The task was to write a story based on this one word/theme for the February 9 meeting.
The track thumped its way down, stopping sharply where a ledge made a vantage point overlooking a gentle escarpment. Bill ratcheted on the brake, turned off the engine and slid from behind the wheel to drink in the familiar view. Below, a little river cut a dotted glint between the trees and there, just to the left was his retreat. A little sliver of cream sand caught the eye and highlighted a gentle bend. Bill’s smile, if anyone was around, would have made his dentist proud. He gathered his camping kit from the car and as quick as he could he headed off on the 3 mile downhill hike to set up his home of the next few weeks.
Steve banked off the X9 flyway, landed and un-docked his propulsion unit. The geosite was as he had left it. The g-tag indicated there had been no activity here since his discovery. Not surprising really, there was no reason for anyone to divert to this eroded old cliff face. His trained eye could spot immediately the faint traces of the ancient transport relic. It was evidenced by a dim metal stain to the rocks and some decayed thermoplastic fragments. His mission today was to fully report the site, determine the history and wrap it to record. Unhooking and aiming his sonic trowel it immediately detected platinum trace. Fantastic. That should put this find smack into the 30 year time line of his thesis.
The three miles had seemed much longer to Bill this time but to be fair his fitness was not what it was. Smashing a hip always was going to be the risk in motocross racing. The hip replacement had stopped most of his action-man pursuits and even this annual escape had had to wait. It had also meant the trip had now slipped into late summer with the added risk of flooding and, this late in the season, the wildlife would be protecting territories and looking to feed their young.
Late summer, always a time for added caution.
Such thoughts were not top of his consciousness by the end of this first day as he fell back onto his bedding. He looked out past the campfire and watched the sun fade to a red glimmer on the surface of the river. The meal of fresh fish and forest greens had been a great reward for little effort. It was no wonder to Bill why he returned here every year, the absolute solitude, complete peace, no phone network, plenty of food, water and birdsong. Paradise.
Archeology tools had improved a lot but Steve was still required to set out, document and excavate with the same tedium his predecessors had perfected. He scanned a laser grid of the entire site, imaged and morphed the terrain and then began the gradual removal of stratum, cataloging every find. It was only a small site but Steve had allowed himself three days to resolve the mystery. One lone transport relic, in total isolation. It was a wonder to Steve why anyone would choose to come here. The cliff face was the edge of a barren landscape overlooking a desolate sea. He did realise that at the time of the event the geology may well have been a bit different but even back then it would have been very remote, unpopulated and many days travel from the nearest infrastructure.
As the peaceful days glided past Bill reverted slowly to the nature he was living in. There were times he thought of never returning to civilization and just staying here subsisting on natures’ bounty.
The temptation is strong, he humored himself.
Reality however is the great leveler and he knew he was always going to be dependent on his blasted medications. They would be the only reason he would have to plan his return up that 3 mile track and back into community. But that trip was a month and three days away by his pill count. He let out a sigh for the inevitable but all in all he would much rather be feeling well and able to be out here than to be clutching his chest and gasping for breath. Coronary medicine was a modern wonder he was happy to be a beneficiary of.
Steve’s excavations proceeded as planned. It was clear this was a vehicle which was intact and not looted or deformed as so many of these sites turned out to be. The symmetry indicated the relic was most likely abandoned rather than smashed. The thermoplastic load, the interior trim, was contained wholly within the perimeter of corrosion. This was about as much as Steve could glean from the central part of the site as time and technology were not good partners. The platinum had tested as the catalyst component Steve had hoped it was. Organic fuel catalysts were only used for a period of about 40 years so the time line was almost minute perfect. Steve decided that tomorrow he would extend his survey grid and excavate to one meter around the vehicle. See if there were any associated artifacts and then call it a wrap. He had today also determined the vehicle was of an agricultural type, concentrated metal trace at both ends indicated that solid mechanicals probably provided propulsion from each corner of the relic.
Morning was glorious. A light rain had passed over the campsite without waking Bill and his rain trap had harvested an abundant supply of drinking water. Great. Nothing like a big cuppa first thing. Bill cast around looking to see if there was any dry tinder nearby that would accept a flame. The rain had been more intense than Bill had hoped and he had to wander into the scrub a little further than normal in search of dry twigs.
The bite was immediately painful and deep into the middle of his index finger. Two clear puncture marks indicated an unseen snake of a decent size. Bill knew this was not good news, he spat on the wound, wiped off the venom around it, grabbed his wrist and held it aloft to limit circulation. Panic was not what he needed but he could not stop himself imagining the toxins seeping into his system. Stay calm. Three miles. Uphill. The 2 way radio is in the Land Rover. Calm. Keep calm. He got back to camp, washed the wound and bound his arm tightly from the bicep down to the bite. The pain around the bite now was intense.
Water. He’d need the water.
Keys where were the fucking keys?
Right. Calm, walk swiftly.
The pulse was now pounding in Steve’s head. He was getting delirious with excitement. It had to be a human jaw bone. Found almost in the first area he had extended his grid into. It was immediately next to the corrosion perimeter, right where that curious angled line of corrosion was. Steve thought that it was an opening, probably the main entry portal to the vehicle. His call went out immediately. It was a matter of minutes and Steve’s colleagues were on site and all working feverishly at unearthing and recording the remaining grid one meter around the corrosion perimeter. But just one humanoid found.
The jawbone had fallen to dust immediately it was disturbed but the morphing program had recorded and reported its structure. A thirty five year-old male, Caucasian/Mongoloid mix with homo-sapien and neandertal genetic links. So just a common male type of the era. With the identity solved as good as it could be, Steve collated the three indestructible pieces of evidence, the dental caps, the artery stent, the titanium hip joint.
As his professor had drummed into him, find the artifice, find the date. Steve had no doubts now, the report he addend-ed to his thesis stated, "The presumption of events prior to demise of this 34 year old male have been derived from the evidence that the individual had suffered from a chronic decaying physiology, there was evidence of long term poor health and it was further presumed the individual had most likely traveled as far from his civilization that his agricultural vehicle could reach. At the point of the vehicles failure he exited the conveyance to end his pain filled days. Evidentiary substance sampling and chemical analysis of remains would indicate cause of death as being self administered organic poison."
Steve snapped shut his pad, re-docked and programmed his re-entry onto the X9 flyway and home.
The pulse was now pounding in Bill’s head. He was getting delirious from the toxins. He had made it back to the vehicle, he was conscious, not clear-headed but happy to be here. The world had worked for him again, it was far too wonderful a place to leave and he never had any intention of doing so. Bill used the key to unlock the door, reach across to the radio. The battery was dead. Calm. There is an EPIRB in the center console.
Another wave of nausea and searing chest pain made him coil and fall to the ground again. Stay Calm. He lay there in the shadow of the car door, waiting for the agonies and the spasms to ease off again, just this one more time.
They didn’t.
(epirb: Emergency Position-Indicating Radio Beacons)
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
funny employee evaluation quips
EMPLOYEE EVALUATIONS
collected from HR review teams of one major corporation;s performance summaries in the 1990's.
Posted here just cos they made me chuckle then and still do now.
1. "Since my last report when this employee had reached rock bottom, he
has started to wear through that level."
2. "His men would follow him anywhere. . .but only out of morbid curiosity."
3. "I would not allow this employee to breed."
4. "This employee is really not so much of a 'has-been', but more of a
definite 'won't be.'"
5. "Works well when under constant supervision and when cornered like a rat in a trap."
6. "When he opens his mouth it is to change feet."
7. "He would be out of his depth in a puddle."
8. "This young lady had delusions of adequacy."
9. "He sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
10. "This employee is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot."
11. "This employee should go far,. . .and the sooner he starts, the
better."
12. "Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together."
13. "A gross ignoramus--144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus."
14. "He certainly takes a long time to make things pointless."
15. "He doesn't have ulcers, but he's a carrier."
16. "I would like to go hunting with him sometime."
17. "He's been working with glue too much."
18. "He would argue with a signpost."
19. "He has a knack for making strangers immediately."
20. "He brings a lot of joy whenever he leaves the room."
21. "When his IQ reaches 50, he should sell."
22. "If you see two people talking and one looks bored, he's the other one."
23. "A photographic memory but with the lens cover glued on."
24. "A prime candidate for natural deselection."
25. "Good social conscience, he donated his brain to science. Evidence suggests they have acted on his offer."
26. "Gates are down, lights are flashing, train not coming."
27. "Has two brains: One is lost and the other is out looking for it."
28. "If he were more stupid he'd have to be watered twice a week."
29. "If you give him a penny for his thoughts you'd get change."
30. "If you stand close enough to him you can hear the ocean."
31. "It's hard to believe that he beat 1,000,000 other sperm to the egg."
32. "One neuron short of a synapse."
33. "Some drink from the fountain of knowledge. . .he gargled and spat."
34. "Takes him 2 hours to watch 60 minutes."
35. "The wheel is turning, but the hamster is dead."
collected from HR review teams of one major corporation;s performance summaries in the 1990's.
Posted here just cos they made me chuckle then and still do now.
1. "Since my last report when this employee had reached rock bottom, he
has started to wear through that level."
2. "His men would follow him anywhere. . .but only out of morbid curiosity."
3. "I would not allow this employee to breed."
4. "This employee is really not so much of a 'has-been', but more of a
definite 'won't be.'"
5. "Works well when under constant supervision and when cornered like a rat in a trap."
6. "When he opens his mouth it is to change feet."
7. "He would be out of his depth in a puddle."
8. "This young lady had delusions of adequacy."
9. "He sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
10. "This employee is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot."
11. "This employee should go far,. . .and the sooner he starts, the
better."
12. "Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together."
13. "A gross ignoramus--144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus."
14. "He certainly takes a long time to make things pointless."
15. "He doesn't have ulcers, but he's a carrier."
16. "I would like to go hunting with him sometime."
17. "He's been working with glue too much."
18. "He would argue with a signpost."
19. "He has a knack for making strangers immediately."
20. "He brings a lot of joy whenever he leaves the room."
21. "When his IQ reaches 50, he should sell."
22. "If you see two people talking and one looks bored, he's the other one."
23. "A photographic memory but with the lens cover glued on."
24. "A prime candidate for natural deselection."
25. "Good social conscience, he donated his brain to science. Evidence suggests they have acted on his offer."
26. "Gates are down, lights are flashing, train not coming."
27. "Has two brains: One is lost and the other is out looking for it."
28. "If he were more stupid he'd have to be watered twice a week."
29. "If you give him a penny for his thoughts you'd get change."
30. "If you stand close enough to him you can hear the ocean."
31. "It's hard to believe that he beat 1,000,000 other sperm to the egg."
32. "One neuron short of a synapse."
33. "Some drink from the fountain of knowledge. . .he gargled and spat."
34. "Takes him 2 hours to watch 60 minutes."
35. "The wheel is turning, but the hamster is dead."
ICE
The task was to write something based on the word Ice. for the first writers meeting of 2011. I was to be away at the time.
ICE
To the touch as steel it drives
A raw temptation to grasp,
To clasp the trapped eternity
While history melts around it.
The largest adorn and amaze
As their captured light refracts
A honed brilliance, a radiance
From passion to spectacle.
Clarity translates the heat of the earth
From the magma though blood to crystal
Besotting the beauteous and banal
Beguiling the bestial and base.
It flashes desire to the heart
Of a maiden and the crone and
Drives to distraction and ruin
Those captured by its eternal allure.
An ache of passions
Cold as ice.
Value beyond worth.
The flawed diamond.
ICE
To the touch as steel it drives
A raw temptation to grasp,
To clasp the trapped eternity
While history melts around it.
The largest adorn and amaze
As their captured light refracts
A honed brilliance, a radiance
From passion to spectacle.
Clarity translates the heat of the earth
From the magma though blood to crystal
Besotting the beauteous and banal
Beguiling the bestial and base.
It flashes desire to the heart
Of a maiden and the crone and
Drives to distraction and ruin
Those captured by its eternal allure.
An ache of passions
Cold as ice.
Value beyond worth.
The flawed diamond.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Feeding Birds
A task to write a piece of exactly 250 words for the first Leeds Savage annual. Thought I'd write of a recent experience I'd had discovering what sort of bird I was actully feeding after setting up the ideal bird table system.
The bird feeder
It has been difficult to attract specific birds into the backyard but I have succeeded and am quite proud.
It takes time to build an environment where wild creatures feel their desire for food exceeds the threat of visual exposure. My plan was to attract bullfinch as they are very desirable specimens.
I erected a birdfeeder with two tiers filled with bulk finch mix and a top tier filled with niger seed specifically to attract the bullfinch.
Of course the tits and chaffinch descend first as they are fleet of wing and territorial. The ground feeding dunnocks and blackbirds swiftly follow to clean up the spills. It is necessary to attract these non target species to provide a populous bird environment so the bullfinches become more emboldened.
It is also mandatory to locate the feeder in the open yard to provide good sight lines and maneuverability around the perches. A squirrel-proof baffle is installed to prevent rodents scaring away the bullfinch.
Great fun, my specific bird now happily feasts a couple of times a week in full view of my study window. He glides past my vantage point well shielded by the holly tree, banks and with needle talons extended thrusts majestically to surgically pluck a bullfinch from the air as it tries dumbly to fly into the shrubs. A puff of feathers and a small squeak is the reward for my patience. I watch captivated as the sparrow hawk roosts in the sycamore and hungrily devours his twitching meal.
The bird feeder
It has been difficult to attract specific birds into the backyard but I have succeeded and am quite proud.
It takes time to build an environment where wild creatures feel their desire for food exceeds the threat of visual exposure. My plan was to attract bullfinch as they are very desirable specimens.
I erected a birdfeeder with two tiers filled with bulk finch mix and a top tier filled with niger seed specifically to attract the bullfinch.
Of course the tits and chaffinch descend first as they are fleet of wing and territorial. The ground feeding dunnocks and blackbirds swiftly follow to clean up the spills. It is necessary to attract these non target species to provide a populous bird environment so the bullfinches become more emboldened.
It is also mandatory to locate the feeder in the open yard to provide good sight lines and maneuverability around the perches. A squirrel-proof baffle is installed to prevent rodents scaring away the bullfinch.
Great fun, my specific bird now happily feasts a couple of times a week in full view of my study window. He glides past my vantage point well shielded by the holly tree, banks and with needle talons extended thrusts majestically to surgically pluck a bullfinch from the air as it tries dumbly to fly into the shrubs. A puff of feathers and a small squeak is the reward for my patience. I watch captivated as the sparrow hawk roosts in the sycamore and hungrily devours his twitching meal.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Farewell a friend
Task for December 15, Pack Horse Inn, Briggate, our first night in our new meeting place. Great night.
A reflective piece
(One man’s reflection on the passing of his youth)
I’ve known young Max since he was just a lad. We shared some of the most wonderful, and the most horrible of times in our lives.
As time has passed, the stories we shared have become my reminiscences. I regret that I can no more join in the exhilaration of racing to our team’s victory, of riding those south coast waves, or of crashing terrified and unhurt from that mountain rally track.
It is now so many years later, and I am again sitting here alone with a pint of ale, in front of a Yorkshire fire which the publican has just stoked. I pause and watch the heat return into the embers, and as I watch I see the orange flames flick through the smoke and lick at the log. The heat on my face triggers a memory of an afternoon sun shining, there is a chase through summer grass in pursuit of giggling and fleet-footed temptress. A sigh vibrates my chest. It was such a long time ago this delight. The end of the chase on that summer afternoon was so illicit, it excites memories still fresh to this day.
I recall the tension and thrill of other adventures we shared. Even now I wonder about the victories we had in our travels and business, and of the toys and homes we owned. Indulging myself in memories like these is a sumptuous and glorious past time I probably spend far too much time doing but as I re-live them again I feel a lopsided grin growing across my face.
The flames have settled back in the hearth and I reflect on the length of time that has passed and how our exuberance waned. I accept that life took away the feeling that every attempt we made would end in a victory. I stare into my glass and I actually pine for that time when we had unending energy, for that confidence that we knew all the answers, and I long for that time when we were ignorant that our actions would let imperfections remorselessly creep into the body.
I still know young Max well, he continues to dream of all the possibilities. Regrettably he is no longer the man of infinite ability and unending optimism he once was.
Young Max has become a man I know less well. He is a thoughtful, considered man, made cautious by experiences both wonderful and horrible.
He is still a man with dreams of what can be, but he tempers them by what should be. He has a body less able and a mind more circumspect. Middle-aged Max is what I call him now, a bad joke he reluctantly shares. However there remains in him a defiant shaft of light and an energy which propels him and makes clear the ambition and the fun that was always present.
I buy myself another ale and realise that I have become concerned about young Max’s passing. As any good friend would be I guess.
Returning to my chair to be warmed by this fire I sip my final ale. Before I leave the pub to go home to my domestic contentment I wonder, will I feel as good about Middle-aged Max in thirty years time as I do now about his predecessor?
I hope so.
Farewell young Max, I will always remember you fondly.
(for those of you who didn’t get it, Max is the narrator)
A reflective piece
(One man’s reflection on the passing of his youth)
I’ve known young Max since he was just a lad. We shared some of the most wonderful, and the most horrible of times in our lives.
As time has passed, the stories we shared have become my reminiscences. I regret that I can no more join in the exhilaration of racing to our team’s victory, of riding those south coast waves, or of crashing terrified and unhurt from that mountain rally track.
It is now so many years later, and I am again sitting here alone with a pint of ale, in front of a Yorkshire fire which the publican has just stoked. I pause and watch the heat return into the embers, and as I watch I see the orange flames flick through the smoke and lick at the log. The heat on my face triggers a memory of an afternoon sun shining, there is a chase through summer grass in pursuit of giggling and fleet-footed temptress. A sigh vibrates my chest. It was such a long time ago this delight. The end of the chase on that summer afternoon was so illicit, it excites memories still fresh to this day.
I recall the tension and thrill of other adventures we shared. Even now I wonder about the victories we had in our travels and business, and of the toys and homes we owned. Indulging myself in memories like these is a sumptuous and glorious past time I probably spend far too much time doing but as I re-live them again I feel a lopsided grin growing across my face.
The flames have settled back in the hearth and I reflect on the length of time that has passed and how our exuberance waned. I accept that life took away the feeling that every attempt we made would end in a victory. I stare into my glass and I actually pine for that time when we had unending energy, for that confidence that we knew all the answers, and I long for that time when we were ignorant that our actions would let imperfections remorselessly creep into the body.
I still know young Max well, he continues to dream of all the possibilities. Regrettably he is no longer the man of infinite ability and unending optimism he once was.
Young Max has become a man I know less well. He is a thoughtful, considered man, made cautious by experiences both wonderful and horrible.
He is still a man with dreams of what can be, but he tempers them by what should be. He has a body less able and a mind more circumspect. Middle-aged Max is what I call him now, a bad joke he reluctantly shares. However there remains in him a defiant shaft of light and an energy which propels him and makes clear the ambition and the fun that was always present.
I buy myself another ale and realise that I have become concerned about young Max’s passing. As any good friend would be I guess.
Returning to my chair to be warmed by this fire I sip my final ale. Before I leave the pub to go home to my domestic contentment I wonder, will I feel as good about Middle-aged Max in thirty years time as I do now about his predecessor?
I hope so.
Farewell young Max, I will always remember you fondly.
(for those of you who didn’t get it, Max is the narrator)
Monday, December 6, 2010
ghost story - newspaper competition - December 4 2010.
Once upon a time there was a newspaper competition asking for new writers to submit a 2000 word ghost story. I submitted this one below but six much worse stories were selected for the short list. I am not bitter about that at all.
An undesirable patron. (2000 word target)
He wasn’t a friend at all, just a bloke I saw most nights usually lingering over a single scotch, crouched alone and watching the regulars come and go. His name was Nick but other than knowing each other's name our only common link was that we were both regulars of the pub.
He’d adopted the ancient table hidden behind the door as his spot. It sort of suited him I guess, his pale face was made indistinct by his lank grey hair, stained beard and ruined teeth. A threadbare brown checked coat added to his worn-out look and made him the ideal occupant for that battered corner. It was never a popular seat, the stained ceiling hung low there and the entry next to it caused it to be a somewhat cold alcove. Not that Nick was ever involved with much, he didn’t exactly exude an essence of bonhomie, so mostly everyone ignored him.
I admit that while I do drop in to the pub most evenings, I go in for a pint with my mates and to warm in front of the fire, so I mostly ignore him too. Sitting where he did though, Nick was in easy earshot of our often animated discussions. He never interjected or passed comment, although I did see him sometimes smiling grimly.
Occasionally I saw Nick sitting in earnest discussion with the odd stranger over the years but none of the regulars paid him any attention. In effect he was like the piece of furniture really, always there but not noticed.
Anyway, today's the anniversary of my father’s death, at least I always think of it as the anniversary. It’s when the Ministry of Defence told us that Dad was missing in action, presumed dead. I was ten at the time and to be honest, I've never got over the unfairness of it.
Last year, on the anniversary, I had again told the lads everything I knew about Dad’s last mission and they had again let me talk it out. That time though, as I was leaving, Nick grabbed my arm and said, hauntingly, “I know about your dad”.
The surprise at being gripped so firmly stopped me dead. He slowly released my arm from his bruising fingers but his icy blue-flecked eyes stayed staring into me. “Sit down with me and I’ll tell you of things I know”.
I remember feeling compelled to sit despite thinking that I didn’t want to listen to this old bloke’s ramblings. Every November I hear tales from veterans who re-tell their stories. I rarely tire of the unassuming way these quiet heroes release their memories but I know from years of questions that there is no record or memory of my father’s last mission so I was in no mood to hear Nick’s rambling tale.
Nick started to tell me events from my Dad’s mission that only I had ever researched. He went on to provide bits that were missing from my searches and records. I couldn’t believe how much detail Nick knew and said he knew and I demanded to be told where he got all this information.
“I said I knew about your Dad” he answered quietly and intently, looking directly at me again.
“In fact I don’t only know about what your dad did, I know he was not killed in action. I also know his whereabouts this very day”
I sat there looking at this strange thin man. He was not smiling, not pretending, he was simply delivering insights into my father’s past and more shocking to me, was about to tell me about my father’s present.
My brain was struggling to make sense of that. I wanted to refuse to accept he was alive. I wanted desperately to meet him. I was angry. I was incredulous, struck dumb. I deeply wanted to reject but Nick’s facts were so credible, so incredible. I stared back blankly into the steely eyes.
“What do you mean? You know where his body is buried?” was the only rational question my brain would allow. My fear just contained.
“No Dave.. I know where he is. Right now”
“I don’t believe you.” Rationality was my last refuge. Any other thought was lunacy.
“What would it take for you to believe me?” Nick stared through narrowed eyes, his pupils coal black and intense.
“I , I don’t know. How can you prove that its my dad? You could show me anyone.”
Nick didn’t even pause to think.
“Your dad will know of things you did together, things you talked of that only the two of you will remember. It will take no time for you to be certain” His voice quiet and firm.
Thoughts flashed like lightening through my clouded brain. He was right of course, the times I have with my kids, I remember the smallest of details for years.
I started to recall days out with my dad. I wondered if he would remember them too.
But this was crazy. Why would my wonderful father have stayed away, left his wife, abandoned his kids, what would have allowed any man who loved his family to do that?
As if reading my thoughts, Nick continued,
“Your dad was given no choice in his actions, he could not make contact with you. But now, I can arrange for you two to meet” For the first time I saw a smile crease his face, it was not a pleasant thing, it was an unnerving gruesome gape.
“How could you do that?” I so needed to remain unconvinced and unwilling.
“Never mind how. What would you do if I could guarantee you can meet your dad again?”
I wasn’t sure but I thought Nick was peddling for some reward or payment so I just looked blankly back at him not knowing how to respond..
“I can make it happen” Nick said smoothly “but I need to know how important it is to you and if it is worth my arranging it. You see, this is a one time offer, the window of opportunity is small and it will pass. I need to know if it is important to you.”
“Well of course it’s important, if my dad is around I'd want to meet him. Of course I want to meet him” I didn’t know what Nick had expected me to answer. Who wouldn’t want to?
“So, what would you do if I could guarantee such a meeting?’ he held that eerie grin.
“I’d do anything” I spat out. “If you can bring my father to me, then I’d do whatever”
“Great!” He said leaning back and straightening himself up. He suddenly looked much less feeble.
“Follow me!” He rose strongly, moved the table aside with ease and strode towards the doorway.
In a sort of emotional trance I caught the urgency of his movements. I trailed behind him into the swirling rain and heaving traffic of the busy high street.
Nick turned to me, his eyes were alive and sparkling now as he said “Come on just across the road and down a bit.” as he headed towards the curb.
I hurried to join him at a gap he’d found torn in the pedestrian fence where the traffic careened past in a solid stream of headlights and spray. No sooner had I joined him than he grabbed my arm with that vice-like hand, and pushing me impossibly hard in the small of my back, he spun me directly into the path of the speeding bus.
In that instant of my imminent death, the last microseconds of my existence took on a slow motion roll. I looked back in horror to see a spectral skull with a yawing yellow toothed grimace where Nick had stood. “You wanted to meet your maker!” it screeched hideously at me. “You are sent now to be with your father” it added in wicked mirth.
I tried to scramble clear but even in the slow roll of my demise I saw the speeding wall of metal would not be escaped.
A world-shattering explosion preceded my scream which pierced the shards of my agony and burst existence. I was tumbling and flailing with a searing pain tearing at every part of me.
Then nothing.
Then the merest hint of a tiny spark of light.
Then nothing.
I have no recollection of the next six months, I am told about the miracle of my survival, of the wondrous works by the paramedics and the surgeons. I am advised of the tiny window of opportunity I squeezed through to survive. I recall being vaguely aware of my wife and children during my recovery from coma.
I know I am here today because of people I’d never met, professionals from all fields, donors of all races and support from all walks of community. I am forever grateful.
I remained mystified about Nick. I've been back to the pub on many occasions since that night. I have had chats with my mates. My story of how my death nearly happened is politely listened to and everyone smiles and nods, then they change the topic. Tonight though, on this years's wretched anniversary of my dad's death , Keith took me aside and said that he had to have a word with me. He was being very serious, a mantle that didn’t fit comfortably on him.
“Mate, I’ve got to tell you, get over it, you have to accept that there never was a Nick, no one threw you into the traffic, you’d just had one pint too many that’s all”
“What?” I was incredulous, “As if I’d walk into traffic!? " I stared at my friend. "You mean to tell me nobody ever saw Nick? He sat at his spot at that corner table every night! I don’t believe you.” I felt like I was being abandoned.
“Dave, no one ever sits at that table, it’s too bloody cold. Sure, sometimes a visitor might squat there for a while but they never stay long. No one has it as ‘their spot’ that’s for sure.”
“I’m not that daft Keith, and I was never that wasted that night”
“Gees Dave, you always get full on your dad’s anniversary, and it’s not like you were the first accident out there you know. People are always getting bowled down. Another punter was turned to pizza a couple of months ago, that’s why they’re putting that new fence there.”
Keith’s confident practicality shocked me. I started to question my memory and sat quietly for a while. Was it booze, or perhaps the drugs, or my coma? If Keith was right then I didn’t know what a real memory was any more.
He slapped me on the shoulder and with a friendly shake added “You’ve just got to stop living in a dream mate” he sat back and said “Your missus told me you shout out "Nic"! in your sleep, she thought you’d been having a bit on the sly. Don’t worry, I've put that to rest for you, but you have to get a grip”
He got up to order another pint leaving me staring at the fire.
It was a couple of minutes before I was snapped out of my muddle by a call to re-join the lads with a fresh pint. I dragged myself up but went to the gents first.
Standing at the hand basin I looked at my torn face in the mirror. I splashed water to cool my eyes before going out to try and slip into to the usual banter. It was good to have mates, good to have survived.
I should get a grip as Keith said.
I walked back into the bar just as a stranger was getting up out of that corner seat. Keith was right, nobody stayed there long.
It was as the stranger was heading onto the street that I glimpsed the back of a grey head and a threadbare brown checked coat leading him out.
I stared transfixed at the door as it slowly shut and my eyes closed over tears as the screams from skidding car tyres and shocked bystanders laid a soundtrack to Nick's latest fatality.
© GregWebster 12/11/2010
An undesirable patron. (2000 word target)
He wasn’t a friend at all, just a bloke I saw most nights usually lingering over a single scotch, crouched alone and watching the regulars come and go. His name was Nick but other than knowing each other's name our only common link was that we were both regulars of the pub.
He’d adopted the ancient table hidden behind the door as his spot. It sort of suited him I guess, his pale face was made indistinct by his lank grey hair, stained beard and ruined teeth. A threadbare brown checked coat added to his worn-out look and made him the ideal occupant for that battered corner. It was never a popular seat, the stained ceiling hung low there and the entry next to it caused it to be a somewhat cold alcove. Not that Nick was ever involved with much, he didn’t exactly exude an essence of bonhomie, so mostly everyone ignored him.
I admit that while I do drop in to the pub most evenings, I go in for a pint with my mates and to warm in front of the fire, so I mostly ignore him too. Sitting where he did though, Nick was in easy earshot of our often animated discussions. He never interjected or passed comment, although I did see him sometimes smiling grimly.
Occasionally I saw Nick sitting in earnest discussion with the odd stranger over the years but none of the regulars paid him any attention. In effect he was like the piece of furniture really, always there but not noticed.
Anyway, today's the anniversary of my father’s death, at least I always think of it as the anniversary. It’s when the Ministry of Defence told us that Dad was missing in action, presumed dead. I was ten at the time and to be honest, I've never got over the unfairness of it.
Last year, on the anniversary, I had again told the lads everything I knew about Dad’s last mission and they had again let me talk it out. That time though, as I was leaving, Nick grabbed my arm and said, hauntingly, “I know about your dad”.
The surprise at being gripped so firmly stopped me dead. He slowly released my arm from his bruising fingers but his icy blue-flecked eyes stayed staring into me. “Sit down with me and I’ll tell you of things I know”.
I remember feeling compelled to sit despite thinking that I didn’t want to listen to this old bloke’s ramblings. Every November I hear tales from veterans who re-tell their stories. I rarely tire of the unassuming way these quiet heroes release their memories but I know from years of questions that there is no record or memory of my father’s last mission so I was in no mood to hear Nick’s rambling tale.
Nick started to tell me events from my Dad’s mission that only I had ever researched. He went on to provide bits that were missing from my searches and records. I couldn’t believe how much detail Nick knew and said he knew and I demanded to be told where he got all this information.
“I said I knew about your Dad” he answered quietly and intently, looking directly at me again.
“In fact I don’t only know about what your dad did, I know he was not killed in action. I also know his whereabouts this very day”
I sat there looking at this strange thin man. He was not smiling, not pretending, he was simply delivering insights into my father’s past and more shocking to me, was about to tell me about my father’s present.
My brain was struggling to make sense of that. I wanted to refuse to accept he was alive. I wanted desperately to meet him. I was angry. I was incredulous, struck dumb. I deeply wanted to reject but Nick’s facts were so credible, so incredible. I stared back blankly into the steely eyes.
“What do you mean? You know where his body is buried?” was the only rational question my brain would allow. My fear just contained.
“No Dave.. I know where he is. Right now”
“I don’t believe you.” Rationality was my last refuge. Any other thought was lunacy.
“What would it take for you to believe me?” Nick stared through narrowed eyes, his pupils coal black and intense.
“I , I don’t know. How can you prove that its my dad? You could show me anyone.”
Nick didn’t even pause to think.
“Your dad will know of things you did together, things you talked of that only the two of you will remember. It will take no time for you to be certain” His voice quiet and firm.
Thoughts flashed like lightening through my clouded brain. He was right of course, the times I have with my kids, I remember the smallest of details for years.
I started to recall days out with my dad. I wondered if he would remember them too.
But this was crazy. Why would my wonderful father have stayed away, left his wife, abandoned his kids, what would have allowed any man who loved his family to do that?
As if reading my thoughts, Nick continued,
“Your dad was given no choice in his actions, he could not make contact with you. But now, I can arrange for you two to meet” For the first time I saw a smile crease his face, it was not a pleasant thing, it was an unnerving gruesome gape.
“How could you do that?” I so needed to remain unconvinced and unwilling.
“Never mind how. What would you do if I could guarantee you can meet your dad again?”
I wasn’t sure but I thought Nick was peddling for some reward or payment so I just looked blankly back at him not knowing how to respond..
“I can make it happen” Nick said smoothly “but I need to know how important it is to you and if it is worth my arranging it. You see, this is a one time offer, the window of opportunity is small and it will pass. I need to know if it is important to you.”
“Well of course it’s important, if my dad is around I'd want to meet him. Of course I want to meet him” I didn’t know what Nick had expected me to answer. Who wouldn’t want to?
“So, what would you do if I could guarantee such a meeting?’ he held that eerie grin.
“I’d do anything” I spat out. “If you can bring my father to me, then I’d do whatever”
“Great!” He said leaning back and straightening himself up. He suddenly looked much less feeble.
“Follow me!” He rose strongly, moved the table aside with ease and strode towards the doorway.
In a sort of emotional trance I caught the urgency of his movements. I trailed behind him into the swirling rain and heaving traffic of the busy high street.
Nick turned to me, his eyes were alive and sparkling now as he said “Come on just across the road and down a bit.” as he headed towards the curb.
I hurried to join him at a gap he’d found torn in the pedestrian fence where the traffic careened past in a solid stream of headlights and spray. No sooner had I joined him than he grabbed my arm with that vice-like hand, and pushing me impossibly hard in the small of my back, he spun me directly into the path of the speeding bus.
In that instant of my imminent death, the last microseconds of my existence took on a slow motion roll. I looked back in horror to see a spectral skull with a yawing yellow toothed grimace where Nick had stood. “You wanted to meet your maker!” it screeched hideously at me. “You are sent now to be with your father” it added in wicked mirth.
I tried to scramble clear but even in the slow roll of my demise I saw the speeding wall of metal would not be escaped.
A world-shattering explosion preceded my scream which pierced the shards of my agony and burst existence. I was tumbling and flailing with a searing pain tearing at every part of me.
Then nothing.
Then the merest hint of a tiny spark of light.
Then nothing.
I have no recollection of the next six months, I am told about the miracle of my survival, of the wondrous works by the paramedics and the surgeons. I am advised of the tiny window of opportunity I squeezed through to survive. I recall being vaguely aware of my wife and children during my recovery from coma.
I know I am here today because of people I’d never met, professionals from all fields, donors of all races and support from all walks of community. I am forever grateful.
I remained mystified about Nick. I've been back to the pub on many occasions since that night. I have had chats with my mates. My story of how my death nearly happened is politely listened to and everyone smiles and nods, then they change the topic. Tonight though, on this years's wretched anniversary of my dad's death , Keith took me aside and said that he had to have a word with me. He was being very serious, a mantle that didn’t fit comfortably on him.
“Mate, I’ve got to tell you, get over it, you have to accept that there never was a Nick, no one threw you into the traffic, you’d just had one pint too many that’s all”
“What?” I was incredulous, “As if I’d walk into traffic!? " I stared at my friend. "You mean to tell me nobody ever saw Nick? He sat at his spot at that corner table every night! I don’t believe you.” I felt like I was being abandoned.
“Dave, no one ever sits at that table, it’s too bloody cold. Sure, sometimes a visitor might squat there for a while but they never stay long. No one has it as ‘their spot’ that’s for sure.”
“I’m not that daft Keith, and I was never that wasted that night”
“Gees Dave, you always get full on your dad’s anniversary, and it’s not like you were the first accident out there you know. People are always getting bowled down. Another punter was turned to pizza a couple of months ago, that’s why they’re putting that new fence there.”
Keith’s confident practicality shocked me. I started to question my memory and sat quietly for a while. Was it booze, or perhaps the drugs, or my coma? If Keith was right then I didn’t know what a real memory was any more.
He slapped me on the shoulder and with a friendly shake added “You’ve just got to stop living in a dream mate” he sat back and said “Your missus told me you shout out "Nic"! in your sleep, she thought you’d been having a bit on the sly. Don’t worry, I've put that to rest for you, but you have to get a grip”
He got up to order another pint leaving me staring at the fire.
It was a couple of minutes before I was snapped out of my muddle by a call to re-join the lads with a fresh pint. I dragged myself up but went to the gents first.
Standing at the hand basin I looked at my torn face in the mirror. I splashed water to cool my eyes before going out to try and slip into to the usual banter. It was good to have mates, good to have survived.
I should get a grip as Keith said.
I walked back into the bar just as a stranger was getting up out of that corner seat. Keith was right, nobody stayed there long.
It was as the stranger was heading onto the street that I glimpsed the back of a grey head and a threadbare brown checked coat leading him out.
I stared transfixed at the door as it slowly shut and my eyes closed over tears as the screams from skidding car tyres and shocked bystanders laid a soundtrack to Nick's latest fatality.
© GregWebster 12/11/2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
A Vole-mas Tale
A Volemas Story.
November 28, 2010. The task was set to write a short Xmas story leading up to the festive season. © GregW. This wasn’t so short.
Verity got a bit of a surprise when she stuck her pink nose out of the burrow and had a big fluffy crystal settle on it. The flake was cold on her bare nose but at the same time it felt sort of crinkly. She raced back to show mummy the present she had been given.
“Oh Dear” Mummy grimaced as Verity watched the flake dissolve in the warmer air.
“Never mind mummy” squeaked Verity, “There are lots more landing outside, I can bring you heaps of them!”.
“No sweetie, I mean ‘oh dear’ winter has arrived very early. I'm not ready... There is so much we have to do.” And she started to bustle around making lots of clear spaces.
“Come on Verity, help your mother. You can clean out your brothers' and sisters' space for me, and after that, well, oh deary me, there is so much more for us to do! So little time....”
Verity busied herself doing as she was told, a bit perplexed at her mother's urgency. When all the sleeping places were clean, and many more cleared spaces had been made, Mummy sat Verity down and tried to speak very calmly to her.
“You and I are going out to find seeds and fill all the spaces we have made with food for the winter”.
“What is, win-ter” Verity asked trying to make sure she said the new word right.
Mummy was a bit distracted as all the children had now woken up and wanted a feed.
Laying on her side, Mummy said “Winter is a cold time, a long time, when there is very little food for us all. We will get very tired and we won’t want to go out in the cold. So now we have to collect lots of food to last us through winter.” Verity could tell mummy was trying to be very patient with her.
“But Mummy”, Verity wondered, “won’t Daddy and Russell come back and help?"
A very sad look came over Mummy’s face, “No sweetie, When the big birds took Russell and Daddy away it was for a very long time and they won’t be coming back to help”.
“But that’s not fair.” complained Verity, not really knowing what a big-birds was. More new words.
“I know sweetie but you just make sure to look up for any big birds and run and hide when you see one.” Mummy was distracted as she began to clean up after the children’s meal.
“Okay” Verity said, and Mummy headed off to look outside, Verity knew she must stay and care for the children.
Mummy got to the burrow entrance and let out a big sigh when she saw how deep the snow was, she turned and came back to where Verity was pushing the fed and sleepy children back into their nest.
Mummy looked very worried, then slowly she got a bright look in her eyes and spoke excitedly to Verity.
“What you and I are going to do today is very, very exciting” she said. “we are going to explore the ‘not-outside’ place!”
This was too many new words for Verity to understand but because mummy had said to be excited, she was excited. “Let’s go then!” she squeaked and dashed off down the entry burrow.
“Verity!” Called out mummy, “Not that way. The ‘not outside’ place is this way”. And she led Verity to the very back of the nest burrow, down and up a long tunnel, at the end of which was a big, long, flat piece of wood on one side of the tunnel. The way through here was a bit narrow but plenty big enough for a vole. From under the long flat wood, through little gaps, came some light, and some warm air carrying a scent of smoke but mostly a nose filling smell of foody stuff. Verity had no idea what the smells could be. She was really excited and scampered back and forth along the wood wall smelling each little gap until Mummy caught her by the tail and went “Shhhh!” which Verity knew meant be still and quiet.
It was very hard to be still and quiet when there was warm and deliciousness so close.
Mummy said in a very soft voice, that in the ‘not outside’ place, there was sometimes lots of lovely food, but, she had to make sure there was nothing moving in the ‘not outside’ place before they went looking for it.
Then Mummy asked Verity to follow her along beside the flat wood. They came to a big piece of stone. Here the wood and the stone left a gap. Verity could see a vole-sized hole had been chewed to make the gap bigger..
Mummy was looking out of the hole and her tail was twitching as she sniffed the air.
She popped her head back in to look at Verity and said. You wait here, I am going to be back very, very soon.
True to her word she disappeared out the hole and in no time at all had returned with a seed bigger than any Verity had ever seen before, it was all black with white stripes and smelled glorious. Before Verity could stop marveling at this wonder Mummy had left and returned again, this time with a smaller brown seed with a little bump on its end that smelled, if it were possible, even more delicious and in desperate need of a taste.
“Verity!’ Mummy scolded, suddenly a bit cross, don’t be there smelling them, take them back to the burrow and start stacking them in the store spaces we made. Reluctantly Verity complied and worked very hard to keep up with the supply of seeds mummy was collecting..
After many trips to and fro, Mummy stopped for a rest and told Verity that there were so many seeds and things called crumbs, another new word, 'not outside' it might be best if they both collected and just bought it all back in here.
It was just then that loud noises came from the ‘not outside’ place and they scared Verity a lot.
Mummy again said ‘Shhh!’ and Verity did.
~~
The kitchen door creaked as it always did. Alice didn’t even hear it any more, it was just part of the house and it’s bumps and lumps, she probably would have been more surprised if her ancient home stopped creaking and groaning.
“Tsk tsk tsk” she tutted as she cast her eyes around the kitchen floor. “Margaret!” she called out. “Margaret! Come here will you? Right now please” as she opened a tall cupboard and took out a broom.
“Yes Auntie?” said Margaret, pulling a strand of hair from her sticky lips while peering into the kitchen. Auntie Alice’s call had the sound of trouble and Margaret came with a worried look.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to clean up after yourself? Look at this place, bread and honey left out, butter not back in the fridge, crumbs everywhere. You are a big girl now and you know to be tidy. I want to be able to tell your mum and dad how good you are so they will let you come and spend more visits in the country.”
“Yes Auntie”, it really was worth the extra chores to be here with Auntie but especially with her horses. And tomorrow was cooking day, Auntie had promised that they would use the big mixer and the oven and she could lick the bowls if she was a very good helper.
“I don’t mean to be cross with you dear” Auntie continued, “but we don’t want to have pesky little rodents scurrying through our kitchen do we?”
“No Auntie” lied Margaret. She would love to see a little mouse.
“All right then you set-to and tidy up here while I go outside and clear a path to the barn. This snow may be fun to for you but it doesn’t half make my life difficult.”
And with that Margaret was left alone in the kitchen, with the broom.
Cleaning up was a bit difficult as the table was very high, so after giving the floor a sweep or two she pulled the chair over and climbed up to clean the crumbs from the surfaces. The wood grain of the table made nice lines and the crumbs were fun to push around like cars on a road. Margaret knelt on the chair for some time quietly playing with the crumbs.
~~
Behind the flat wood, keeping very quiet and away from the hole, Verity and mummy hid, listening to the big noises. After a while everything went very quiet and mummy sneaked a peek through the hole again. There were seeds and crumbs very close now and she looked around and could see nothing move except the flames in the big box at the other end of the ‘not outside’ place.
“Verity”
“Yes mummy”
“There is lots of food very close to the hole here, I think it is safe. You should help me quickly”.
Verity was so pleased mummy trusted her like this. Checking that nothing moved every time, they busily dashed in and out collecting all the yummy food they could as quickly as they could. It was very hard for Verity not to nibble a crumb or two, just a little bit.
~~
Margaret watched very quietly from her high perch as the two little voles dashed in and out looking around and then grabbing the tiny morsels and shuffling away behind the skirting board.
They are so cute Margaret thought, I do hope Auntie doesn’t see them.
Whenever the mouses went behind the skirting board Margaret would throw some of her crumbs down, each time a little further away from the hole.
~~
Eventually Mummy stopped collecting and said “I think we have enough food now to take back and store for today”. Carrying and placing all the different sorts of food into the storage places is very tiring work and Verity was soon nestling in to sleep in her straw and feather nest.
Verity woke well before she would normally have and she darted quietly past where mummy was sleeping , past the wriggling children who would soon be demanding food, then down and up to the vole sized hole in the wood wall.
Very carefully she looked out into the ‘not outside’ place to make sure there was no moving thing. What she saw was amazing. It was just outside the hole. It was a long sort of a seed, bigger than any food thing Verity had ever seen. It smelled so wonderful Verity just had to try to have a nibble. She was very nervous and taking a last long look around she dashed out. Her teeth sank in easily and the flood of flavour and smell was wonderous. Verity looked back at the hole as she swallowed a morsel. She didn’t know if she could drag the huge seed back all that way. She tried to pull it with her mouth but her claws kept slipping on the smooth ground. Try as she might, pushing or pulling, she couldn’t make the seed go where she wanted.
Suddenly there was a huge noise and a big animal breath smell, sort of sweet but scary too. Verity looked around and then up.
OH Gosh! She nearly screamed.
Looking down at her from very high up was a huge animal with hair hanging down, it’s mouth opening and closing and horrible sounds shaking the air all around.
Verity froze for a second.
This must be the big bird thing Mummy had warned her of. She was sure she was going to be taken to where Daddy and Russell were and away from mummy and all the lovely food.
Verity didn’t want to leave.
The big animal bared its teeth and made some more noise but it didn’t move.
Verity took the chance and made a dash back into the hole, down the tunnel and all the way back to the nest panting and puffing.
“Gracious Verity what ever have you been up to?” asked Mummy.
Verity explained all that had happened as Mummy preened at her coat.
“I can smell the seed on your breath.” Mummy said. It does smell delicious she thought.
~~
Margaret was ecstatic. She had got up very early, cleaned the kitchen floor and placed a peanut just outside the mouse hole hoping against hope a little mouse would come back. And here it was.
It was sooooo cute.
And as the tiny fury thing tried to take the nut away she said. “Hello little mousie”
The poor little mouse jumped and stared frozen at her. Smiling she said “Don’t be scared, I wont hurt you” “If you leave it there I will make it smaller for you.” but the cute little thing ran away.
Nevertheless, Margaret broke the peanut into tiny pieces and pushed them into the corner and right into the hole where Auntie wouldn’t see them.
‘Happy Christmas little mouses” she said as she left to make Auntie a cup of tea before breakfast. Today was cooking day and she would make sure the little mouses would find a good selection of Christmas baking crumbs right at their doorway.
~~
Much, much later that night when everything was really, really quiet in the ‘not outside’ place, Mummy and Verity, being very brave, found lots of scrumptious food pushed into their vole hole and they danced and jumped around with the taste and aromas of the gifts that the ‘not outside”’ place had given them.
By the end of the night the burrow was full of food and Mummy was happy she was not going to be hungry, which meant that the children were not going to be hungry and they and Verity would grow up to be very happy voles indeed.
~~
It was a good time for everyone in the farmhouse that year, despite the snow.
November 28, 2010. The task was set to write a short Xmas story leading up to the festive season. © GregW. This wasn’t so short.
Verity got a bit of a surprise when she stuck her pink nose out of the burrow and had a big fluffy crystal settle on it. The flake was cold on her bare nose but at the same time it felt sort of crinkly. She raced back to show mummy the present she had been given.
“Oh Dear” Mummy grimaced as Verity watched the flake dissolve in the warmer air.
“Never mind mummy” squeaked Verity, “There are lots more landing outside, I can bring you heaps of them!”.
“No sweetie, I mean ‘oh dear’ winter has arrived very early. I'm not ready... There is so much we have to do.” And she started to bustle around making lots of clear spaces.
“Come on Verity, help your mother. You can clean out your brothers' and sisters' space for me, and after that, well, oh deary me, there is so much more for us to do! So little time....”
Verity busied herself doing as she was told, a bit perplexed at her mother's urgency. When all the sleeping places were clean, and many more cleared spaces had been made, Mummy sat Verity down and tried to speak very calmly to her.
“You and I are going out to find seeds and fill all the spaces we have made with food for the winter”.
“What is, win-ter” Verity asked trying to make sure she said the new word right.
Mummy was a bit distracted as all the children had now woken up and wanted a feed.
Laying on her side, Mummy said “Winter is a cold time, a long time, when there is very little food for us all. We will get very tired and we won’t want to go out in the cold. So now we have to collect lots of food to last us through winter.” Verity could tell mummy was trying to be very patient with her.
“But Mummy”, Verity wondered, “won’t Daddy and Russell come back and help?"
A very sad look came over Mummy’s face, “No sweetie, When the big birds took Russell and Daddy away it was for a very long time and they won’t be coming back to help”.
“But that’s not fair.” complained Verity, not really knowing what a big-birds was. More new words.
“I know sweetie but you just make sure to look up for any big birds and run and hide when you see one.” Mummy was distracted as she began to clean up after the children’s meal.
“Okay” Verity said, and Mummy headed off to look outside, Verity knew she must stay and care for the children.
Mummy got to the burrow entrance and let out a big sigh when she saw how deep the snow was, she turned and came back to where Verity was pushing the fed and sleepy children back into their nest.
Mummy looked very worried, then slowly she got a bright look in her eyes and spoke excitedly to Verity.
“What you and I are going to do today is very, very exciting” she said. “we are going to explore the ‘not-outside’ place!”
This was too many new words for Verity to understand but because mummy had said to be excited, she was excited. “Let’s go then!” she squeaked and dashed off down the entry burrow.
“Verity!” Called out mummy, “Not that way. The ‘not outside’ place is this way”. And she led Verity to the very back of the nest burrow, down and up a long tunnel, at the end of which was a big, long, flat piece of wood on one side of the tunnel. The way through here was a bit narrow but plenty big enough for a vole. From under the long flat wood, through little gaps, came some light, and some warm air carrying a scent of smoke but mostly a nose filling smell of foody stuff. Verity had no idea what the smells could be. She was really excited and scampered back and forth along the wood wall smelling each little gap until Mummy caught her by the tail and went “Shhhh!” which Verity knew meant be still and quiet.
It was very hard to be still and quiet when there was warm and deliciousness so close.
Mummy said in a very soft voice, that in the ‘not outside’ place, there was sometimes lots of lovely food, but, she had to make sure there was nothing moving in the ‘not outside’ place before they went looking for it.
Then Mummy asked Verity to follow her along beside the flat wood. They came to a big piece of stone. Here the wood and the stone left a gap. Verity could see a vole-sized hole had been chewed to make the gap bigger..
Mummy was looking out of the hole and her tail was twitching as she sniffed the air.
She popped her head back in to look at Verity and said. You wait here, I am going to be back very, very soon.
True to her word she disappeared out the hole and in no time at all had returned with a seed bigger than any Verity had ever seen before, it was all black with white stripes and smelled glorious. Before Verity could stop marveling at this wonder Mummy had left and returned again, this time with a smaller brown seed with a little bump on its end that smelled, if it were possible, even more delicious and in desperate need of a taste.
“Verity!’ Mummy scolded, suddenly a bit cross, don’t be there smelling them, take them back to the burrow and start stacking them in the store spaces we made. Reluctantly Verity complied and worked very hard to keep up with the supply of seeds mummy was collecting..
After many trips to and fro, Mummy stopped for a rest and told Verity that there were so many seeds and things called crumbs, another new word, 'not outside' it might be best if they both collected and just bought it all back in here.
It was just then that loud noises came from the ‘not outside’ place and they scared Verity a lot.
Mummy again said ‘Shhh!’ and Verity did.
~~
The kitchen door creaked as it always did. Alice didn’t even hear it any more, it was just part of the house and it’s bumps and lumps, she probably would have been more surprised if her ancient home stopped creaking and groaning.
“Tsk tsk tsk” she tutted as she cast her eyes around the kitchen floor. “Margaret!” she called out. “Margaret! Come here will you? Right now please” as she opened a tall cupboard and took out a broom.
“Yes Auntie?” said Margaret, pulling a strand of hair from her sticky lips while peering into the kitchen. Auntie Alice’s call had the sound of trouble and Margaret came with a worried look.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to clean up after yourself? Look at this place, bread and honey left out, butter not back in the fridge, crumbs everywhere. You are a big girl now and you know to be tidy. I want to be able to tell your mum and dad how good you are so they will let you come and spend more visits in the country.”
“Yes Auntie”, it really was worth the extra chores to be here with Auntie but especially with her horses. And tomorrow was cooking day, Auntie had promised that they would use the big mixer and the oven and she could lick the bowls if she was a very good helper.
“I don’t mean to be cross with you dear” Auntie continued, “but we don’t want to have pesky little rodents scurrying through our kitchen do we?”
“No Auntie” lied Margaret. She would love to see a little mouse.
“All right then you set-to and tidy up here while I go outside and clear a path to the barn. This snow may be fun to for you but it doesn’t half make my life difficult.”
And with that Margaret was left alone in the kitchen, with the broom.
Cleaning up was a bit difficult as the table was very high, so after giving the floor a sweep or two she pulled the chair over and climbed up to clean the crumbs from the surfaces. The wood grain of the table made nice lines and the crumbs were fun to push around like cars on a road. Margaret knelt on the chair for some time quietly playing with the crumbs.
~~
Behind the flat wood, keeping very quiet and away from the hole, Verity and mummy hid, listening to the big noises. After a while everything went very quiet and mummy sneaked a peek through the hole again. There were seeds and crumbs very close now and she looked around and could see nothing move except the flames in the big box at the other end of the ‘not outside’ place.
“Verity”
“Yes mummy”
“There is lots of food very close to the hole here, I think it is safe. You should help me quickly”.
Verity was so pleased mummy trusted her like this. Checking that nothing moved every time, they busily dashed in and out collecting all the yummy food they could as quickly as they could. It was very hard for Verity not to nibble a crumb or two, just a little bit.
~~
Margaret watched very quietly from her high perch as the two little voles dashed in and out looking around and then grabbing the tiny morsels and shuffling away behind the skirting board.
They are so cute Margaret thought, I do hope Auntie doesn’t see them.
Whenever the mouses went behind the skirting board Margaret would throw some of her crumbs down, each time a little further away from the hole.
~~
Eventually Mummy stopped collecting and said “I think we have enough food now to take back and store for today”. Carrying and placing all the different sorts of food into the storage places is very tiring work and Verity was soon nestling in to sleep in her straw and feather nest.
Verity woke well before she would normally have and she darted quietly past where mummy was sleeping , past the wriggling children who would soon be demanding food, then down and up to the vole sized hole in the wood wall.
Very carefully she looked out into the ‘not outside’ place to make sure there was no moving thing. What she saw was amazing. It was just outside the hole. It was a long sort of a seed, bigger than any food thing Verity had ever seen. It smelled so wonderful Verity just had to try to have a nibble. She was very nervous and taking a last long look around she dashed out. Her teeth sank in easily and the flood of flavour and smell was wonderous. Verity looked back at the hole as she swallowed a morsel. She didn’t know if she could drag the huge seed back all that way. She tried to pull it with her mouth but her claws kept slipping on the smooth ground. Try as she might, pushing or pulling, she couldn’t make the seed go where she wanted.
Suddenly there was a huge noise and a big animal breath smell, sort of sweet but scary too. Verity looked around and then up.
OH Gosh! She nearly screamed.
Looking down at her from very high up was a huge animal with hair hanging down, it’s mouth opening and closing and horrible sounds shaking the air all around.
Verity froze for a second.
This must be the big bird thing Mummy had warned her of. She was sure she was going to be taken to where Daddy and Russell were and away from mummy and all the lovely food.
Verity didn’t want to leave.
The big animal bared its teeth and made some more noise but it didn’t move.
Verity took the chance and made a dash back into the hole, down the tunnel and all the way back to the nest panting and puffing.
“Gracious Verity what ever have you been up to?” asked Mummy.
Verity explained all that had happened as Mummy preened at her coat.
“I can smell the seed on your breath.” Mummy said. It does smell delicious she thought.
~~
Margaret was ecstatic. She had got up very early, cleaned the kitchen floor and placed a peanut just outside the mouse hole hoping against hope a little mouse would come back. And here it was.
It was sooooo cute.
And as the tiny fury thing tried to take the nut away she said. “Hello little mousie”
The poor little mouse jumped and stared frozen at her. Smiling she said “Don’t be scared, I wont hurt you” “If you leave it there I will make it smaller for you.” but the cute little thing ran away.
Nevertheless, Margaret broke the peanut into tiny pieces and pushed them into the corner and right into the hole where Auntie wouldn’t see them.
‘Happy Christmas little mouses” she said as she left to make Auntie a cup of tea before breakfast. Today was cooking day and she would make sure the little mouses would find a good selection of Christmas baking crumbs right at their doorway.
~~
Much, much later that night when everything was really, really quiet in the ‘not outside’ place, Mummy and Verity, being very brave, found lots of scrumptious food pushed into their vole hole and they danced and jumped around with the taste and aromas of the gifts that the ‘not outside”’ place had given them.
By the end of the night the burrow was full of food and Mummy was happy she was not going to be hungry, which meant that the children were not going to be hungry and they and Verity would grow up to be very happy voles indeed.
~~
It was a good time for everyone in the farmhouse that year, despite the snow.
Monday, November 15, 2010
60 Seconds
The task was to write anything that took 60 seconds to read
I don’t understand 60 seconds.
I have landed in a strange country
I don’t understand.
Everyone speaks my language but they speak it different. I hear people from the south trying to sound like the people from the north for fun.
I don’t understand.
Everyone chose their government but those who chose right and those who didn’t all say the government is no good.
I don’t understand.
Everyone is supposed to work but people get given government money not to work. If you don’t work and can spend all the money, the government will give you a house.
I don’t understand.
Everyone has free education to help build the country. But if you want to be better educated you have to pay the government debt.
I don’t understand.
Everyone from a commonwealth country is a friend and ally but they are not allowed to live or to work for long in this country. Hated enemies from past wars are free to come and go and stay.
I don’t understand.
Everyone knows of someone who was killed in a foreign war and everyone knows it is bad to kill. But everyone loves people who died while killing foreign people and everyone here stands still to praise them for 60 seconds every year.
I don’t understand.
(c) GregW 12/11/2010
I don’t understand 60 seconds.
I have landed in a strange country
I don’t understand.
Everyone speaks my language but they speak it different. I hear people from the south trying to sound like the people from the north for fun.
I don’t understand.
Everyone chose their government but those who chose right and those who didn’t all say the government is no good.
I don’t understand.
Everyone is supposed to work but people get given government money not to work. If you don’t work and can spend all the money, the government will give you a house.
I don’t understand.
Everyone has free education to help build the country. But if you want to be better educated you have to pay the government debt.
I don’t understand.
Everyone from a commonwealth country is a friend and ally but they are not allowed to live or to work for long in this country. Hated enemies from past wars are free to come and go and stay.
I don’t understand.
Everyone knows of someone who was killed in a foreign war and everyone knows it is bad to kill. But everyone loves people who died while killing foreign people and everyone here stands still to praise them for 60 seconds every year.
I don’t understand.
(c) GregW 12/11/2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Cocktails and Dreams
The task was to write anything about the topic "Cocktails & Dreams" for the November 3 meeting
October 28, 2010 Cocktails and dreams. © GregW
It wasn’t the question Geoff had expected.
Why don’t they have any clothes on, or Why are they white, or How come they look so sad, would all have been questions he could have sounded clever about.
They had been dawdling through the Herculaneum and Pompeii statues, him lost in the brilliance of the long dead craftsmen, her, a bored and ignored seven-and-three-quarters year-old niece picking at the frayed stitching of his trouser leg.
Kylie was the mostly likable result of his sister Cheryl’s misadventure in the Pacific Islands. Geoff had agreed to child-mind this afternoon to give her a bit of a break. Its what brothers do, so he had been informed.
The act of being tour guide for this button-nosed munchkin was not chosen as an interesting outing for the little lass, but as an opportunity for Geoff to tick this Leeds museum event off his must-do list before the rare marble figures left town on the rest of their national tour.
Geoff and Kylie were having a break, sitting on one of the padded benches the city had placed a bit away from the statues for comfortable observation and reflection. They both sat hunched a little, one sipping hot black coffee and the other sucking very hard at a blue slushy through a small straw, because the wide one with the scoop on the end was only for little kids.
Geoff knew which battles were best won and which were best left as a life lesson.
“Uncle Geoff?” she whispered,
“Yes?” he answered in a less hushed tone, taking another sip.
Kylie smiled and in a confident voice said “All of the boy’s pricks are broken off. Can we go and find them?”
A cloud of spat coffee preceded Geoff’s “WHAT?” , a word he immediately regretted uttering.
“I want to look for boy’s dicks!” she answered with glee having now gained Geoff’s full attention.
“Cucff, Ka, Gargh,” Geoff spluttered at her calmingly.
“Look for pricks, look for dicks” she was bouncing and singing as Geoff became suddenly aware of how popular this museum was.
“Kyles, sweetie, listen to me”
“Come on Uncle Geoff, lets look for the boy's willies” her strident voice piercing the space.
“They are not here sweetie.” Thinking on the run, he added “They are under hundreds of tons of volcanic ash on the other side of the world.” He hoped this information would give her pause for thought and give him a chance to think of a distraction.
“Oh” she said, the sing song gone from her tone but the dreaded kid question already forming on her lips
“Why?”
Geoff took a second to think, what he needed was a quick re-direction.
“Well, a long time ago" he started slowly, "before a big volcano exploded in Italy, people fought with each other and chased each other away from their homes. When the winners had chased all the people they didn’t like away, well, they didn’t want to see images of the losers everywhere, and sculptures are like pictures arn't they? So they broke off the noses, arms and things and pushed them over” He could see as he spoke she was losing interest.
Job done he thought, but at the same time doubting his sister's parenting.
They returned quietly to their slushy sucking and coffee sipping, although the latter was done with more care.
“But Uncle Geoff?”
“Yeees?”
“If the arms and noses have been stuck back on some girls, why haven’t the dicks been stuck back on the boys?”
“Because nobody could find any of them” was the best answer Geoff could come up with.
Of course he knew this wasn't going to be the end of it. Sure enough, for the rest of the afternoon Geoff endured a relentless toddler interrogation. He was quizzed on the number, the size, ball inclusion, and the frequency of willie smashing, with varying tones of fascination, at embarrassing volumes and in awkward public transport moments, all the way home to mummy.
“Thanks so much for giving me a break” smiled Cheryl as she gathered her progeny from Geoff at their doorstep.
“That's okay, and no, I won’t come in” added Geoff before the question was put. “I am totally buggered. I don’t know how you do it every day. Anyway, I'll see you next week at Dad’s.” he reached over and kissed her goodbye and tussled Kylie’s hair.
“By the way, if I was you I’d brush up on everything you know about the phalluses of statues” he grinned as he walked away down the front path.
Getting home an hour later it was a relief to kick off his shoes, grab a beer and throw himself at the sofa. The beer was a due reward and he kicked up the foot-rest, pulled out his phone and started to scroll through his messages. There was a raft of them and he set about sorting out the work enquiries from the face and tweet crap that he always meant to hide but never got round to.
His third beer opened and all the work emails and messages done, he noticed a vid file from an old Uni mate of his, Keith.
Keith was now a seismologist on the oil rigs and travelled a lot so they didn't keep in touch much but he had sent Geoff an Italian video news article.
“Bugger me, bugger me” was all Geoff could repeat time and time again as the video rolled showing divers off Palermo blowing the sand off hundreds and hundreds of broken off statue penises laying on the sea floor. Keith had annotated some wry comments but Geoff couldn’t believe the coincidence. “Bugger me” he heard himself repeating.
He went to play the vid again to convince himself he did see what he had seen but the door bell rang. Dropping his phone he stumbled to answer the hammering. He was concerned a little now, who pounded on a door like that ? He glanced through the glass and saw a UPS bloke standing with a digital signature box and a vacant look on his face. Oh yeah, UPS men pound on doors like that.
“Got a delivery for you...Sign here” Geoff looked and saw the screen indicating a delivery from Cheryl. Why would she have sent me something today? he was thinking as he awkwardly signed the little plastic screen..
“Okay, where do you want them?” the UPS bloke asked. As Geoff looked up he saw a tipper truck reversing up his drive and jacking it’s load to dump about two tonne of what looked for all the world like thousands of broken-off male genitals right at the front of his door. "STOP IT " he yelled and raced out to vainly grab at the tipping truck. He tripped and as hundreds of stone cocks started to fall on top of him he felt a stream of strangely cold urine run down his legs.
Adrenalin pumping he woke, jumped up and looked down at his trousers. His last beer had spilt in his lap, a puddle of foam rolling over the leather sofa.
Two stupid cock tales , of course it had to be a dream he thought as he grabbed the spilt can and went soggy-legged into the kitchen to get a cloth.
(geddit? cock tales....cocktails , and dreams......oh, never mind)
October 28, 2010 Cocktails and dreams. © GregW
It wasn’t the question Geoff had expected.
Why don’t they have any clothes on, or Why are they white, or How come they look so sad, would all have been questions he could have sounded clever about.
They had been dawdling through the Herculaneum and Pompeii statues, him lost in the brilliance of the long dead craftsmen, her, a bored and ignored seven-and-three-quarters year-old niece picking at the frayed stitching of his trouser leg.
Kylie was the mostly likable result of his sister Cheryl’s misadventure in the Pacific Islands. Geoff had agreed to child-mind this afternoon to give her a bit of a break. Its what brothers do, so he had been informed.
The act of being tour guide for this button-nosed munchkin was not chosen as an interesting outing for the little lass, but as an opportunity for Geoff to tick this Leeds museum event off his must-do list before the rare marble figures left town on the rest of their national tour.
Geoff and Kylie were having a break, sitting on one of the padded benches the city had placed a bit away from the statues for comfortable observation and reflection. They both sat hunched a little, one sipping hot black coffee and the other sucking very hard at a blue slushy through a small straw, because the wide one with the scoop on the end was only for little kids.
Geoff knew which battles were best won and which were best left as a life lesson.
“Uncle Geoff?” she whispered,
“Yes?” he answered in a less hushed tone, taking another sip.
Kylie smiled and in a confident voice said “All of the boy’s pricks are broken off. Can we go and find them?”
A cloud of spat coffee preceded Geoff’s “WHAT?” , a word he immediately regretted uttering.
“I want to look for boy’s dicks!” she answered with glee having now gained Geoff’s full attention.
“Cucff, Ka, Gargh,” Geoff spluttered at her calmingly.
“Look for pricks, look for dicks” she was bouncing and singing as Geoff became suddenly aware of how popular this museum was.
“Kyles, sweetie, listen to me”
“Come on Uncle Geoff, lets look for the boy's willies” her strident voice piercing the space.
“They are not here sweetie.” Thinking on the run, he added “They are under hundreds of tons of volcanic ash on the other side of the world.” He hoped this information would give her pause for thought and give him a chance to think of a distraction.
“Oh” she said, the sing song gone from her tone but the dreaded kid question already forming on her lips
“Why?”
Geoff took a second to think, what he needed was a quick re-direction.
“Well, a long time ago" he started slowly, "before a big volcano exploded in Italy, people fought with each other and chased each other away from their homes. When the winners had chased all the people they didn’t like away, well, they didn’t want to see images of the losers everywhere, and sculptures are like pictures arn't they? So they broke off the noses, arms and things and pushed them over” He could see as he spoke she was losing interest.
Job done he thought, but at the same time doubting his sister's parenting.
They returned quietly to their slushy sucking and coffee sipping, although the latter was done with more care.
“But Uncle Geoff?”
“Yeees?”
“If the arms and noses have been stuck back on some girls, why haven’t the dicks been stuck back on the boys?”
“Because nobody could find any of them” was the best answer Geoff could come up with.
Of course he knew this wasn't going to be the end of it. Sure enough, for the rest of the afternoon Geoff endured a relentless toddler interrogation. He was quizzed on the number, the size, ball inclusion, and the frequency of willie smashing, with varying tones of fascination, at embarrassing volumes and in awkward public transport moments, all the way home to mummy.
“Thanks so much for giving me a break” smiled Cheryl as she gathered her progeny from Geoff at their doorstep.
“That's okay, and no, I won’t come in” added Geoff before the question was put. “I am totally buggered. I don’t know how you do it every day. Anyway, I'll see you next week at Dad’s.” he reached over and kissed her goodbye and tussled Kylie’s hair.
“By the way, if I was you I’d brush up on everything you know about the phalluses of statues” he grinned as he walked away down the front path.
Getting home an hour later it was a relief to kick off his shoes, grab a beer and throw himself at the sofa. The beer was a due reward and he kicked up the foot-rest, pulled out his phone and started to scroll through his messages. There was a raft of them and he set about sorting out the work enquiries from the face and tweet crap that he always meant to hide but never got round to.
His third beer opened and all the work emails and messages done, he noticed a vid file from an old Uni mate of his, Keith.
Keith was now a seismologist on the oil rigs and travelled a lot so they didn't keep in touch much but he had sent Geoff an Italian video news article.
“Bugger me, bugger me” was all Geoff could repeat time and time again as the video rolled showing divers off Palermo blowing the sand off hundreds and hundreds of broken off statue penises laying on the sea floor. Keith had annotated some wry comments but Geoff couldn’t believe the coincidence. “Bugger me” he heard himself repeating.
He went to play the vid again to convince himself he did see what he had seen but the door bell rang. Dropping his phone he stumbled to answer the hammering. He was concerned a little now, who pounded on a door like that ? He glanced through the glass and saw a UPS bloke standing with a digital signature box and a vacant look on his face. Oh yeah, UPS men pound on doors like that.
“Got a delivery for you...Sign here” Geoff looked and saw the screen indicating a delivery from Cheryl. Why would she have sent me something today? he was thinking as he awkwardly signed the little plastic screen..
“Okay, where do you want them?” the UPS bloke asked. As Geoff looked up he saw a tipper truck reversing up his drive and jacking it’s load to dump about two tonne of what looked for all the world like thousands of broken-off male genitals right at the front of his door. "STOP IT " he yelled and raced out to vainly grab at the tipping truck. He tripped and as hundreds of stone cocks started to fall on top of him he felt a stream of strangely cold urine run down his legs.
Adrenalin pumping he woke, jumped up and looked down at his trousers. His last beer had spilt in his lap, a puddle of foam rolling over the leather sofa.
Two stupid cock tales , of course it had to be a dream he thought as he grabbed the spilt can and went soggy-legged into the kitchen to get a cloth.
(geddit? cock tales....cocktails , and dreams......oh, never mind)
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Last note from England
September 20, 2010
Task, Write something to do with technology.
© GregW
One final note - For the Record.
Late summer of the year 2047or 49
Thanks for taking the time to read what I fear is the last note from England.
I do hope to be able to explain a few things about what has happened here over the last few years. I am sorry but I have no method of keeping count of the number of those years, a survival existence provides so few diary keeping opportunities. I do know it has been more than ten winter seasons but how many more I can’t say.
It has been some twenty five years since I have actually put any writing implement to paper in order to communicate. It is strange doing it for the first time in so long, especially here in the Data museum in the wasted ruins of the city that was once Leeds.
First, let me get the obvious out of the way, yes, my handwriting is terrible, close to illegible I grant you, and my spelling less than perfect, I am guessing my spelling is poor, I really don’t know after all this time. I only ask you to endure the process of reading it as I am trying to be as neat as possible and voice recognition printing is a thing of the distant past. Oh, would that those days could return.
You will see around you the glass encased examples of leading-edge technology up to and including the year 2035. I have managed to remove the accumulated dust and detritus off this particular cabinet so the latest and smallest mind chips and eye cameras can be viewed through the magnifying lenses.
I guess now I have mentioned these chips and cameras I can say that England was proudly at the cutting edge of this information capture and interface technology prior to ‘The Event’. By the year 2028 more than two thirds of the UK population had joined the BT rollout of proximity networking, all of us had had our mind chips and eye cameras implanted and the rapid decline of hand held communication devices was not lamented.
England was delighted to be finally at the global forefront of something.
Naturally there had been resistance to the technology from the fundamental religious countries like the United Continents of America, New Combined Europe and Pacific China.
They had joined their voices to decry it as, and I can quote from memory, “One more evil initiative of England’s drive towards the un-godding of the planet.”
My guess is that it was really more a human objection to the government networked components being inserted into its citizen’s heads. But personally, I really liked having 50 terabytes of memory and infinite image recognition implanted into my life. I suddenly knew everything I wanted to and I could see anything I wanted as long as I was in range of a network hub, and by 2025 prox networking had reached everywhere in the UK.
The downside was of course that other nations had patchy networks and smaller countries refused to install the costly technology. This meant not many UK residents wanted to travel anymore. Why bother, after all we could download the artworks and architecture, have the atmosphere of a place simulated, order the food and fashions and see the views anytime we wanted, while doing what ever we wanted.
But as you probably know, all that ability ended when the tiny little asteroid landed on Drax.
It was huge news on the day of course, the National Grid lost most of its northern power generation and all the region went into brown-out until the nuclear generators came on-line to catch the load. I do wonder at the billions of pounds we spent on wind generation as we knew that climate change would bring weather and wind speeds outside their operating range. The rotting towers continue to litter the countryside with falling blades. But,,, I digress,,, and I can little afford the time or energy.
Of course you, dear visitor, will know much more than I do about what happened in the rest of the world when it was discovered that the Drax meteorite had bought an electron stabilising virus to earth. As the virus spread so quickly through our national power grid what we saw here was the daily failing of power distribution. Before the communication networks collapsed altogether we did learn our whole country plus Ireland was being isolated from all global interaction as the virus was found electrically contagious.
I do understand therefore that power sharing with Europe had to be cut.
But communication links?
Did they ever prove the virus could be spread by wireless and optical links?
I do wonder if such total panic was the right response.
I mean when the power stopped here, the network stopped, the mind chips and eye cameras stopped, the transport and manufacturing stopped, everything here stopped.
Anyway, as you would know, England was isolated from all world communication and travel. As far as I know, the virus didn’t spread outside the UK. I am hoping the rest of the world continued to exist. There were early attempts by us to travel off shore by boat but as all marine electrical systems were affected, that only left dead reckoning and sail craft. I did hear rumors the first attempts to cross the channel were met by hostile fire and I never heard anything about later attempts. But to be honest with you, after the initial shock, my life was one of protecting my home and fighting off the neighbors who raided my vegetable patch and stole my hens.
Life here has been grim, and I would have presumed there are no witness records of this country’s demise. The young generations had never learned to write. I thought today I’d just have to pretend I was strong and make it through the ruins to this abandoned and forgotten Technology museum in the hope I could leave this one last letter from England.
I know it is a very poor final chapter to the accumulated works of the Great English poets, playwrights and academics, but it is sadly what we are left with.
Regrettably I will not be able to continue my report further as my ability is failing, I know not of what cause, but I do have sufficient energy just to seal this note to the display case and I intend to do that and lay here beneath it with some remaining vanity, hoping my body at least will escape the hungered ravages of the remaining starved population.
Task, Write something to do with technology.
© GregW
One final note - For the Record.
Late summer of the year 2047or 49
Thanks for taking the time to read what I fear is the last note from England.
I do hope to be able to explain a few things about what has happened here over the last few years. I am sorry but I have no method of keeping count of the number of those years, a survival existence provides so few diary keeping opportunities. I do know it has been more than ten winter seasons but how many more I can’t say.
It has been some twenty five years since I have actually put any writing implement to paper in order to communicate. It is strange doing it for the first time in so long, especially here in the Data museum in the wasted ruins of the city that was once Leeds.
First, let me get the obvious out of the way, yes, my handwriting is terrible, close to illegible I grant you, and my spelling less than perfect, I am guessing my spelling is poor, I really don’t know after all this time. I only ask you to endure the process of reading it as I am trying to be as neat as possible and voice recognition printing is a thing of the distant past. Oh, would that those days could return.
You will see around you the glass encased examples of leading-edge technology up to and including the year 2035. I have managed to remove the accumulated dust and detritus off this particular cabinet so the latest and smallest mind chips and eye cameras can be viewed through the magnifying lenses.
I guess now I have mentioned these chips and cameras I can say that England was proudly at the cutting edge of this information capture and interface technology prior to ‘The Event’. By the year 2028 more than two thirds of the UK population had joined the BT rollout of proximity networking, all of us had had our mind chips and eye cameras implanted and the rapid decline of hand held communication devices was not lamented.
England was delighted to be finally at the global forefront of something.
Naturally there had been resistance to the technology from the fundamental religious countries like the United Continents of America, New Combined Europe and Pacific China.
They had joined their voices to decry it as, and I can quote from memory, “One more evil initiative of England’s drive towards the un-godding of the planet.”
My guess is that it was really more a human objection to the government networked components being inserted into its citizen’s heads. But personally, I really liked having 50 terabytes of memory and infinite image recognition implanted into my life. I suddenly knew everything I wanted to and I could see anything I wanted as long as I was in range of a network hub, and by 2025 prox networking had reached everywhere in the UK.
The downside was of course that other nations had patchy networks and smaller countries refused to install the costly technology. This meant not many UK residents wanted to travel anymore. Why bother, after all we could download the artworks and architecture, have the atmosphere of a place simulated, order the food and fashions and see the views anytime we wanted, while doing what ever we wanted.
But as you probably know, all that ability ended when the tiny little asteroid landed on Drax.
It was huge news on the day of course, the National Grid lost most of its northern power generation and all the region went into brown-out until the nuclear generators came on-line to catch the load. I do wonder at the billions of pounds we spent on wind generation as we knew that climate change would bring weather and wind speeds outside their operating range. The rotting towers continue to litter the countryside with falling blades. But,,, I digress,,, and I can little afford the time or energy.
Of course you, dear visitor, will know much more than I do about what happened in the rest of the world when it was discovered that the Drax meteorite had bought an electron stabilising virus to earth. As the virus spread so quickly through our national power grid what we saw here was the daily failing of power distribution. Before the communication networks collapsed altogether we did learn our whole country plus Ireland was being isolated from all global interaction as the virus was found electrically contagious.
I do understand therefore that power sharing with Europe had to be cut.
But communication links?
Did they ever prove the virus could be spread by wireless and optical links?
I do wonder if such total panic was the right response.
I mean when the power stopped here, the network stopped, the mind chips and eye cameras stopped, the transport and manufacturing stopped, everything here stopped.
Anyway, as you would know, England was isolated from all world communication and travel. As far as I know, the virus didn’t spread outside the UK. I am hoping the rest of the world continued to exist. There were early attempts by us to travel off shore by boat but as all marine electrical systems were affected, that only left dead reckoning and sail craft. I did hear rumors the first attempts to cross the channel were met by hostile fire and I never heard anything about later attempts. But to be honest with you, after the initial shock, my life was one of protecting my home and fighting off the neighbors who raided my vegetable patch and stole my hens.
Life here has been grim, and I would have presumed there are no witness records of this country’s demise. The young generations had never learned to write. I thought today I’d just have to pretend I was strong and make it through the ruins to this abandoned and forgotten Technology museum in the hope I could leave this one last letter from England.
I know it is a very poor final chapter to the accumulated works of the Great English poets, playwrights and academics, but it is sadly what we are left with.
Regrettably I will not be able to continue my report further as my ability is failing, I know not of what cause, but I do have sufficient energy just to seal this note to the display case and I intend to do that and lay here beneath it with some remaining vanity, hoping my body at least will escape the hungered ravages of the remaining starved population.
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