LOOKING DOWN

Lynne Dellow

        Hello.  I have a story to tell so, if you're sitting comfortably, I’ll begin.

Bill, an elderly man, is sitting in his old armchair, smoking his pipe and gazing into a blazing log fire. It’s the anniversary of his late wife Mary's birthday and memories come flooding back of their long and happy marriage. He retired they moved to North Wales, where they’d spent many happy holidays, and bought an old stone cottage which they renovated.

Although situated in a remote spot, it was only several miles from a tiny village, which consisted of a General Store/cum Post Office, a few cottages and a very old Pub.  Bill joined the Chess Club, which took place once a week in the snug and had made friends with Ian the Vet, the landlord and a few locals.

He then began to think of Chris, their only son. Although a loving child, he’d got involved with a violent crowd at Senior School and his personality completely changed. They’d tried so hard to help, but eventually Chris ended up in prison and wouldn't allow them to visit. Then they moved to Wales Mary sent their new address to the Prison Governor and both were overcome when they received birthday and Christmas cards.

Tears came into Bill's eyes when he thought of his dear wife's passing and of seeing Chris standing at the back of the tiny Chapel, accompanied by a Police Officer. Chris shook as he embraced his dad and kept apologising for all the pain his actions had caused. He then added that at last he'd come to his senses.

"Dad I've been on a chef’s course and when I’m released they’re gonna try and find me a job and I promise I won’t let you down again.”

He gave Bill another hug and the Police Officer, who also looked upset, told Chris it was time to go. As they left, Bill waved until they were out of sight then, looking upwards, said a prayer of thanks to Mary.

    Chapter 2

Bill sat up with a jolt. Knowing a mist would soon be forming, he decided it was time to take his afternoon walk. He wrapped up warm, striding along the deserted lane. After a mile or so it began to get misty, so he thought it was time to return home.      As he was about to turn, something caught his eye.

Near a ditch, he noticed a bundle of old black rags.

"What lowlife's left their dirty old rubbish" he muttered, so decided to take a closer look. As he poked the rags with his stick, he saw something move. Thinking it could be a rat, he carefully lifted the top layer and, to his surprise, found a very frightened border collie staring back at him. Its body shook and its eyes had a look of terror.  Bill then noticed two rows of long misshapen teats and knew why she^’d been dumped. He gently lifted her, wrapping his overcoat around her, not knowing, or even caring, if she would nip him, then whispered

^“There, there, my lovely, you’re quite safe now.

No one's ever going to hurt you again."

All the way back to the cottage he spoke softly and, on entering, found an old duvet and he laid her on it, near the fire.  Bill warmed her some milk but seeing she was too weak to lap, put some on his fingers and watched her try to lick.

He thought for a few minutes then rang Ian who promised to come over straight away. He arrived about ten minutes later and, after checking her over angrily said

"Bastards: You know she’s off a Puppy Farm, after they breed from those poor bitches for a few years they’re dumped. That’s what I’d do to them.  Leave them somewhere to rot, with no food or clothes.”

 

Bill had never seen Ian so wound up but totally with all his comments.

Ian then said

"Healthwise she's not too bad. Just needs a feed, lots of love and tomorrow a good bath. If you like I can take her back with me, but she^’ll have to stay in one of my large housing until she recovers, then I’ll try and rehome her soon, but that won’t be easy as she must be at least five or maybe even six.”

Bill quickly interrupted

   “No need, No: She's been through so much already. She’s going to spend the rest of her days with me. I’d be grateful though Ian if you could get me some dog food and any medication she may need. Also please send me your bill.”

Ian chuckled

 “I knew you'd keep her, fee is zero. Just pay for any medication, dog food, etc.”

After they'd had a cup of tea, Bill thanked Ian for coming out on such an awful night and his friend left, promising to send a nurse over the following day to bath her and supply any medication needed.

Later that evening Bill warmed some milk and added some minced chicken and was pleased when she managed to eat and keep it digested. He then made up the fire, put on some music, threw a wrap around himself and settled in his old armchair. It was to be a long night.

Next morning the nurse arrived and, after checking her over, washed her down, asking Bill what he was going to call her. He thought for a moment then said

   “l think the name Misty suits her, when I think of how I found her.”

The nurse smiled

 “Well, she certainly loves you. She hasn't stopped following you around with her eyes all the time I’ve been here.”

And so a new companion entered Bill^’s life. Each day she became stronger and followed him everywhere, even to the bathroom. They went to Chess nights together, where they all made a big fuss of her. On other evenings they sat and lay by the fire, Bill smoking his pipe and playing classical music. He would tell her of his love for Mary and Chris and when he looked sad Misty would gently give him a lick.

 

Chapter 3

One afternoon, as they were sitting by the fire, Bill noticed Misty's ears shoot up. Then she barked and ran to the kitchen door. Imagine Bill s surprise when, looking through the window, he saw Chris with a lady standing alongside.      He told Misty who they were and invited them in.  After several hugs, he made them some coffee and Chris then introduced Jenny, his fiancé. Misty realised everything was okay and let them stroke her.  Bill insisted they stay for lunch, during which Chris explained why they were in Wales. Ted, the Police Officer, had a brother called Dave who owned a restaurant in Balla, a Market Town about ten miles away. After Mary’s funeral, they'd paid him a visit. Ted was full of praise for Chris and wondered if, when he was released from prison, his brother could take him on temporarily to give him some experience and a reference, Dave informed then that his chef was retiring in a couple of years time, so they'd give him a try. Then he did come out Chris started working for Dave and both he and his chef were so impressed he was offered a permanent job. That was a few months ago and the only reason he hadn^’t visited his dad was that he wanted to make sure of everything first.  He’d also met Jenny and they were looking for somewhere to live, close enough to be able to see his dad.

Bill wiped the tears from his eyes and hugged his son again. He insisted they stay with him until they found somewhere although, he added, if they could put up with ^‘one Man and his Dog^’ he’d love them to live permanently with him. That was about three years ago. Chris and Jenny got married and

bought a cottage in the village.

As at the beginning of this story, Bill is sitting by the fire, this time though with his faithful companion. He looks up at Mary's picture and thinks life would be perfect if she was here.

“Now you may wonder how I know so much about Bill. Well my name’s Mary, need I say more?”                                        

The End

Copyright Lynne Dellow

Copper in the wind

 171. Copper in the wind      

By Robert Kingston

I see him in his new form now

More spirited than before

Moving in the wind

Gliding and jumping

To heights not previously seen before.

 

His splendid shimmering coat

Beamed copper to the stars

Eyes cold black, glinting white

Where white would reflect

When startled in the beam of a headlight.

 

I am with heavy heart

As I take him lifeless in my arms

He really should be part of nature

Not lying in the road a casualty of

Someone’s careless harm.

 

Some would see him as vermin

Others a killer in the night

Not me, I see him as the once wily image

Sent by God to serve a purpose

In his magical kingdom

A creature of delight.

 

© Robert Kingston   15.4.15

 

RUNESTONES 5/4

RUNESTONES 5/4

by Richard Banks    

         “Henderson,” I gasp, “what are you doing here?”

         “Hiding,” he says, “hasn’t Jones told you, I’m a wanted man?”

         “No.”

         “Well, I am and so are you and Jones; at least you will be when the both of you fail to report back to Parry. That’s tomorrow morning, I believe. You’re fortunate that the only closed-circuit camera in the village is outside the bank. Had you been pictured doing anything of concern to your fellow watchers you’ll now be on your way to a detention centre. Just as well you have switched sides. Not that you meant to of course, but nevertheless that’s the way it is. So, Sir, I suppose you will be wanting to know about the side you’re on. Well, I have good news, you’re with the good guys, we’re going to save the world! Now, what else do you need to know? Has Jones told you about the invasion fleet overhead?”

         “Only that lights have been seen over the west coast of America.”        

         “More than just lights. In the last few days alien craft have taken up positions over Washington, New York, Moscow and Beijing. Another eight are expected to overfly other major cities in the next few days. They’re testing us, making targets of themselves. Show us what you’ve got they are saying and so far we haven’t laid a glove on them. Oh yes, it’s been tried, aircraft and rockets. Last night the Americans tried to nuke the one over Washington. Imagine that, a nuclear explosion over a city of 5.4 million people. It failed like everything else has failed. Nothing gets within half a mile of the Runes before they make it disappear from the sky. For that, we can only thank them, but when they land, as they intend to, every man jack of us will be in the front line, the biggest turkey shoot in history. If they need slaves some of us will survive, if not, the human race will come to an end. So, what do our present lords and masters intend to do, the many Governments of this world? In truth, there are only two that matter and for once they are reading from the same script. The Chinese and Americans will fight to the last man, and when the contest is all but lost they will devastate the planet with every bomb still left. If they can’t have the world no one else will. They argue that in this lies the ultimate deterrent; why should the Runes invade when they will be denied everything they have come for.”

         “And what does our Government say?”

         “Whatever the Americans want it to. With the CIA sitting-in on every Cabinet meeting, it’s only the yes men who remain. But there are those outside Government who are not yes men, who know what’s happening, who think it possible to negotiate a settlement. We are many and soon our negotiators will be meeting with theirs.”

         “And what makes you think they will listen to you?”

         “Have faith, with words come salvation. Repeat after me, we are going to save the world. Until then you and Jones will need to go into hiding, me too, this place is no longer safe.”

         He makes a call on a mobile phone and without naming himself or anyone else requests a taxi to Worthing. Thirty minutes later it arrives except that it’s a builder’s van. We clamber into the back and sit down on a bench that’s bolted to the floor. There’s no windows, we’re in almost total darkness and, once the van picks up speed we’re hanging on to anything that will keep us upright. Worthing is only a short drive away but after thirty minutes we’re still going. At last, the van stops on what sounds like a shingle drive, the doors open and the driver ushers us up the steps of a large, porticoed building that’s probably someone’s stately home. A woman meets us in the hall. “Everything is ready,” she tells Henderson. “Will you be staying the night?” Henderson replies that we will, and she instructs a younger woman to prepare three rooms. “They are,” she says, “close to the fire escape should we have uninvited visitors.” She smiles at the irony of a joke that is not quite a joke and suggests we take tea in the Marble Room. Henderson asks if Frobisher is here and on being told that he is goes in search of him.

         He returns half an hour later in high spirits. If anyone is enjoying the prospect of an alien invasion it appears to be him. “It’s on,” he says, “we’re meeting them on the Downs tomorrow evening at twenty-three hundred hours. Jackson’s already here, General Marsh arrives this evening and the Assistant Commissioner tomorrow morning. It’s all systems go. So, gentlemen, do you want to be eyewitnesses to history being made, have a story to dine out on for the rest of your lives. Of course, you do. We need observers, the more the better. It will be your privilege to be there among the watchers. Front row seats!” He laughs, and I wonder if he has lost all reason. 

(to be continued)

Copyright Richard Banks     

 Saving Life At Sea 

Jane Scoggins

I am cold, tired, and terrified. My brain refuses to function. Salt tears mix with the briny water that splashes up against my face when the turning tide pulls and pushes the water underneath me.  I drift further out to sea with my arms around a half-inflated lilo. How did this happen to me?  I was lying on a lilo in the shallows, soaking up the sun and maneuvering myself around swimmers by paddling with my hands, and then what?  What with the sun, and quite a few celebratory cocktails for Susie's birthday, I must have nodded off.  When I came too I could not see the coastline and I didn’t know whether I was north, south, east, or west of the shore.  That was a long time ago.  I am completely disorientated and shivering uncontrollably, I tipped off the lilo when I woke and could not get back on.  I have a terrible headache and losing the will to keep trying to kick my legs. I am beginning to think nothing matters anymore.  I would be happy to just sink down down down to the bottom of the sea and become a mermaid.

I can hear a faint noise coming from far off.  Maybe it is the sound of mermaids singing, ready to welcome me to their beautiful world deep below. The sun has gone down and patches of mist are swirling around me.  I can feel the tide pulling and pushing as it changes direction.  I am helpless against its cold iron strength.  I am ready to let go of the lilo now.

The mermaids have come for me.  I am glad.  I sink below the swirling waters to meet them.  I can feel the strong arms of the mermen around.  I can smell their breath and feel soft seaweed against my face.  But then I can feel myself being raised up and lifted from the water, I hear men’s voices, I am cradled in yellow oil-skinned arms and laid upon the deck of a small boat rocking to the rhythm of the choppy waves. I open my eyes to see the darkening pink evening sky above me.  I am saved.

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

Cheilin Saga ~ 12

 

 Cheilin Saga ~ 12 The Abbey at Samishaan 2

By Len Morgan 

The Reverend Father Abbot was amused when Sister Constance confessed and begged to be relieved of the responsibility for her charge.   When questioned she freely confessed what had transpired including her perceived misconduct.  

“Correct me if I am wrong.  You were charged to see to all of his physical needs?”

She nodded demurely. 

 “Physical needs would include correct bodily functions, respiration, elimination, providing him with food, water, and exercising his limbs?”

Again she nodded, unsure where this was leading.

“And other functions of a more intimate nature?”

She reddened visibly.

“Sister Constance, we are not prudes or a chaste order.   That you have resisted making a personal liaison, with a Brother, for so long does you credit but I can see no fault in your handling of this matter.   Sex is merely a bodily function.  I cannot authorise your transfer for fulfilling your allotted task.   Your request is denied, now I have work to complete, and you have your charge to attend too.   We are pleased with your care and concern and recommend that you continue seeing to his welfare.   Continue to experiment with his regime and try to encourage him to do more on his own behalf…”

At which point her emotions got the better of her and she expressed a flood of tears, he supposed in gratitude, but who can say?   His eyes left her at that moment, he began to shuffle papers to appear busy and signify the discussion was at an end.   When he looked up she was gone, he smiled only just managed to stifle a fit of amused laughter.   But her commitment was admirable.

Brother Ignatius had also taken his responsibilities very seriously.   Of late he had taken to sleeping alongside the orb, in the covered garden, beneath the stars.   He recounted his dreams, in the guise of his charge, as a person with great responsibility on his shoulders he acted, always in the best interests of the people.   He communed with an off worlder, a strange man-like creature.   He did not know what it was but knew it to be a power for good.   When he relayed these dream images to the reverend Father Abbot, he was told they were probably just the machinations of an over inventive mind.   Fanciful images conjured up in his efforts to make sense of the strange state in between dream and reality.   Briefly, he toyed with the idea of removing Brother Ignatius from the orb, but decided against it and instead ordered him to sleep in his own room in future, away from the influence of the orb.   As he had expected, the dreams ceased.   He had considered sleeping next to the orb himself, to test its potency.   But, after assurances from the good Brother that he had spoken to nobody, he resolved to assign Sister Constance to a night in silent vigil within touching distance of the orb.   She was instructed to reflect on and resolve her inner turmoil.   It would be an act of penance for her imagined wrongdoing.   If he had really expected this to resolve the situation, he was sadly mistaken.

  Brother Ignatius watched from the cell door as the empty shell of Aldor performed a complicated Kata designed to sharpen his reflexes, exercise every muscle and sinew in order to keep the body in peak condition.  After a short while his movements became a blur, he was moving so fast the watcher became disorientated, certain it was an illusion.   He shook his head in disbelief when his gaze returned to Aldor all movement had ceased.   The pale blue eyes were directed at him, passive and unblinking.   He opened the door and stepped in.   The gaze was disconcerting, so he momentarily glanced away, to give himself respite or he would wilt.   When he looked back the cell was empty.

   Sister Constance gazed at the orb, into those unwavering eyes that mirrored her own.   Such a pale ice blue she thought, not cold, but warm and welcoming; the pupils of her own hazel eyes grew large.   She felt drowsy and after only moments she succumbed.   She slept, dreaming of a boy groomed to rule, who discovered the decapitated body of a young woman he loved.   He was accused of the crime and left staked out in the desert to die.   In the morning she awoke, cheeks crusted with her own dried tears.   His words in her mind…

‘It was not your fault, your family died because bad men attacked your farm.   Had you barred the door, as you were told, they would simply have broken it down.   It was your parent's time to return to the wheel of life and yours to survive!’

She shook her head and smiled, ‘It was not my fault’ she repeated to herself.   For ten long years, she had subconsciously held herself responsible for the deaths of her two older brothers and her parents, slain in a bandit attack. 

 When she was ten, her responsibilities were milking and husbandry; she loved the animals they were her friends.   The last words her father said, as she slipped out the kitchen door to feed an orphaned calf that was off its feed, were…

“Be sure to bar the door when you return Emmiline.”

Hand rearing required a high degree of patience, perseverance, and above all time.   She fell asleep with the calf draped across her knees and was awakened by unfamiliar shouts and the smell of burning.   She hid in the hay until things went quiet but when the Barn caught fire she herded its occupants out, hiding amongst them.   The raiders had gone, the house was burned to the ground, and she had survived and, thanks to her, so had the animals.   Her family all perished, but what hurt her most was their refusal to show her the bodies.

Neighbours took her in, together with her animals, treating her as an unpaid servant.   At the next conjunction, they selected many of her cattle, including her calf, to provide the blood sacrifice for Bedelacq.   Their cries of pain unlocked something in her mind. Emmiline was suddenly able to read the thoughts of animals and people.   She was able to read the minds of the family that had taken her in, and what she discovered of their intentions determined her to leave.  She stowed away on a boat travelling upriver, from Tain Point in Bluttland to Freeport in the Meyam kingdom.   She had nothing but the clothes she stood up in, so she begged on the streets of Freeport using her wits and talent to gain sympathy from passers-by.   Gauging their reaction she would smile, cry or plead for help, whatever it took, she would survive.  

   After a few months alone on the streets, she realised it would be advantageous to join with others, so she beguiled one of the many orphan gangs that roamed the streets around the port area.   They were just a band of undernourished ragamuffins who worked together because they were too small or too weak to survive alone. Their leader was a spineless bully, who preyed on the younger ones, claiming to be their protector.  She got into his mind and controlled him.   She took on the role of parent, almost by default, years of husbandry had partitioned her mind and taught her to think logically.   She organised them into three groups of four and sent them out to opposite sides of the city, to increase their shared income.   Several times they were attacked by other groups who considered a particular area was their exclusive preserve.   Finally, they took to attacking drunks leaving the riverside taverns but often, they had already spent their money.   Then she discovered travellers were often just seeking something.   Usually, it was the gratification of an immediate need such as a bed for the night, somewhere to eat and drink, or the company of a pliant young woman.   She would identify that need and, on the pretext of fulfilling it, would lead her mark to where the gang lay in wait.   As far as the others were concerned, she displayed an uncanny ability to select and lure easy victims to their ambush.   For two years it worked just fine.   Nobody was suspicious of her talent.  The band of misfits prospered and grew.   She never needed to get involved in the messy business of robbing, and bruising their victims, she was the lure.   She never waited around to see what they did to him.   Then, one day she entered the mind of a street trader, a purveyor of charms trinkets, and potions but when she tried to leave she found herself trapped.

   She recalled being in a dark place for an indefinite period, like sleeping but in a non-dream state.   Moreover, she found she was unable to sleep, which meant she was forced to occupy her mind, controlling and directing her own thoughts.   Her mind was separated from her body, but she had no way of knowing that, she began to feel hot; the temperature increased and she started to perspire.   She began to itch as though ants were crawling all over her.   She tried to scratch but was unable to make physical contact.   She started to scream and cry out in terror.   She cried for help but there was no response.   She tried to use her talent but the only mind she found was her own.   She ranged the totality of her short life, but in particular the last two years.   She reflected on the tricks she had used to entice gullible men to a place of her choosing.   She remembered the illusion of power this gave her.   At first, she was smug and self-congratulatory.   Then she began to wonder how they fared with the others; some of whom were downright evil.   She began to feel regret, then guilt.   Just because she had not been in at the kill, as they so vividly called it, did not mean she was absolved of blame.   She was as guilty as they were.   She began to recall the faces of her victims, one by one. They looked accusingly at her mouthing the word 'guilty'.   The good the kind, the lonely and considerate, the vicious and malevolent, all had wound up as her victims.   All had motives for following her.  All were viciously attacked and robbed and some almost certainly died.  

She was separated from her body for just four weeks, during which time she relived her life over and over, going through a whole gamut of emotions until finally settling for an uneasy acceptance that things had happened and she had to live with the consequences.  Now her eyes were open she resolved to conduct her life differently in future.   When her mind and body were reunited she became a novice in the Samishaan order of Geoffe.   

There were between five and eight new conscripts each year.   At her joining ceremony, she was renamed Sister Constance, after one of the founder members of the order.   A new name was appropriate and even desirable considering her conversion.   In a sense, she was reborn, and from that moment she would be a new person.   Sister Constance embraced the order wholeheartedly and for the next four years worked tirelessly to erase the shame of her past, and to assimilate their teachings.   Then finally her devotion was rewarded, and she received her first charge.   She was determined not to ruin this opportunity simply because of her physical attraction to the man.  Then she was charged with observing the orb.  

She had expected him to be self-centered and selfish like all the others she had come into contact with.  He was not, and now, after four years, she felt truly reborn.

His words still rang in her ears.  ‘It was not your fault.’

This man was no simple criminal of that, she was assured.   He was sent by Geoffe.  He was the one!  As she thought on this matter a strong pair of hands reached past her, she recognised that wholesome clean presence immediately.   She watched him take the orb in his sure hands and raise it above his head.   She took a sharp intake of breath and came to her feet.   Even as she did so she knew it was too late.

(to be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 RUNESTONES 6

Peter Woodgate

Shapes and angles should unlock

The future of life’s ticking clock

So Pete had thought, when catching sight

Of mystic stones, they’d shed a light

On his dull and miserable life

And a hard graft job full of strife.

There should be better things ahead,

A girlfriend who would share his bed,

A better job with better pay,

These stones, he thought, would show the way.

Instructions too were found within,

The silken pouch so soft and thin.

Well Pete, quite rightly, thought he ought

To read the message, then he’d be taught

On how to read each ancient stone,

His future then, it would be shown.

So, he read them, through and through

But poor Pete, he had no clue.

For each stone studied, caught him out,

He got frustrated then he’d shout.

Was it acute? Maybe obtuse,

He couldn’t tell, it was no use.

Pete asked his mum, she was nice

And gave poor Pete some good advice.

“You know that woman, three doors down

She will help,” Pete gave a frown.

Despite his lack of trust, he went

To see the women, then he spent

His last ten quid to gain her knowledge

But she just sat and ate her porridge.

Pete looked at her, thought what’s your angle

She showed her wrist, twisted the bangle.

Eventually, she did ask Pete

To take his gear off, show his feet,

Then threw the stones upon the floor

Asked Pete to dance, and a whole lot more.

Pete, it seemed had got his wish,

Although the women was no dish.

Excitement dawned from that day on

They were a team and made a bomb

By casting stones for simple folk

This is the truth it aint no joke.

Although the readings were just trash

They made an awful lot of cash,

Produced an advert “EXPERT READINGS”

Phone us now to start proceedings.

So Pete and “her” from three doors down

Are millionaires, they bought the town,

So, should you come across some runes

Whistle and hum some happy tunes,

For you could make a fortune too

And have a future you won’t rue.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 MUSIC

By Rosemary Clarke

     How can we recommend music when every note is so personal? 

     Music is our first cry and our last gasp, it's the beating of our hearts in love and in fear.  In times of great grief, a song can lift our souls like nothing else, and musicians are the magicians of the world speaking the world's languages without learning any other.

     Musicians capture all of nature and play it for us to understand; they connect us to our thoughts and wishes, with the earth and sky itself.
     If the beat is loud enough and near enough the deaf can feel it, the blind can 'see' the sounds, and no disability is excluded; we can all dream.

     Music is like air, we all breathe it but some special ones can turn it into something else by knowing its compound.  With musician's experiments no creatures are harmed; a cure that we can all share no matter who.

     We celebrate with music, we say goodbye with music and we mourn with music.  Music is all our lives and will be forever.  So, no matter what music you love we're all part of the same family with all musicians at the head to show us the way.

From Rosemary Clarke