Please click on the item in the list below to go to the Story you wish to read:
1. Answered prayers
A man at the end of his tether eventually gets help
2. Alien tastes
Arrival of aliens on Earth
3. Worlds apart
Philosophical journey
4. Fire down below
Fred and Arthur go on a cycling trip into the future
5. All in the game
Fred and Arthur decide to go to the European Cup football match
6. Lisbon or bust
Fred and Arthur discuss the Lisbon Treaty of the EU
7. The Bringer of War
The God Mars enjoys a celebration in The Great Hall
8. Comments on the stories
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Answered prayers
A doctor’s surgery – somewhere in a western democracy – mid morning.
A disheveled Jones sits awkwardly opposite his doctor supporting his right wrist with his left hand. He seems not at all to be his normal self, whatever that was.
‘Hello, you out there!’ cries Jones to someone who doesn’t appear to be there at the moment. He stares at the clinically white wall, in the middle of which hangs a large calendar with flowers in a vase that is urgently keeping watch over the days.
‘Oh God,’ he shouts as if to rebuke the calendar’s seeming indifference or perhaps to raise the doctor’s status. ‘I’m receding into the distance. Is anyone there to grab my hand and pull me back to sanity? Insanity’s winning the race. I wish I could jump into another galaxy and find a world where one can still discover warmth and friendship – somewhere free from greed, selfishness and enduring expectation.
Please stop the fools feeding me all their insufferably boring entertainment and endlessly trying to sell me things. It’s like a monster that’s got me by the throat and is throttling me, tearing my protesting soul to shreds. I can feel its claws digging into my inner flesh. Can’t they see that the arrow of time has been reversed? That we are now as young spoiled brats always screaming for new sensations and that we soon will be as babies clambering for sustenance from the mothers’ dried up breast?”
He pauses as tears appear in his eyes and the doctor gladly seizes his opportunity.
‘Mr. Jones, please, my dear fellow, restrain yourself,’ he stammers, shaken by this outburst but not stirred enough to abort his trained diagnosis of the situation. ‘Calm down and let me look at your sprained wrist, man, then we can er discuss er other things,’ he fumbles expectantly with the end of his stethoscope and attempts to rise.
Jones forges on, unabated by anything as superfluous as reality and the doctor, defeated for the moment, drops back in his chair.
‘When will this damned nightmare end? Will I ever wake into a world where normal things happen and keep happening? Have the gods planned a day when the prayers of the lonely will be answered?’
Jones suddenly stops as the doctor’s interjection enters his brain at last, through some back door that was obviously difficult to get open. He turns towards the gray hair and glasses.
‘Ah, ah, but that was then!’ He hesitates as if receiving the words from a hidden ear-piece.
‘But, but how do you think my wrist got sprained?’ he croaks and then hesitates again as if the question is aimed at himself. ‘Yes, of course, I smashed the kitchen table in two with it, for God’s sake. Like a samurai cleaving the arm from an assailant. Ah, those were times of real glory and sacrifice.’
He appears to have drawn back into some historical mist.
‘Mr. Jones, please,’ says the doctor trying to rise again. ‘Try to calm down, you really must. Things are never as bad… .’
Jones glares at the receding hairline and the thin lips as if they belong to someone whose about to rob him of the last vestiges of humanity. He leans over the desk and points a finger at the face now decidedly grayer than when he came in, his words falling like bricks upon the polished surface. The doctor falls back helpless, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
The voice of Jones becomes lower and heavier as if the next tirade has been stuffed down the barrel of cannon and is awaiting the lighted fuse. After a short delay there follows the explosion. ‘The endless, bloody wars! Destroyers of flesh, disintegrators of all that is dear, hellish games for those perverts whose hearts are colder that absolute zero. Madmen! Can’t they rise above their own incompetent stupidity and recognize the futility of issues even less important to the universe than those it shits out every millisecond into irradiated chaos? Is there not one and only one – one to which every part exists only as decimal places after an infinity of others, in some immensity that only God can define?
The doctor raises a hand as if asking permission to speak, as Jones pauses again while new ammunition is being loaded.
‘I er, really don’t know Mr Jones. Look, life’s not perfect for any of us. If you’ll just calm down perhaps we can discuss these things rationally… .’
‘Rationally, RATIONALLY!’ shouts Jones bringing the fist of his damaged hand down onto the desk. He turns, his wild, pain filled eyes stopping the assistant, who has just rushed in through the door, in her tracks. He stands up shakily, the only movement now, as if for everything around him time no longer exists. In reality it is only for him that it doesn’t.
He staggers out of the door and through the waiting room, colliding painfully with a man who was obviously going somewhere but now doesn’t even flinch. He blunders through the outside door into the street and into an unearthly silence. His bloodshot eyes stare at the bird a few feet away frozen in mid-flight.
A thin smile appears on his face as he catches sight of the large silver craft above the rooftops opposite and raises his arms as it drops towards him.
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Alien tastes
‘Ah Rogers,’ said Smythe, ‘come in my dear fellow. Sit down next to me and move as little as possible if you will.’
Rogers edged towards the chair indicated and sat shakily down, his mind turning somersaults. He’d seen these creatures from a distance but up this close they were… well, words failed him actually, though his stomach had the right idea.
‘Rogers, this is Dr. Juno Knag. Well, that’s the nearest we get to his real name using English. Dr. Knag, this is my assistant Rogers.’
Smythe whispered to Rogers. ‘Don’t extend anything. Just nod in his direction when you see the red flashing thing above the green blob.’
Rogers looked up and down and from side to side.
‘There!’ said Smythe, pointing with a shaking finger. ‘Please excuse our bad manners Dr. Knag, but my assistant has much less understanding of your anatomy than I.’
The red flashes became somewhat brighter.
‘Dr. Knag is both an anthropologist and a culinary expert, Rogers. An unusual and interesting combination don’t you think?’ said Smythe, as he smiled in the general direction of Knag.
‘The red flashing membrane you see, Rogers, shows that Dr. Knag is communicating. The color shows his moods, which for us are rather complex and as yet not fully understood. He reads our minds telepathically and has seemingly little trouble mastering our languages.
With this gadget he has given me I can understand what he is saying as well.’
He tapped a small blue flashing something on his forehead.
‘Oh wait! He’s speaking now,’ smiled Smyth shifting a little in his seat
The flashes became a dull red again and a strange high-pitched musical sound filled the air.
‘Oh yes,’ said Smythe as the message seeped through, ‘well, it seems they formerly studied other species with a view to eating them – before they became civilized that is.’
A thin green stalk waved in the air and a picture emerged in the mind of Smythe.
‘They ate small things about our size for starters,’ said Smythe rather mechanically, as if someone else were moving his lips.
Rogers shifted his chair back a little and his eyes widened as they flitted uncontrollably over the apparition before him.
‘And things the size of elephants for a main course,’ continued Smythe his voice shaking; then as a picture shook his mind awake, ‘my God, the creature I’m seeing now has six…,’ he choked on his words as his mouth, temporarily out of work, hung wide open.
A few seconds passed without notice.
‘Well, anyway, he says that’s all in their past now,’ managed Smythe, recovering a little and releasing a weak strangled laugh of relief. ‘It would seem they have changed their ways. Er … sorry, what’s that you say Dr. Knag?’
The flashes of red were now turning purple.
‘Oh, you still revert to eating living flesh in emergencies.’
They heard a commotion outside in the corridor and then screams and shouts – then, suddenly, all was quiet again.
‘And what would constitute an emergency then Dr. Knag,’ croaked Smythe, although he had a terrifying thought as to what the answer might be.
The purple flashes were now changing to blue.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he laughed hysterically. ‘If there aren’t enough Groblicks available then something must be eaten. Yes, I can see that would be the only answer. Oh, luckily you only have to eat every few months. Well, that’s a relief. But wait, you’ve been here about two months now.’
After a short worried pause he added, ‘It seems like only yesterday, doesn’t it Rogers?’
Rogers’s mouth opened but nothing audible emerged.
Smythe continued. ‘I can’t find a translation for Groblicks, Rogers, but the picture I’m receiving shows them to be some sort of large flesh eating plants, very nourishing it seems.
The flashes had decided that blue was their colour for the moment.
‘Oh, now Dr. Knag informs me that, unfortunately, they don’t grow on our planet, and that the shipment they’d ordered hasn’t arrived yet,’ said Smythe. ‘Well, that really is a misfortune isn’t it? Not handy at all really, eh Rogers?’
The purple flashes turned white as Smythe received a terrifying message.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking Rogers?’ stammered Smythe with a quick forced smile in the direction of Knag.
Rogers nodded, his face draining of blood as he saw the horrified look appearing on Smythe’s face.
‘Well Dr Knag,’ croaked Smythe with a sickly grin. ‘I must apologise, but if you’ll excuse us er… we do have some rather pressing er… business which demands our attention for the moment. Perhaps we can meet again later at your convenience.
The flashes turned to white and blue.
‘Let’s go Rogers!’ hissed Smythe as he received Dr Knag’s thoughts.
Rogers staggered back with a horrified look and fell over his chair as the grotesque shape before him suddenly appeared to wobble.
There was a blinding whiteness as something billowed out from the mass of Dr. Knag and enveloped Rogers, drawing him inside.
Smythe jumped up screaming – kicked his chair aside – made a frantic dash for the door – but, before he could turn the handle, the same fate overcame him.
Dr. Knag burped loudly and, slithering over to the door, opened it with what looked like a long three-fingered appendage. He then peered outside and saw his colleague Stang in the corridor.
‘Any leftovers Stang?’
‘No Sir, all gone I’m afraid,’ said Stang. ‘The men were starving, Sir. Pity we couldn’t find anything resembling Groblicks. I rather liked these humans; they had such nice manners and were so accommodating.’
‘Yes,’ said Knag, ‘I’d got to rather like Smythe myself; an able and most agreeable fellow.’
‘How do you mean – agreeable, Sir? That he agreed with you or that he agreed with you?’
‘Ha! Very droll, Stang. A bit of both I would say. Well, we might as well take over the place and deal the humans out amongst us; until such time as the Groblicks can be imported or substitutes are found, which seems unlikely. When is the first shipment due to arrive?’
‘About ten earth days, Sir,’ said Stang.
‘That long eh? Well I hope there’ll be enough to go round till then. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten something like you Stang. I’ve rather lost the taste.’
‘Yes, me too Sir. Well, maybe it won’t come to that.’
‘I’m afraid our actions will upset our partners, the Ting,’ said Knag, ‘but I’m sure they’ll understand that it was, after all, an emergency. At least we don’t eat the way they do.’
‘Anyway, listen,’ he continued, ‘I’ve got a splendid idea for some entertainment while we’re waiting. I thought of turning this island into a golf course. Smythe informed me of this game of theirs, golf they call it. I find it most intriguing, a real challenge of wits and skill.’
Knag explained the basic details to Stang.
‘Seems a lot of fun Sir,’ said Stang whose flashes were not overly enthusiastic.
‘There are lots of hills and rivers and we could blast a few craters here and there. In place of sticks and balls we have to use the armaments, of course, but that’ll raise the excitement value of the game don’t you think? The version Smythe described was a very timid affair at best. I’ll bring it up with Colonel Kreg.’
The two slithered off still in discussion and, as they rounded the bend in the corridor, flashes of red and blue followed them.
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I was floating on the sea of humanity. The boat was old, the paint drab and flaking, and the timbers rotting in places. The ragged but strong sail billowed as it filled with the relentless wind of change, blowing ever blowing, urging me onwards towards my fate. My gnarled hand pushed gently on the rudder against the swell.
I looked into the waters and saw the ever-present faces rising and falling, some smiling, some emotionless, others grimacing and the hands, always the hands, reaching out from the water beckoning, and often grasping the sides of the boat causing it to rock. With an oar I would discouraged them by beating the sides with an urgency of purpose until they withdrew.
Long ago there had been others here with me but gradually they had been drawn into the water while they slept, were weak or when they just gave themselves over.
I was now mostly alone
Never sleep.
Friends and family would regularly rise and join me on board, but they couldn’t survive long up here in what to them was an alien atmosphere; so they would always return quickly to the waters, sometimes without warning. They were ever urging me to rejoin them in their world where they still thought I belonged, but I could do more than ignore their pleas though the frustration of my not being able to tell them why weakened me. Their life, exciting and fulfilling as it may have been to them, held no longer any attraction for me. I had risen at an early age and had no wish to descend again into that bewitching silken softness. They thought me mad of course though they did their best to hide their suspicions. Of course their senses told them nothing of the world here above, where the insatiable demands of that sea were left behind, and which to them was but a pale sterile imitation of their own fantasy.
Why didn’t they see the need to escape for themselves? They could join me again, in an instant, if they only listened to the inner voice and accepted its secrets, but the warm soft water held them in its firm velvet grip, seducing them for its own pleasure.
Sometimes other boats would pass by but apart from a friendly wave most would continue on their journey. Occasionally others would draw up alongside and stay for while. Some were memorable visits and all were helpful in raising the spirits.
Strangely there were also large sleek liners that sped by with crews in smart uniforms and colorful passengers; and there were mysterious vessels, with blackened windows and portholes, on which no life could be detected.
If only I could sleep. No! I had to remain wary of the hands ever reaching out, and the harbor was waiting, of that I was sure. Perhaps not far now. Then I would step ashore, to what? Another world? Another life? As usual no answer came, only the deep silence urging me on.
I was shaken from my reverie by the scratching sound of a bird settling on the bow rail and flapping its wings. It was the friendly blackbird that visited often. Seagulls were always swooping, screaming, and diving up into the thick scudding clouds. Were they real or just phantoms? There was no land nearby or was there? Perhaps these were questions that belonged only to the restless sea where the answers were already known.
The wind freshened and looking up I saw the sail straining against its rising force.
Just a little longer.
The boat rose into the waves tossing and rolling as it sped ever onwards, the eyes watching in silence.
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Fred looked across the street to the gray stone-walled building opposite, reflecting the boredom of the age. Then his eyes moved to the dark impenetrable windows that were fashionable these days, some slightly open as if letting out the darkness.
A pigeon dived out of nowhere and came suddenly into his line of vision, then flapping, up, up, up, reached the edge of the building’s roof and then was suddenly gone as if the universe had, for some intangible reason, removed it from existence.
‘Like life,’ thought Fred as he leaned on the shabby green lamppost. At his feet a shard of paper tumbled by, caught by the wisp of a lost passing breeze. A few yards to his right an old van stood parked tightly against the curb, rust eating away at its joints, and its pale blotched whiteness streaked by the careless scratching of time. The windscreen was striped with dirt washed up from the recent rain that had defied the efforts of the aging wipers.
The jangling symphony of busy town streets rose steadily in volume.
Shops were opening and he could hear the sounds of doors opening and shutters being unlocked and released to slide upwards into their dark recesses.
He stared unfocused as vehicles flashed by: large white, red, dark green, bluish, gray – slicing the space between him and the building. No one ever saw space repairing itself in an instant, not even Fred, but he knew its secret.
The sun broke through the scudding greyness of the early morning clouds now slowly evaporating as its rays lifted the nighttime coldness from the dusty streets.
Relentless time was urging people and things to move as the unhindered unconscious effort to change the unchangeable surged through the clotting arteries of the human race.
Fred sighed as the universe released him and the world brought him a bicycle which pulled up beside him.
‘Hi, you’re early,’ said Arthur his round face smiling briefly as he stepped off.
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ said Fred, ‘so I cycled round the park a few times.
‘Where’s yours?’ said Arthur.
‘Round the corner by Brent’s. Shall we?’
They walked together, Arthur weaving his bike round the obstinately parked vehicles.
Then they were in the country racing side by side along narrow lanes filled with freshness and springtime vigour. Trees rose up before them, showering dark leaves overhead, before falling behind. The stemmed colour-flecked greenness of the roadside parted in waves as they flashed by, prodding the resisting air easily aside.
Rolling fields of yellow-green gently waving crops, unplanted dark brown furrows, and grassy greenness daubed with white and yellow splashes of daisy, buttercup, and dandelion appeared suddenly over rustic fences, drawing the eyes aside like magnets. Grazing brown and white cows lifted their heads briefly to see what all the fuss was about.
Small birds dodged back and forth in their frantic never-ending search for food; their careless pursuit sometimes causing our cyclists to duck their heads.
After a few miles they stopped for a breather, leaning the bicycles against an old wooden gate. Only the sound of a distant tractor and the twittering of a bird in a nearby maple joined the whispering of the morning breeze.
Fred leaned with his back against the gate, his pale thin cheeks now tinged with red and his short dark brown hair now tangled by the rushing air.
Arthur with his elbows on top looked down between sloping rows of apple trees into the valley below, where near a farm building a white horse was prancing round its enclosure. His face was redder than usual, but the breeze had given up on his short-cropped blond hair.
Fred pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
‘Want one?’ he said offering the already torn packet to Arthur.
‘Thanks mate,’ said Arthur pulling one free. “Nice spot here.’
Fred flicked his lighter and lit them both up.
‘Lucky, the ones who live out here eh?’ said Fred pulling in the smoke, his eyes drawn to the lane ahead as if it would allow him a glimpse of the future. ‘Fresh air, quiet, lots of space, neighbor of Mother Nature, the feel of soil under your feet instead of foot pounding concrete and tarmac.’
‘Yeah it sure has a lot going for it but to live out here? I don’t think I could take the seclusion; not an easy thing to get used to. You’d have to be born to it I reckon,’ said Arthur looking down at the dried mud tracks leading off from the road.
‘There’s always something,’ said Fred flicking ash carefully into a small pool of leftover rainwater. ‘Maybe one could make a go of it with the right person. Maybe a pottery business. You know, something creative like that; not actually working the land. Don’t think Audrey would be in for it though, she likes the city too much.’
‘Well you’re in marketing,’ smiled Arthur, ‘so you’ve got a head start. You might be underestimating Audrey. She’s up for adventure if you ask me and she is studying art. But come on Fred, I can’t see you sitting between the Awe’s en Aar’s discussing the crops or lack of ‘em and the shape of a cow’s udders.’
They laughed.
‘You’d miss the city life you know you would. Think of it, no Sid’s Snooker Palace, no nightlife, and no variety – except of your own making. Only flower shows, fetes, and gymkhanas for entertainment; and maybe a village dance when the moon’s full. My God you’d be drawing on the church wall in no time.’
‘Your not really keen on the idea are you?’ laughed Fred.
‘Well, of course, I’d miss Sid’s and you’re right in a way, but there comes a time when you have to move on; the universe moves and drags you with it either screaming or happy – your choice,’ he added kicking at a lump of soil which obediently disintegrated.
‘See that?’ said Fred pointing down.
‘See what?’ said Arthur following his finger.
‘There was a lump of soil there, sitting all cozy and self-contained, minding its own business, oblivious to the crushing indifference of tractor tires or the devastating innocence of sudden downpours; and then it met my foot which also brought it to sudden annihilation, sending its parts back to the great creator for reassignment. That’s how life is. The only thing between you and annihilation is passion. The universe feeds on our passion Arthur. The creative force.’
‘Well you’ve got enough of that for us both I reckon,’ said Arthur clapping him on the shoulder.
‘You’ve got passion too. Everyone has, deep inside, but most never get to develop it. They get lead astray or give up because society’s too bloody demanding and unforgiving,’ said Fred taking a last pull at his cigarette. ‘I’ve seen it in you when you’re on about politics and stuff. Get red in the face you do and you make people sit up and take notice.’
‘I believe that’s anger more than passion. Ow!’ said Arthur shaking at the cigarette burning his fingers.
‘Anger’s the flame of passion,’ said Fred,’ you just have to control it so you don’t get burned, ha, ha.’
‘Yeah, well I would like to make a bloody difference, somehow. Stir up the muddied waters,’ said Arthur licking his fingers.
‘That’s what I mean, that feeling deep in your gut.’
They crushed out the cigarette buts and deposited them somewhere in Fred’s saddlebag.
‘On to our brilliant future then,’ said Fred. ‘Race you.’
They mounted up and with Fred whooping shot off down the hill.
Somewhere in eternity a star exploded.
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‘What d’ya think?’ said Fred looking along the cue at a red ball destined for the middle pocket. ‘About what?’ said Arthur leaning on his cue and sipping his beer.
‘What we were talking about before we came to this fleabag snooker hall,’ said Fred smiling as the ball rolled slowly into the pocket and the cue ball came nicely in line with the black.
‘Oh that,’ said Arthur sitting down at a small dusty, scratched and probably dark brown table whilst placing his pint leisurely on a much used beer mat.
The beer was good, which was about the only good thing one could say about Sid’s. Some said you could see the furniture moving, if you looked long and hard through the strained light that leaked from the lamps above the snooker tables. Lamps that were designed to shed light on the game and not on the vagaries of those in the darkness beyond.
‘Yeah, well what d’ya think?’ urged Fred as the black disappeared.
‘Wish you could still smoke in here,’ grumbled Arthur.
‘Stay on the subject mate,’ said Fred. ‘Don’t think Sid would notice if you lit one up in here anyway. Smoke’s still circulating here from cigs puffed a hundred years ago. It refuses to go out even when the front door opens, and beware any less polluted air that thinks it’ll make it inside.’
They both laughed.
‘Better not,’ said Arthur. ‘He might kick us out.’
‘Hey Sid, you mind if we smoke?’ yelled Fred towards the bar.
‘Bugger off,’ croaked Sid whose voice, though weakened by lungs too long devoid of fresh air, was somehow amplified by his trusty late Edwardian furniture and fittings.
‘Ok let’s see,’ said Arthur somewhat irritated as his nicotine level reached critical. ‘A quick trip over to the continent; see the match; drink ourselves stupid; and back home for bacon and eggs.’
‘Yeah, well. Eh, you bein’ sarcastic?’ said Fred his voice faltering as the red wobbled on the edge of the far pocket. ‘Damn, I always miss the easy ones.’
‘The easy are not easy and the hard are bloody hard,’ laughed Arthur taking a swig before moving to take his shot. He looked up and down the snooker table. ‘You’ve pushed that one nicely against the cushion anyway.’
‘We could make a weekend of it and take the girls,’ said Fred grabbing his beer from the table and leaning against one of the pillars supposedly keeping Sid’s upright.
‘Oh yeah, well great but Sybil can’t stand football, you now that,’ said Arthur.
‘Well, maybe she’ll come if Audrey twists her arm, and its only for one evening. It is the European Championship after all. Top class and all that,’ said Fred emptying his glass. ‘They won 4-1 last time without penalties. The atmosphere will be tremendous.’
‘Um, well, we can but ask. Oh bugger!’ said Arthur missing an easy red. ‘Sleeping with Sybil is better than sleeping with you at any rate.’
‘Can’t fault you on that one. We can go into town before the match and then have a ball afterwards. Basel’s not a bad place for nightlife according to Betty’s Travel and there’s Sunday when we’ve got the whole day to enjoy ourselves. We’ve saved enough cash and the girls’ll chip in,’ said Fred setting his glass down and moving to the snooker table. ‘It’ll be great, you’ll see. You’re turn with the drinks.’
He screwed a red into the left pocket and watched, licking his lips, as the cue ball after tenderly kissing two cushions rolled easily behind the pink.
‘You’re on form today. Well, you seem to have it all worked out,’ said Arthur as, drowning the last of his beer, he collected the glasses and moved off towards the bar.
‘No doubts about this boy – pure craftsmanship,’ whispered Fred to himself. ‘Get in you little …,’ he urged and the pink dutifully dropped out of sight.’
‘Two more please Sid,’ said Arthur pushing the glasses across the bar. ‘Bit slow today.’
‘Slow every day since the bloody football and everyone sitting rooted to the telly or off to the bloody contriment,’ hissed Sid through the few stained teeth that still owed him allegiance.
He skillfully pulled the pints with hands that moved on their own.
‘Well, a few more days and they’ll all be back groveling here in the dark,’ said Arthur.
His humor was lost on Sid who just nodded as Arthur paid and picked up the glasses.
Back at the table he set down the beers and turned to Fred.
‘Right, let’s do it. All for one and one for all,’ he smiled.
‘Great, I’ll ring Audrey,’ said Fred pulling out his mobile from an inside pocket.
‘You already asked her?’ said Arthur.
‘I did mention it – in passing,’ said Fred. ‘Hi Aud, it’s me. Yeah great love and you? Hey listen.’ He gave her the good news. ‘Ok love, see you tonight, yeah, bye bye.’
‘She’ll come and drag Sybil with her if necessary,’ smiled Fred, ‘but we have to promise not to talk about football all the time and not to drink too much.’
‘Shouldn’t be hard,’ smiled Arthur and they both laughed.
Sid’s stayed upright.
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‘Read that about the Irish saying no to the Treaty?’ said Fred inspecting his shoe and rubbing it against the back of his trouser leg.
‘Lissy Bon, who hasn’t? Think it’ll make any difference?’ said Arthur sucking on his fag.
‘Well they can’t just ignore it can they? I mean that wouldn’t be lawful, would it? Someone’d get very upperty if they just went ahead. Undemocratic they’d shout and rightly. The question is what now?’ said Fred watching a tall blond sidling past.
‘The bastards’ll find a way around it, you mark my words. They’re so bloody determined to push their plans through,’ said Arthur blowing a short-lived smoke ring.
‘Most people are fed up with the way they force their ideas onto us. Look at immigration. I mean, all those foreigners streaming into the country with no regard for the consequences. Maybe it’s good for business but socially it’s a bloody disaster. When you suddenly throw together people from different cultures and persuasions it’s like a powder keg waiting for a match, any dumb bastard can tell you that,’ said Fred feeling pangs of frustration at having thrown out something like this once too often.
‘Don’t think they care much. “Things’ll sort themselves out” is their bloody motto seems to me,’ returned Arthur waving to a mate passing on a bike. ‘The nations must join together for the good of all, Fred.’
‘Means just more damned rules and regulations, as if there aren’t enough already,’ threw in Fred for good measure.
‘Mind you some of those eastern woman are …,’ murmured Arthur as a picture formed in his imaginative mind.
‘Yeah, yeah. Sex raises its ugly pulsing head. Keep your trousers on,’ laughed Fred nudging him.
‘Well anyway, of course there are advantages. I mean we need more workers to help the economy – aid production and all that,’ said Arthur not quite convincing himself.
‘Yeah, but who wants some bandy ‘insky’ telling us what to do, God help us,’ spat Fred flicking his spent fag end with finger and thumb neatly into a waste bin on a lamppost nearby.
‘I know what you mean,’ said Arthur, ‘and you have to watch your tongue these days or some bastard’ll have you on some discrimination charge.’ He leaned on his other foot.
‘Yeah, it won’t be long before we have zippers for lips with digital locks so some twit can shut you up just by pushing a button,’ said Fred with a smile.
‘And locks on our zippers,’ laughed Arthur. ‘Well one things for sure, the rich’ll get richer and the poor poorer, nothing’ll change that.’
‘Not good for us then eh,’ chipped in Fred kicking a small innocent stone into the road.
‘I mean in a sense money makes you free doesn’t it?’ continued Arthur as if he hadn’t heard. ‘For the rest it’s just locks clicking and the sound of keys being thrown away.’
‘Maybe we’re seeing ghosts where there aren’t any,’ said Fred surprising himself.
“Fancy a drink?’ he added suddenly pulling away from the wall. ‘Feel I need one after this load of crap. One for the Irish,’ then suddenly remembering, ‘and the Dutch and the bloody French.’
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The Bringer of War
Mars looked down from his throne at the multitude in the great hall. It was a time of celebration: nothing in particular, just a celebration that Mars thought it was time for.
Things were going well with warring; there was always one going on somewhere, thank Mars.
He rubbed his hands together and looked down at his favorite mortals, wine sloshing in their goblets. There were Adolf and Genghis of course, always good for a lot of shouting and table thumping, at the very least. Napoleon and a handful of Caesars were arguing some point of strategy with a Japanese Emperor – a particularly notorious one whose name Mars couldn’t quite remember. Well, it had been a long evening.
He could see smoke rising from Genghis’s rather shabby clothing, still smoldering from the attentions of the servants of Pluto, down under.
Bacchus, with a lot of back slapping, was dealing out wine as if there were no tomorrow.
Mars turned to Venus sitting by his side and smiled. She smiled back lovingly. She didn’t really enjoy all this debauchery, but, as she didn’t get out much these days, it was a pleasant change from brooding over lost love. And, anyway, Mars was always tender when he took his mind off battles and weapons, which, unfortunately, seemed to occur less and less these days. Sometimes even immortality sucked.
“How’s Cupid these days?” asked Mars, smiling sincerely.
“Oh, well, well,” she answered somewhat distantly, “the trouble with his pulling arm has gone away, so his arrows are flying around again increasing populations.”
“That’s good news,” said Mars.
“More population, more wars,” he thought. It was a simple equation as far as mortals were concerned.
In the middle of the hall a large group was fighting now. He could see arms and legs flying about as swords flashed in the light from the enormous open fire and the massive hanging chandeliers. Cannon balls were flying around willy-nilly and muskets were exploding their body carving innards. Nuclear weapons and other advanced technical horrors were not recognized by the Gods, and mortals who used them down there could expect little mercy when later being assigned their afterlife fates up here.
Mars, who lead the original debate, had said that he found these weapons to be a little, well, too much. They were so, well, undemocratic. Complete annihilation just happened too damned fast. No glory in that. There had to be gushing blood and visible sinews, not instant atomic particles, at far as he was concerned. And he would continue to be the concerned party for some time to come, he’d decided. Oh, there were others who had tried to take his power away, but none had succeeded or even lived to enjoy prolonged immortality. The other Gods had agreed pretty much whole heartedly, though Diana had gingerly admitted to getting a teeny-weeny amount of pleasure from big bangs.
Times were good as even Saturn had to admit.
(Time to Gods is, or course, a rather trivial and awfully relative thing. In fact, they wouldn’t have much to do with it at all, if it weren’t for its necessity in dealings with mortals.)
The smoke was getting rather thick now in the hall and there was a lot of coughing from those who still could, so Mars raised his hand and, as trumpets sounded, the hall fell silent. The air-conditioners did their work and the broken furniture, undead bodies, and parts thereof, were quickly removed by his minions. Swords were sheathed and muskets lowered. Gun carriages withdrew into the shadows. Tom (The Great) Minion had his whip cracking as always, and son Alf shook a fist at Adolf who had raised his one good arm again. It was an old habit.
Everyone suddenly looked up as Mercury, who had taken on the roll of The Messenger with some gusto, suddenly flew in through a high window, and after circling round a few times for effect, alighted like a feather on the podium just in front of Mars, though at a respectful distance.
“Well, Freddie, what is it this time?” said Mars, always fascinated by the ridiculously small folding wings.
“Jupiter’s coming,” said Freddie, rather out of breath and still missing his Queen.
“Damn! Always comes uninvited that one,” said Mars, stroking his beard, “and he always makes such a show of being the BOSS – that booming voice of his and all the lightning bolts flying around disturbing the guests. Never takes the hint either from all the cowering in fright.”
“Well, got to be off again,” said Freddie. “More messages to deliver. Catch you again soon and have a good one!”
With flapping wings and a short wave he rose, circling upwards, until he became a small speck and disappeared through the same window.
“Show off!” shouted Mars to the dissipating eddies, and then turning to Venus, “Well, it looks as though things are going to get really out of hand again then. Big Daddy’s underway and you know what that means,” he said.
The feasting in the hall gathered new momentum.
‘Yes, and he’s such an awful bore, even when he gets round to talking. I don’t know how Juno puts up with him,” said Venus, admiring the rippling muscles of some stalwart just below.
Suddenly a feeling came over her, though it wasn’t love.
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Comments on the stories
“as superfluous as reality” lol, That’s brilliant.
Hey hey 🙂 Thank you very much for my New Year’s email. May 2010 be a good year for you too.
I quite enjoyed the story about Mars. What’s not to like about a warbringer and his possey of dictators after all *grins*
Ooh and Worlds apart is interesting. I’m not entirely sure what the other ships are metaphors for… could you possibly enlighten me?
So I hope that you’re currently well and have been well 🙂 Hopefully I’ll be hanging around.
Thanks for your comments. All is well here. These were written quite a while back. The ships are taking those that have escaped from the womb of indoctrination and apathy on to new pastures. 😮