mountains and weakened as they were, many would not survive.

Everyone began talking at once and it was in the midst of this hubbub of sound that Kofi felt Chidi again tug at his clothing.

Kofi looked to where Chidi was staring. A stranger, carrying a sack over his shoulder, was lounging in the doorway, his strange blue eyes flickering back and forth.

Heads turned, following Kofi’s gaze and gradually all sound drained away and a breathless hush took its place. The stranger straightened and stepped out of the shadows. As he did, his creased white suit glimmered in the light of the moon that shone through the open door.     

“Good evening to you all”.

Nobody uttered a word.   Not within living memory had a stranger been seen in the village. It must have taken him weeks to travel over the plains and his progress should have been plain to see as he parted the grasses, but not a soul had spotted him. They watched as he walked into the centre of the Hall. There was something about him that triggered old memories, a white stranger with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes.   The older villagers remembered seeing a man like him before, hidden amongst the pages of books, relics of their ancestors.

A shrill cry rang out and a woman pushed through the crowd. Her veined hands clawing at her stringy neck she let out a howl.

“Tis the Lord Jesus”.

The stranger smiled a secret smile.

“Not Jesus mother, but I do bring blessings”.

Reaching into his sack he pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. With a quick turn of his wrist, he unscrewed the top and poured a stream of shining water onto the beaten earth floor.

“Friends, I have seen your predicament. You can’t stay here. In my travels, I’ve seen many settlements turned into dustbowls by the drought as I have also seen the bones of those that tried to flee. But I can take you to a place, where you’ll never have to pump water. A place where all the water you’ll ever need will gush forth at the turn of a tap.  Follow me ….”

Turning, he strode out of the Hall. The villagers rolled their eyes and looked at each other, then one by one they followed. They found the stranger standing next to a strange machine. It squatted on the bare ground humming softly to itself as its fuselage glowed a dull silver in the moonlight.

“All you folks have to do is to make your mark on this piece of paper and all your worries will be at an end. This machine will carry you all to a place of plenty”. He patted the aircraft as if it were a lover.

Chidi circled the crowd that gathered around the stranger. Although he hadn’t heard the man’s words, he had been watching his face intently and had noticed something. Every now and then the surface of the man’s face rippled.  He looked around at the excited mass of people and saw the awe on their faces. He shifted his gaze back to the man and watched, seeing what others didn’t. The man before them was wearing a mask. If you looked closely, it slipped sideways for a split second and showed another face, a dark face that smiled an unpleasant smile while its eyes sparkled with malicious glee. Chidi shivered.

Suddenly a series of visions exploded into his mind.   He saw his father, his face drenched in sweat, his body bowed with fatigued, labouring day and night in a dark building that rang with noise.  He saw his mother, muffled up against the cold, crouched in an icy street, a sign at her feet saying ‘NO MONEY. PLEASE GIVE’.  He saw his sister, a smile painted on her once innocent face, being led by men into noisome alleyways.  He saw himself, his eyes empty and uncomprehending, locked inside a bare white room. He screamed and clutched at his father, trying with all his strength to pull him away.

Kofi looked down at his son who was obviously scared witless. He paused, a frown passing over his face. Chidi had always been a knowing child. He looked at the villagers crowding around the stranger and an unpleasant thought sneaked into his mind. The blankness of their faces reminded him of bullocks tempted by food before being herded into the slaughterhouse. His eyes flicked towards the stranger and he felt a sudden certainty. No, he did not trust this man. What did anyone here know of him? Nothing, yet they were willing to follow him to an alien place where they would be the strangers. Maybe they were bewitched. Maybe Chidi could break the spell that bound them.

He thrust himself into the melee and made his way to the front. Turning, he faced the crowd.

‘My friends,’ he said. ‘You know me. I am Kofi. A brave man who wears a lion’s pelt. But I say to you – beware of this man. His words are as honey but you all know the dangers of following the wild bee.’

He looked down at his son who was mouthing words that had never before passed his lips and a great gladness filled his soul. The child could speak at last. What he was about to say must be truly the word of the gods.

 ‘Listen to my son. He speaks for the very first time. It is a miracle.’ He lifted his son into the air and Chidi began to speak…… 

Copyright Janet Baldey

 

 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