The Daydream

By Janet Baldey

It was a dark and stormy night…. Tommy sucked the end of his pen and tilted his head to one side.

         Yeah, that was good… Original.  Hey, it’s a doddle – this writing lark. Now what’s next…

         He stared at his sheet of paper; the purity of its smooth surface marred only by the black scrawl of his writing.  Puffing out his cheeks, he sighed and looked up again, his gaze wandering around the room.  At the far end, old Wilkie was beavering away writing the word PYTHAGORAS in large letters on the whiteboard.  Tommy snorted. Geometry – who needs it! 

         He thought about the English Lit writing competition. There was a cracker of a first prize – two tickets to the circus!  He wondered who to take with him – perhaps his Mum. He’d already sounded her out, doing his best to sound nonchalant. 

         “Doing anything next Wednesday, Mum?”

         She’d blinked at the unexpected question. Then, with an irritated toss of her head, she’d dismissed him and his query.

         “Since when do I go out in the evenings?”

         Well, perhaps he’d surprise her. Might cheer her up a bit, she’d been very crabby recently.  He thought about the other evening when he’d burned her saucepan making popcorn. She’d gone on and on…. he thought he’d never hear the last of it.  No wonder Dad had done a bunk.  His throat constricted and he swallowed, trying to ignore a sudden pain in the region of his heart. He would never have thought the old man had it in him. Fancy him running off with Mrs Harris from next door. An image flashed before his eyes of a woman with shiny blonde hair, narrow waist and a curvy bum that jiggled when she walked. He swallowed again, trying to ignore a pain of a different sort - he’d fancied her himself.

Tearing his thoughts away, he screwed up his face and dragged himself back to the job in hand. What had his English teacher advised?  “Be meticulous in your description.”

Suddenly, he was there. His body was bent double as he felt the full force of the gale lashing him with rain catapulted from the sky.  His face streamed and he licked his lips, tasting the salt laden wind as he forced himself on through narrow, cobbled streets following the shadowy figures of his companions as they snaked towards the shore. They were almost there when, with a tremendous crash, a bolt of lightning split the heavens and illuminated the scene. Tommy gasped. He could clearly see the stricken ship. Listing heavily to port, it was battling valiantly against the boiling sea whose white tipped waves were thrashing its sides and foaming across its decks. His feet crunched over the sand and now he could clearly hear the groaning of the vessel as it laboured towards them. Suddenly, the calm face of the moon appeared through a gap in the racing clouds and he fancied he caught sight of pale, despairing faces staring landwards.

There was no time to lose if they were to succeed. The group of men separated and ran towards the ocean. Despite hands numbed by the cold, they worked swiftly, placing colza lamps among the jagged rocks until their deadly surfaces gleamed with a beckoning yellow glow. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

Very soon, the moan of the wind was lost in a grinding crash as the ship foundered and screams rent the air as bodies plummeted into the surf. The waiting men raced into the swell rescuing bobbing casks and wooden trunks, working against the tide threatening to sweep their booty out to sea. The waves rolled in and soon bodies were littering the beach. These were ignored save any showing signs of life until an upraised cudgel sliced through the air silencing them forever.

His muscles aching, Tommy was heaving free a heavy spar when out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a young woman staggering towards him. Her soaking dress was plastered to her shape, clinging to every voluptuous curve and around her slim neck was a heavy necklace of large and lustrous emeralds. Tommy’s mouth watered as he reached for….

There was an excruciating pain in his neck as his head was jerked backwards. His eyes flew open and he gasped. An inch in front of his nose, loomed the red and furious face of Mr Wilkinson. With horrified fascination, Tommy studied every open pore and whiskery bristle as the maths teacher leaned closer.

“Back from the Land of Nod, are we Thompson? I suppose it would be too much to hope for if you knew the answer to the question I just asked?” He raised his eyebrows.

Tommy blinked and looked desperately around the room. He was the centre of attention, all his mates had turned in their seats and were staring at him, their faces registering either pity or elation, depending on their natures.

“Er…”

“I thought not.” Abruptly letting go of Tommy’s hair, Mr Wilkinson straightened. Then he stilled, as a piece of paper caught his attention.

“And, what have we here?” With a delicate pincer movement of his fingers, he picked it up. He read its contents and a sarcastic smile wreathed his face. He turned towards the class and in a melodramatic voice intoned the words.

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

“What utter tosh!”

He crumpled Tommy’s incipient masterpiece into a ball and with a flick of his wrist sent it into the nearest wastepaper basket.

“Detention….my room…Six o’clock…Wednesday evening.”

Each crisp word shook Tommy to the core. “Oh no, not Wednesday.”

He drooped behind his desk as, one by one, the multicoloured lights lining the Big Top flickered and died.

Copyright Janet Baldey

 BLAME

Peter Woodgate 

I was angry at the world

As atrocities unfurled

And chose, at random, those I held to blame.

But looking at it now

With sweat upon my brow

I realise my actions were insane,

It is easy to lay blame

In some cases it’s a shame

For we must look within our actions too,

We can think we are absolved

With accusations that are bold

But are we sure that these are really true?

As individuals we should

Strive to do some good

Even though there’s little we control

Concentrate on doing good

As everybody should

And then, at least, we have achieved our goal.

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Cheilin Saga ~ 15

 Cheilin Saga ~ 15   Emperor Dan 

By Len Morgan

  “So, at last, you have returned.   I think seven weeks to answer a royal summons is something of a record,” Emperor Daidan III turned to his chief advisor. “eh Hestor?”  

 “You are correct, as always, ‘divine light of the world’.   The last holder of that dubious record was extinguished by your grandfather, Daidan I, two minutes after he presented himself.   He was five weeks three days late and never actually got to explain his incredibly bad manners.”

“It is so reassuring to have a chief advisor with so complete a grasp of all my affairs,” said Daidan III.   “Welcome Aldor.   We both know your journey would take a normal man two weeks at the most, so what say you?” he asked.

“Ah!   I apologise most sincerely, ‘divine light of the world’ but you never said you wanted a ‘normal’ man.   I’ll just step outside and see if I can find you one, but you know, they are sore thin on the ground in the Emerald Palace.”

The emperor laughed, but Hestor obviously disapproved.   He would have preferred the emperor to request the objectionable young man’s head in a basket, and he would be only too pleased to dispose of it. 

“Come here man, what of your journey, such a long dalliance should be worth the telling.”

Aldor shook his head in amusement.  “Alas Dan, there was no special young woman but, I did meet some very interesting people, and most of them will prove to be of use to us in our ‘Grand Design’ but this is not the place to talk,” Dan locked eyes with Hestor, who scampered from the chamber on cue.

“The Dojo,” said Daidan III.  Aldor nodded once, looking critically at the man before him.  Sixty years old and glowing with health.   The silver-haired emperor smiled and sprang to his feet, fixing Aldor with large intelligent brown eyes filled with deep perception and childlike amusement.   He was known as ‘Dan’ to his very close acquaintances, amongst whom Aldor was proud to be counted. 

“Now would be nice,” said Dan with a grin, his zest for life radiating from every pore.  He was six foot, and that was tall for Cheilin men, his appetite for exercise, new things, news, and gossip was close to insatiable.   As he circled Aldor, seeking an opening, he looked to be no more than forty.   His father Daidan II, lived to be a hundred and three, and only lost his taste for life in the final few weeks preceding a peaceful passing in his sleep.   Daidan III was twenty at the time, third in the dynasty but by no means the last, or the least.   Eventually, he would have to name one of his three sons to succeed him as emperor, who he chose would be known as Daidan IV. 

In the lull between bouts of violent activity, Aldor managed to tell the Emperor an abridged version of his trip to the Abbey at Samishaan.  He told of its crusading monks, seeking out wrongdoers and converting them to the ways of Geoffe.   Then he mentioned his meeting with Doreeta and the plot to discredit him in the eyes of the people of the Eternal city.

“Yes I heard about that.  There were three other attacks prior to that, all perpetrated by a man answering your description.   I am afraid you will have to watch your back awhile,” he smiled, “there is a price on your head of 500 golden.”

Aldor looked hurt, “Is that all, for such an evil and vicious criminal?   I trust you will have it rescinded with all due haste?”

Dan sniggered, “I thought it would teach you a lesson.  Thought it might get you here sooner.”

Aldor shook his head and smiled, seeing the funny side of the situation.   Finally, he told Dan about Sloan, the sharp-witted corporal who had impressed him so. 

“Anti-authority you say?   Reminds me of a young man I know.   I will make discreet inquiries; he could be of use as an intelligence gatherer if he stayed in his current role.   If he were suddenly promoted or demoted in his current unit nobody would consider anything was amiss, because of his prior erratic record.   I will give him the permanent rank of Lieutenant in my Red Guard, but he will be promoted to the rank ‘Sergeant of the Watch’, in recognition of his work in this case.

Dan stopped in the mid punch, “I will summon him to the palace and inform him of my decision, he shall know of his new role immediately,” he said.

“It is after midnight,” Aldor reminded him.  

“Then I will do it tomorrow!” 

“Your enemies are ever watchful Dan, they would be quick to make the connection if he were suddenly to appear at the palace by summons, would it not be better to meet him in some neutral safe house, where neither of you would be recognised?”

“Yes, that’s a wonderful idea a clandestine meeting; cloak and dagger stuff, how exciting.”   All at once, his face became animated, “my wives will be so jealous.”

“No, they must not know, no one must know,” said Aldor.

Dan gave him a quizzical look, “I thought you were a man of the world, thought you knew women, you can’t hide a thing like this from them!”

“Then it must be a tryst, that is what they will suspect anyway.  However we cannot go alone, we will take 'vulture quad', the rest of ‘the scavengers’ can take point.   We will appear to be a half dozen, off-duty soldiers, out on a jolly, with money burning holes in our pockets.   We will meet with friend Sloan in a place of our choosing, arranged by a mutual friend, and loyal supporter…”

“The lovely Doreeta,” said Dan, licking his lips.

“Quite so."

.-…-. 

The following evening a group of off-duty soldiers made their way out through a side entrance to the palace grounds.   They strolled down the Central highway, as if they owned it, heading towards the Arch of Triumph.   Several other groups left before and after them, invisible but available if required. 

‘No reason to spoil the sense of adventure for Dan’ Aldor thought.

Four at least were comfortably ensconced, and quaffing ale, in the private upstairs room at the Green Serpent Inn.  

 Aldor entered the familiar Watch Post.  It was a hive of activity, very different from his last visit.

“We’re getting rid of the rubbish sergeant Brugg left behind,” corporal Dragor explained, “pigs would turn up their noses.   Are you here to see sergeant Sloan?”

He nodded and went into the office. “Hello sergeant so you promoted Dragor to corporal.  A good choice,” he noted the three stripes on Sloan’s sleeve.

“Ah! It’s the clairvoyant.  I thought the lovely Doreeta would be collecting me.”

“Fraid not, she has more important duties to perform than to act as your escort,” Aldor replied.   “You will need to wear this,” he added handing Sloan a full length hooded cape, similar to his own.   “We do not want you recognised and followed.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two men entered the Green Serpent by a side door, through the stables.   To a casual observer, they were just two men, well protected from the elements, they could be anybody, and most people in this neighborhood knew to mind their business.   Aldor walked through to the rear and through a stall marked ‘Killer Horse’, Sloan followed without comment.   Pulling back a stack of hay bales revealed a door.  Aldor closed the door and they went up two flights of winding stairs to the attic, above the guest rooms.   There were no windows or doors other than that by which they entered but the floor was heavily carpeted to mask their footfalls from the guests below.   There was a long trestle table and a dozen wooden chairs.   They took two of the vacant seats nearest the door.  Sloan gave each of the five men a withering stare, evaluating, memorising, and filing away their features for future reference, he never forgot a face.

The older man returned his gaze with one equally searching; he felt under acute critical appraisal.   It was a younger man, to his left, who opened the proceedings.

“This is a safe house used by the Emperors Red Guard and the Tylywoch, for meetings such as this,” he said.

“What cases might that be?”   Sloan asked. 

“The Emperor has need of your services.”

“I am already in his service.”

“The Emperor needs you as his eyes and ears.   He needs to know what is happening on the Streets.”

“But, he has generals and advisors to tell him what he wants to hear…” 

“That is the point,” said Aldor patiently; he needs your candour, and your lack of respect.

 In short he needs your irreverence and your insight; the way you are able to read a situation and see through the surface gloss at a glance.”

But the emperor already has most of my days and nights; it’s because of him I swallow the swaggering insults of young bulls who know absolutely nothing about law and order.  I spend months, sometimes years, turnin them into half competent soldiers and they get themselves promoted or killed; I’m not sure which is worse, but I then have to start over with the next batch of fresh-faced kids who think they know it all!”

“Then where are we going wrong?   If you were me, how would you put this situation to rights, whilst training the next generation of peacekeepers?” Dan asked.

Who are you?  I'm not disloyal, quite the opposite…   But, how can one person administer an Empire from a place so far removed!” Sloan asked.

“One delegate’s responsibility to people one has learned to trust, implicitly over time, people who have proven their loyalty commitment and competence.   One honours and pays them well enough that they will not act in a corrupt manner.   Occasionally, others will be sent to check up on those trusted officers and report back on their current performance.   If found wanting they will be held to account.   They are either dealt with summarily or they are given a period of time in which to put things right.   Sometimes it is their own delegates who are at fault, and sometimes the job has outgrown the man.   People have problems and sometimes we can help to resolve or remove them,” said Dan. 

“Who are you that you can presume to know the workings of our Emperor's mind?   I will have your name!” 

“Just call me Dan,” he replied “I am a trusted member of the Emperor's staff and that is all you need to know at this time.”   He looked sternly at Aldor, who was on the point of scoffing.  “If you do join my small cadre, you will know to give me full, frank, and honest answers, without considering your own safety or that of others.   In short, you will not shield anybody, or hide material facts, and you will report to me alone.   Only me, you, and the Emperor will know what passes between us.”

“That is certainly a daunting brief, but I already have a full and rewarding job,” said Sloan. 

“Sergeant, did I mention that sometimes a man can outgrow a job?  You have been a sergeant before, and you have been pushed down again and again by men who are not fit to oil your boots, simply because you are not prepared to suffer the antics of incompetent fools.   If you walk away from this opportunity, you will never be more than you are today and, this city will be the poorer for it.   What have you to lose?   You will continue in your present post, as sergeant Sloan, accepting the insults and abuse, but you will also be a lieutenant in the Red Guard.  You will have a voice and be able to right the wrongs and injustices you encounter.   You know as well as any, that the establishment is rife with inefficiency and corruption.   You are being offered an opportunity to strike back at all the things you have rebelled against in the past.   The Gods know it is far from perfect but, the right person; one who can identify deficiencies and inadequacies in the system and provide constructive suggestions as to how they might be put right would be a gift from the Gods.   If in addition, he is consistently capable of making good decisions, he is unique and I will not discard him lightly.  Aldor believes you are potentially such a man.” 

Sloan shook his head and smiled, “You have been listening to Aldor?   He has only met me the once in an interrogation room, what does he know, how could he make such a judgment unless he is able to read minds?”

“We have spoken to a number of others, studied the records, and reviewed every case you have been involved with, over the last five years, those that were successful and those that were not; the latter were invariably not your fault.   Aldor is just one conduit, as it happens, he suggested you might be of value, he thinks you are flawed, but he still came to the same conclusion.   What do I have to say to you that will convince you?”

Sloan went silent, thinking; Aldor monitored his thought processes closely; after several minutes he spoke. “I would like to meet the Emperor and ask him first if he is the right man for his job.”

“I’m sure that he would say he is not…” Dan began.

“The game is up Dan,” said Aldor “he has seen through our charade.”

“I’ve often wondered what question I would ask if ever I came face to face with the wielder of such infinite power.   You have answered the only really important question most adequately,” said Sloan.

Dan was about to explain that delegation had always been a key component in the art of leadership but Sloan continued.  “Any man who thinks himself capable of becoming Emperor is either a deluded fool or a very dangerous man and, to my mind Dan, you are neither.”

“What say you then, do we clean up the system?”

Sloan gave a wry smile and nodded assent.

“Do you have any further questions?   I’m sure you can think of at least one,” said Dan.

“Very well, since you ask, there is.”

“Ask it.”

“How do you know who your true friends are?”

Dan’s smiled and answered slowly, “They call me Dan!”

 

(to be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan

  I HEAR YOU CALLING

Jane Scoggins

‘Janice where are you? Can you come?’

 John’s voice sounded urgent. There was a pause and then

‘Janice can you hear me?’

Janice sat at the kitchen table and made no move to get up, but cocked her head, sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

The kitchen clock ticked steadily and the fridge hummed quietly and predictably.

Janice glanced at the clock, within seconds John's voice rang out again, more urgently and with an edge of irritation and impatience.

‘Janice, where are you woman? Why don’t you answer me? – I know you can hear me’

Janice raised herself from the chair and as she did said softly.

‘Oh yes, I can hear you calling.’

In a steady flow of movements Janice reached for her coat and put it on, picked up her handbag from the table and a suitcase from beside her chair. And walked to the back door. With a backward glance, Janice let herself out and closed the door behind her.

   The wedding had been the best day of her life. She had worn powder blue with navy accessories. The bouquet of white scented roses smelled heavenly, and her long auburn hair was held prettily with diamanté combs. Seeing herself in the mirror after putting the finishing touches to her makeup she smiled at herself and saw a beautiful bride.

She had not known such happiness as she left the registry office on her husband’s arm. His glossy dark hair and perfect olive skin set off by the new navy suit and white shirt he had bought at her request.  It made her feel there was nothing he would not do to please her. Family and friends gathered around and showered them with confetti that caught in their hair as it momentarily blew all around them before they all went off chattering and laughing to the smart hotel nearby where a reception had been laid on. And what a reception, a delicious buffet with glasses of champagne to start and a wonderful wedding cake and more champagne to finish off. Everything about the day, and the night in the bridal suite, had been sheer bliss and she would remember it forever Mr and Mrs John O’Brien had started married life on a high and their love knew no bounds. As a child, Janice had listened to her parents arguing. As a teenager, she had heard her father raise his voice in temper and on occasions had raised his hand to her mother too. Janice had wondered why her mother had put up with it. That would not be the sort of relationship that she would expect when she got married. In her late teens and early twenties, Janice dated a few very nice, well mannered, and attentive young men, but she knew she had not yet found true love until she met John, and then she knew almost immediately that he was The One. Good looking, cheeky grin, witty and charming. A real ladies man but as soon as he started dating Janice he only had eyes for her and she reveled in his love. Within six months John had proposed and Janice had immediately accepted. Eight months later they were married.

  Janice had not given much thought to when they would have children but when John had said he wasn’t keen on having any for a while, they had decided to put any plans on hold until they were ready. Over the next few years, John still had not felt ready for a child, so Janice had reluctantly accepted that maybe they wouldn’t have any. A big disappointment but Janice hoped he would change his mind. In the meantime, she was very happy in her marriage and had enough to do enjoying her full time job, cooking, and gardening, which she loved, and spending time with John. To discover that he was having an affair with a girl at work early on in their marriage came as a painful shock to Janice. She had thought they were blissfully happy. John had at first denied the affair but had come clean after confrontation and had asked to be forgiven. He gave up the girl and Janice forgave him.

Over the year's John had a number of affairs and Janice always forgave him because she loved him and he said he loved her too. However, over time she felt she had become a doormat and that John took her for granted, but she did not know what to do about it. Worse was to come when she discovered that John had fathered a child. Janice was devastated and felt so betrayed.

Even worse was that the mother of the child phoned John on his mobile at home and Janice had overheard them talking about the baby. He told Janice it wasn’t his, and expected her to believe him.

    Six months ago John had suffered a stroke which had left him with speech and mobility problems. He was on the mend and managing to do most things for himself now, although he preferred Janice to be on hand to do everything for him. He was bored at home and missed his independence away from home. Colleagues visited him from work occasionally but apart from that John had little company except for Janice. The girlfriend with the baby stopped calling.

  Janice stood with her suitcase on the platform and waited for the train. No more the doormat Janice vowed to herself. She would visit her mum and leave John to it for a while. How long she wasn’t quite sure, a few days, a few weeks? What she was sure of though was if she did come back it would be on a different footing with John and she would make this very clear to him. She would give herself time to think whether he was worth going back to after the heartache she had suffered. A fresh start or a clean break? She needed time to decide.

Copyright Jane Scoggins

  SUNSET  (Part 1 of 2)

by Richard Banks

Bennie drew back the curtains and observed the sky with an expression of weary disapproval. Even had he not heard the steady patter of rain on the windows and roof, the subdued light of a sunless day was only too evident. He stared upwards at the blanket of grey clouds hoping to see a chink of blue that might gradually widen to allow in the sunlight of a summer that wasn’t quite over. Perhaps, he thought, it already was, this was the fourth such day, each one a little shorter than the one before and made even shorter by the grey shroud above. He was by no means sure of when Summer officially gave way to Autumn but, informed by his own notions of how things should be, knew that Summer was unlikely to continue past the second week of September. He consoled himself with the thought that Autumn sunsets were often the best.

         Seven years retired from his job in the car factory he had, at first, struggled to fill his time. His friends had immersed themselves in their hobbies but he had none apart from football which only required his attendance every other weekend on the terraces of Copford United. Golf was too expensive and other sports requiring more rapid movement were no longer an option. As the years drifted by he divided his time between home improvements and gardening. Both provided the satisfaction of a job well done but it was only work, and unpaid work at that. Nevertheless, at the end of each day he would take pleasure from the sight of his manicured garden which was best viewed from the patio he had repaved and equipped with the usual garden furniture and a heater for winter. His sitting out there after tea had become a ritual which while a just reward for his daily endeavours never seemed enough. Then he discovered the sunset and saw with new eyes what for so long he had taken for granted.  The sun which was setting over the roofs of the semi-detached house at the bottom of his garden now dipped lower into a gap where there were no houses, just a long sloping view across town and the countryside beyond.

         In a faraway place, he was unable to identify, behind a distant ridge, the sun met the horizon in a mackerel sky of vivid pinks and blue. From that moment he was hooked and the sense of wonder he had as a child returned with the added force of an epiphany. He had been given a wonderful toy not his to command but his to admire and wonder at. He was in awe, and had it not been for the passing of two thousand years he would have bowed his head in worship. But what was he to do with this great gift? From the start he realised that the sight of each and every sunset was too precious to be lost, that each must be photographed and that although his back garden was adequate for this purpose there were many other places where better views were to be found.

         And, so it was that in the evening twilight he was to be found in a variety of places where the setting sun could be seen to best advantage, where the landscape below had a beauty that was a fitting place for the greater beauty above. It was on one such evening that he met Cyril and realised that he was not alone, that there were others just like him and that one of them, a Texan billionaire, had founded the ‘Luminary’.

         The true purpose of this organisation is still unknown. For some it was a source of knowledge, a tool for scientific research and international cooperation, for others it was something akin to religious revelation. What is not disputed is that its website was a deep mine in which every aspect of the sun could be studied in ever increasing complexity, a labyrinth of connected ways that went sideways and down but never back. It was a journey from which there was no return. It was an addiction to which there was no cure and no demand for a cure. It was a world within a world, or was it the other way around. Of one thing certain, the sun that smiled on both worlds now shone more brightly than ever on Benny who committed himself, full time, in pursuit of all matters relating to the sunset. This is not to say that he was indifferent to other phases of the sun’s daily journey, but able to specialise in sunsets alone, he gratefully seized the opportunity to do so. That this left him with no time for home improvements or gardening soon became apparent in the neglected appearance of his house and garden. Reasoning that they were no longer important in his life he sold the house and purchased a camper van. In this he lived, studied and drove to the many far flung places unaffected by the glare of artificial light where the most spectacular sunsets were to be found.

         It was not long before the endless supply of photographs and memoranda sent by Bennie to the Luminary attracted the attention of its owner and founder, Big Jack Maguire. He was a man whose second great interest in life was stories, life stories, and having decided that Bennie’s extraordinary endeavours must be the consequence of an extraordinary life he insisted that Bennie visit him at his ranch.

         “Tell me your story,” he growled, and deeming this to be a demand rather than a request Bennie attempted to rise to the challenge by recalling his more memorable moments at the car factory and on the terraces of Copford United. That these proved to be a disappointment to Big Jack is only disputed by those who say that disappointment can not be defined by an emotion so wretched that the shedding of tears seems like a carefree frivolity.

         Frozen by the permafrost of deep despair he was, after forty days, catapulted back to normal functioning by a vision that told him that if Samuel could transform David from shepherd boy to King so might he raise the distressingly ordinary Benny to an eminence far beyond that of the world’s religious and secular leaders. The Luminary would become what it was always meant to be, what he had previously been too blind to see. From now on it would be the conduit of a knowing sun that informed every word and deed, and Benny, the vessel through which all solar revelation would be received.

(to be continued)

Copyright Richard Banks

 Pricked finger

By Robert Kingston

The colours are the first thing I remember, followed swiftly by the sizes. How at times we would sift through the tin seeking to find a fix.
My younger brother, much to mum's disapproval thought to taste one once, through his nose. I'll spare you the recovery details....

stitching time

to an old blazer

button moon

 

Copyright Robert Kingston

 The Setting of the Sun

By Lynne Dellow

Trixie looked up at the setting Sun and knew that shortly her mother would leave their comfy den, which was situated under an old garden shed, and go looking for food.  She was often out all night but always returned with something juicy for Trixie and her three brother cubs.

Her mum sometimes relied on the old lady, in whose garden they lived, to provide scraps, but they hadn't seen her for several weeks and wondered why. The following day it became apparent when Trixie awoke to find the shed slowly falling apart. What was happening and where were her mum and brothers? She looked around what remained of the shed and, realising she was all alone, ran outside. Terrified she made her way to the end of the garden where she found a hole large enough to squeeze through. She climbed the steep slope and found herself on an old railway embankment. Seeing a family of foxes hiding nearby she tried to join them, but they snarled and looked so menacing she ran off in the opposite direction. She was so frightened and, breathing heavily, knew she couldn't go on much further.  Fortunately, she found a space in the fence and, squeezing herself through the narrow gap, and lay in some long grass. Then exhausted she fell asleep, hoping she'd found a safe spot.

***

Sally was busy in her garden. Although she lived alone she quite enjoyed her own company. Until recently Beth had been her companion, She was a Springer Spaniel, who followed her everywhere. On summer evenings they often sat on the patio, Sally always drank a glass of wine and watched the Sunset and Beth would lay contentedly by her side, She wiped a tear away when she thought of her passing.  She sighed but as she started watering the flowers, a slight movement caught her eye and made her stop, In the unmown grass lay a pathetic looking fox cub. It stared at her but seemed unable to move. It obviously needed help so Sally put down the can, walked into her kitchen, looked in the cupboard and found a tin of dog food, which she opened and gently mashed. She placed a quarter on an old plate, half filled Beth’s drinking bowl and took them to near where Trixie was laying. She then returned to her bungalow, hoping the cub would survive the night. The next morning she found it in the same spot and was pleased to see the food was gone.

 

***

Many Moons passed by and a strange friendship developed between the two, It took a while but once Trixie knew she was safe she became braver. She’d sometimes make her way to Sally's backdoor and lay on the doormat,  Sally had a catflap fitted on the shed door and put Beth’s sleeping basket inside.

Then one evening Sally was sitting on the patio, Trixie appeared and lay a few feet away.  Sally smiled and, looking at the setting Sun, raised a toast to her dear Beth. Trixie too looked at the fast disappearing Sun and thought of her mum and brothers. She wondered what had become of them, hoping they'd found someone as loving as she had.

Copyright Lynne Dellow