Strange Fruit 2

Chris HallLeave a comment
Detail from ‘Abstract Flora’ ©2017 Cliff Davies

From my Flash Fiction Collection

Ashley woke up. Her little sister, Bethany, had been calling out to her. As Ashley rolled over to check on her sister, she felt her body push up against something hard. As she looked across their bedroom, she saw that Bethany’s sleeping form had become entwined by the tendrils of some exotic plant which were growing from a giant seed pod which lay on the bed next to her. Ashley looked down; a similar seed pod rested next to her. As she moved her arm to pull back the covers, a thick, green tendril snaked out from the pod and wrapped itself around her wrist. She gasped and tried to pull herself free. Another tendril shot out and bound her left leg. Ashley screamed out as she heaved herself over the edge of the bed, knocking ‘The Big Book of Fairy Tales’ which she’d been reading to Bethany onto the floor, the cover ripping as the book fell. She groped her way across to Bethany’s bed, dragging the pod behind her.

Ashley was pulling herself up onto the edge of Bethany’s bed when, Hodge, the housekeeper, appeared at the door. Hodge rushed over to the bedside. Ashley had managed to free her arm and was desperately tugging at Bethany’s bonds.

“Help me, Hodge, get it off her,” Ashley cried. “Quickly, it’s choking her.”

Hodge grunted as she tried to loosen the tendrils which were tightening around the little girl. Her strong fingers drew back the growth around Bethany’s face and neck. Ashley kicked at her own seed pod, freeing her leg. The pod rolled under her bed, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

“Go and fetch Tom and get him to bring something to cut this off,” said Hodge, gesturing toward the door with her head, as she continued to pull on the vegetation. Her voice rose: “Hurry, Ashley!”

Ashley hurtled downstairs and out of the kitchen door. “Tom, Tom!” she yelled, running down the garden to the potting shed where Tom was usually to be found.

He emerged carrying a watering can. “What’s the rush, Miss Ashley? You’re not even dressed.”

Ashley explained the situation to the puzzled gardener, who nevertheless grabbed his shears and secateurs and hurried into the house after her.

Ashley watched as Tom carefully chopped away at the plant. Soon there was a pile of cut vegetation next to the bed and Bethany was free. All the time while Tom had worked, there had been no sound from the little girl. They could see she was breathing, but she was unconscious.

“What’s wrong with her,” cried Ashley. “Why won’t she wake up? And these things..?” she pointed to the cut tendrils.

Hodge and Tom exchanged glances. “Tis Faeries’ work,” said Tom shaking his head. “That’s a spell that is.”

Hodge nodded gravely. “Aye, so it is.”

“Surely fairies are only in stories?” said Ashley, picking up the book and smoothing the torn cover.

Hodge didn’t answer. She turned to Tom. “Get all of this out of here,” she gestured at the pile of foliage. “And burn it.”

Tom nodded. “Every last piece.” He started collecting up the debris. Ashley bent to help him. “No, Miss Ashley, leave this to me.” He turned to Hodge. “Will you go for Ceridwen?”

“Aye, I will.” She turned to Ashley. “You just sit here with your sister until I come back. She’ll come to no more harm just now. I won’t be long.”

Ashley climbed into bed beside her sleeping sister and stoked her golden curls. She must have fallen asleep as it seemed just a few minutes later when Hodge came bustling through the bedroom door followed by a tall, slim woman, dressed in long, flowing garments and carrying a large cloth bag.

“Hello child,” the woman said softly to Ashley. “I am Ceridwen,” she laid a pale hand over Bethany’s forehead and smiled.

Hodge cleared the table which stood between the sisters’ beds. Ashley watched as Ceridwen unpacked her cloth bag and carefully placed a long red candle in a star-shaped holder on the table. Next she took out an ornate silver chalice which she filled with a clear green liquid poured from a little glass bottle. Hodge left the room and closed the door quietly behind her. Ceridwen started to chant.

***

The following day, Ashley was awoken by her sister. “Wake up, Ashley,” Bethany said as she nudged her shoulder gently. “Come on, you’ve been asleep for hours.”

Ashley shook her head, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her mind.

“You must have had a very bad dream last night,” continued Bethany. “You were tossing and turning as if you were trying to fight something.”

Ashley frowned. Had it all been a dream? Like in their ‘Big Book of Fairy Tales’? She glanced at the cover of the book which lay on the bedside table. The cover was torn. She picked it up to examine it, noticing a blob of red candle wax on the table surface.

“Come on, Ashley, Tom’s making a bonfire. We can ask Hodge if we can toast some marshmallows later.” Bethany rushed from the room, the door slamming behind her. Ashley heard her clattering downstairs and calling out to Hodge. Under Ashley’s bed the forgotten seed pod rocked gently from side to side.

©2018 Chris Hall

Strange Fruit 1

Chris HallLeave a comment

“Come quickly! Ashley! Ashley!”

Ashley laid aside the book she was reading, slid off the bed and walked across to the window. She leant out. Her little sister was waving at her from the garden.

“It’s the little tree. It’s got flowers. Come and see!” Bethany cried, hopping from foot to foot.

Ashley slipped on her sandals and ran downstairs, through the open French windows and into the garden. Bethany grabbed her hand and hurried her towards the orchard, passing the pond where a fish was leaping to catch a fly. Normally Bethany would stop to admire the fish, but this morning she ran straight past, urging her older sister along.

Once inside the orchard, both sisters skidded to a halt. The little tree, which had mysteriously appeared a week ago, did indeed have flowers. From a smattering of foliage the day before, the tree had burst forth into flower. Huge, burgeoning blossoms with thick white petals and purple stamens covered the tree. More buds were unfurling as they watched. Hand in hand the two sisters approached the tree. Then Bethany cried out and pointed. A swelling was forming behind one of the flowers. As it grew they could see it was some kind of fruit. Then another appeared, and another. White petals were falling all around them like snowflakes, the scent, sweet and intoxicating, filled the air.

The sisters watched wide-eyed as the ripening fruit grew larger; long, smooth-skinned and a deep, rich purple. Then from behind the slender tree trunk, a small figure emerged. He was a little shorter than Bethany and wore a broad-brimmed hat and pointed shoes. He held out his hands to them, a luscious purple fruit in each one.

Much later in the day, the girls awoke. They couldn’t quite remember how they’d come to fall asleep in the orchard. Each recalled a delicious dream but neither girl could properly remember the details. They looked around at the little tree. It was just as it had been the day before, but when they looked at each other the front of their white pinafores were stained a delicate violet colour.

©2018 Chris Hall

Breakfast at The Adelphi

Chris Hall1 Comment

Chapter 12 of my work-in-progress novel, ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’.
Visit https://lunasonline.wordpress.com/wip-novel/ to read from the start.

Much later Lucy was awoken by the bright morning light shining through the open curtains. She sat up and looked over at Pierre who was staring up at the ceiling. He turned his head and smiled.

“‘Hey, sleepy head,” he said, reaching for her hand and caressing her fingers.

“You went somewhere last night,” Lucy murmured.

“I had to pop out. I brought back a surprise for you.” He let go of her hand and leant over the edge of the bed. He plucked the leather case from the floor and laid it on the bed beside Lucy. “Let’s see what we have in here,” he said as he sprung the catches. He opened the case and took out a document holder and a large, fat envelope. “Well, go on, have a look.”

Lucy picked up the folder and leafed through the contents, her eyes widening. She looked at Pierre. “You’re going to the Isle of Man?”

“We’re going to the Isle of Man,” Pierre emphasised. “Look it’s all arranged. Ferry tickets, hotel reservations and…” he picked up the envelope and opened it. “A whole stack of cash,” he announced triumphantly.

“Oh, but…” Lucy hesitated.

“No buts, my beautiful Lucy, it’ll be fun.” Pierre paused and looked up at her with his large brown eyes. “Come on, what d’you say? It’s just a couple of days… and we’ll be able to really get to know each other.” He watched her frown and then as she stroked the ruby, her expression changed.

“I say…yes. Yes, I want to go. I really want to go,” she laughed. “Why not?”

“Right, well, first things first, let’s get some breakfast.”

Lucy was frowning again. “But where did all this come from?” she asked, pointing at the case.

“I have contacts.” Pierre touched his finger to the side of his nose.

“In the middle of the night?”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, okay, fine.” Lucy shrugged.

Pierre was already on the bedside phone ordering half the breakfast menu from room service. Lucy threw back the sheets and padded over to the bathroom. “…and we’ll be staying another night…” she heard Pierre say as she closed the door behind her.

Lucy removed her necklace before stepping into the shower. She closed her eyes and let the hot water cascade over her shoulders. As she reached for the shower gel she stopped. What have I got myself into? Those men…? She finished showering abruptly and flung one of the thick, fluffy bathrobes around herself. Lucy wiped her hand over the steamed up surface of the mirror and stared at her reflection. Everything had happened so fast. She noticed a dark bruise on her wrist and remembered how she had felled one of their attackers. She shuddered. Suddenly, Lucy was full of doubt and alarm. Heart pounding, she gripped the edge of the wash basin tightly, trying to calm down.

The bathroom door opened and Pierre’s face appeared behind hers. He picked up the necklace and held it around Lucy’s neck. A beam of sunlight from the bathroom window fell on the ruby. Its reflection glowed in the mirror bathing both their faces in a warm red glow. Lucy smiled. All her worries melted away. She felt Pierre pressing himself against her.

There was a knock at the door. “Room service,” a man’s voice called from the corridor. Pierre let go of the necklace and grabbing the other bathrobe, bounded to the door. Lucy pulled her robe tightly around her, tucking the necklace into the pocket, and followed him back into the bedroom.

Pierre opened the door to find a large, balding man beaming at him from behind a laden trolley. “Breakfast is served, sir,” he announced, wheeling the trolley over to the table by the window. “I’m Harold by the way,” he said as he busied himself laying the table for them. Table laid, he paused with his hand on the trolley ready to go and looked deliberately at Pierre. Pierre strode across the room and opened the bedroom door. Harold tutted loudly as he wheeled the trolley into the corridor.

Pierre closed the door and joined Lucy at the table. “I think he was expecting a tip,” Lucy said as he sat down.

Pierre shrugged. “I leave him something later,” he rubbed his hands together then picked up his knife and fork. “Well, let’s dig in.”

Lucy hadn’t realised how hungry she was until her breakfast was in front of her. Pierre was the same, judging by the speed at which he was putting his food away. As they ate in silence, Lucy’s mind started to race and she lost her appetite. She put her knife and fork down and pushed her plate away.

“Pierre,” Lucy hesitated.

Pierre looked up. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m just…I don’t know…those men last night. The one I hit, I don’t know what got into me. All that blood on the floor. What if I killed him?”

Pierre stood up and walked around the table. He crouched down beside her. “We were running for our lives Lucy.”

“But why, Pierre? You said they were following you. Who are they?”

“Come and sit by me,” he took Lucy’s hand and together they went and sat on the bed.

“One of them said they were after the necklace?” Lucy’s hand went to her neck.

Pierre turned to her and took both of her hands in his. “Lucy, from the first moment I met you I knew you were special.” He took a deep breath. “And now I need to tell you the truth.” Or some of it, he thought to himself. “Those men work for someone I’ve done a bit of business with now and then. Your necklace…and it is yours…I gave it to you,” he looked at her earnestly before continuing. “I originally got it for him, but when I met you I knew it should be yours.”

“So he wants it back?” Lucy freed her hand from Pierre’s and took the necklace out of the pocket of her bathrobe.

“Listen, Lucy. I gave it to you and I want you to keep it. It’s special. And I told Chan…that’s his name…that I’d get him something else. I have people working on that now,” he finished grandly.

Lucy looked at the glowing ruby, at how it caught the light and how the six-pointed star moved over its surface when she tilted it. “You could give it back to him?”

“No way,” Pierre said, taking the necklace from her and fastening it around her neck. “I told you, it’ll be sorted by the time we get back from the Isle of Man, we just have to lie low until tomorrow. In any case, I’m sure we’ve lost them by now.”

Lucy stroked the stone, feeling less anxious. “This Mr. Chan, he knows you.”

“Sure, but he doesn’t know where to find me. And now we’re going away.”

Lucy frowned. “I’ll need to go home and get some stuff.”

“No need. I’m going to take you shopping.”

“But Pierre, nothing’s open on a Sunday. Besides, you just said we should lie low.”

“That’s where the tunnels come in handy. Come on, get dressed,” he said, pulling her to her feet.

Ten minutes later they were outside the door to their room. Pierre had put most of the contents of the leather case in the safe. Lucy had wondered whether she should put the necklace in there too, but had decided to wear it after all. She was overdressed anyway, not that anyone was going to see them, Pierre had assured her.

Hand in hand they made their way to the foyer. A whole crowd of people were checking out so no-one noticed them as they ducked through the side door into the bar beyond. As Pierre and Lucy disappeared into the tunnels, a Chinese gentleman approached Harold in the busy foyer. He said something before tucking a five pound note into Harold’s top pocket.

©2018 Chris Hall

Go to Chapter 13

Check-in

Chris Hall1 Comment

Chapter 10 of my work-in-progress novel, ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’.
Visit https://lunasonline.wordpress.com/wip-novel/ to read from the start.

From the moment the lift doors swished closed Lucy and Pierre couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Still entwined, Lucy grappled with the key and they burst into the room. Pierre kicked the door shut. Within moments they crashed onto the large double bed, leaving a trail of discarded garments behind them.

Lucy quivered feeling his hot breath on her neck as Pierre ran his hands over her nakedness. As his head moved down his long hair swept over her belly and she gasped with pleasure. Leaving her on the edge of ecstasy, he raised his head and grinned up at her, eyes glinting in the dim light from the street outside. Then his lips were on hers and Lucy tasted her saltiness on them.

Lucy reached for him, guiding him inside her. She arched her back meeting his thrusts, deeper and deeper. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, her fingers raking his back. At last he shuddered and relaxed against her. Lucy moaned in the ecstasy of the moment, clinging onto him as she convulsed with satisfaction. Sated, they nestled together and then, wrapped in each other’s arms they drifted, united on a sea of carnal pleasure.

***

Pierre’s eyes snapped open. Lucy, his beautiful Lucy, was there next to him, sound asleep. In the dim orange light he could see she was smiling ever so slightly. Perhaps she always looked like this when she was asleep. He rubbed his eyes replaying the events of the past few hours. They had a problem. He had a problem. It was he who’d dragged her into this mess. Not by intention, but by sheer…oh, what was the point in recrimination? He needed to get this sorted. He slid out of bed carefully so as not to wake her, crept around the bed and then silently put on his clothes. He picked up the gold envelope and slid it carefully into the bedside drawer beside Lucy.

Pierre slipped out of the room and started to pace the corridor. Albie Chan was clearly not a man to be trifled with. Maybe he’d underestimated him. What was so important about the ruby anyway? Okay, Chan had been interested in the piece, but Pierre had seen many other jewels where the ruby necklace had come from and he was confident he could still obtain something just as appealing to the him. But was it worth the risk? He would need more time and already he’d put Lucy in enough danger. He could simply return the ruby. But no, he wanted her to keep the ruby.

Pierre shook his head. He really couldn’t face telling Lucy the truth. Not yet. From the moment he had seen her, then danced with her that first night and afterwards when they had gone on…he had to admit it, he was obsessed with her. He wanted to…had to…hold onto her. Pierre stopped his pacing and stood still for a moment, then he turned on his heel and made for the stairs.

Pierre moved silently through the hotel and back down into the tunnel system. This time he took a different route. People would be amazed at what lay beneath the everyday streets of Liverpool. Not only was there a network of tunnels, there was a network of people all hidden within this shady underworld. Here there were people who lived out of the mainstream or led separate existences. These were people with secrets, people with powers. And Aurora, who many years ago had taken Pierre under her wing, was one of them.

His destination wasn’t far. Double checking that he was unobserved, Pierre climbed a narrow metal ladder which led up to a battered wooden door. He opened it and slipped through into the darkness beyond. He took the worn stone steps two at a time arriving at another door. This door was modern, made of steel plate with an electronic lock. Pierre punched a number into the key pad and the door unlocked with a loud metallic click. The door opened into a carpeted hallway which was lit by a succession of wall lamps. There was a flight of stairs to the left. Pierre hurried up to the first landing and paused in front of an imposing set of carved wooden doors.

At that moment one of the doors opened and a man appeared carrying a silver tray. If he were surprised by Pierre’s presence he didn’t show it, he merely nodded and held the door open for Pierre to enter.

Pierre stepped over the threshold, struck immediately by the heat of the roaring fire in the huge fireplace at the far end of the large, high-ceilinged room. Two tall, wing-backed chairs faced the fireplace. An arm appeared from the one on the left and a single finger beckoned him to approach.

***

It was some time later when Lucy awoke. At first she wasn’t sure where she was. Then the events and emotions of earlier came back to her: the delight at winning the dancing competition, the fear and excitement when those men were chasing them and the ensuing fight; Lucy shuddered at the memory of the man she’d struck lying on the floor, blood pooling around his head. Then those weird tunnels and…but where was Pierre? The bed was empty.

Switching on the bedside lamp and called his name softly, but there was no reply. She wrapped the top sheet around her and padded across the thick carpet to the bathroom. It was empty. Turning back towards the bed she saw that his clothes had gone. Hers were strewn across the floor where she had cast them off with such abandon. There was no sign of the gold envelope with what remained of their prize money after they’d paid for the room. She got back into bed and gathered the sheet around her. Where was he? Had he just left her? She raised her hand to her throat, feeling for her necklace.

Her fingers stroked the ruby gently. She looked down, watching as it caught the light, revealing the special star hidden in its depths. What was it that Cynth had said about it? Passionate, unbridled love? Well, that part had been right. She felt a thrill run through her body. Suddenly her heart was pumping.

But where was he? Lucy looked at the radio-alarm clock on the bedside table, 03:17.

©2018 Chris Hall

Go to Chapter 11

Not your fault

Chris HallLeave a comment

 

You look down at her, slumped on the kitchen floor, the basket of other people’s ironing she’s just finished strewn across the polished quarry tiles.  Her head lolls awkwardly against the range where she’s fallen.  After you lost your rag and pushed her, but you pushed too hard this time.

©2018 Chris Hall

Shape-shifting for Beginners

Chris HallLeave a comment

From my Flash Fiction Collection

shape shifting for beginners lunasonlineIt’s not easy living with a serial shape-shifter. Most people on Spegorus could change their physical form to some degree, but Peter had really never got the knack of it. His sister, on the other hand, had always had a real flair for transformation and over the years had developed a huge repertoire. Joanna could take on one of these alternative forms at the drop of a hat, while Peter struggled to change the colour of his hair (as she would joke at his expense).

Even as a very young child Joanna would transform herself into creatures from her story books, often at quite inopportune times. Peter could recall numerous occasions when a normal family trip out had dissolved into chaos as Joanna had suddenly reinvented herself as a six foot ogre or a fluffy pink flying pig or some other insane creature from her imagination.

Of course it was tolerated in a child – to a degree – but there were rules, obviously, for adults. If nothing else it was simply a question of good manners not to go changing into a giant mollusc in the middle of lunch.

That afternoon, however, Joanna had gone too far. Way too far.  Peter had returned home with Gillian after a pleasant afternoon perusing the book shops and music stores in town. Peter and Gillian had a lot in common, including a love of reading and a dislike of creepy-crawlies. So when Peter opened the front door and invited Gillian in, the sight of a three foot wide hairy spider clinging upside down from the bannisters was an unwelcome, if not a downright alarming sight.

Gillian screamed. Peter cringed. Of course he knew it was Joanna, so apart from being vaguely repulsed he viewed the sight with relative composure. He put a reassuring arm around Gillian, but she pulled away from him and bolted through the front door and down the path.

‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing, Joanna? You know that’s an inacceptable form!’

Joanna’s spider antennae bent forward forming into two elegant question marks.

‘You are totally out of order. How can you be so mean?’

Joanna descended to the floor on a length of silk the diameter of a rope. She stood in front of Peter and opened her huge spider maw and yawned.

‘That’s it. I’m going to report you. But first I’m going to find Gillian.’

He turned towards the door.

‘I’m sorry, Peter, I was just bored hanging around the house…I’m sorry I upset your friend.’ Joanna wheedled in a little girl voice. ‘You won’t report me, will you?’

Peter looked over his shoulder to see a six year old Joanna in a pink party frock.

‘Don’t!  Just don’t, Joanna.’ Peter seethed.  He stormed out of the house slamming the door behind him.

Peter looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Gillian. He sighed and started walking away from the house, not really thinking, just walking. There was a small park at the bottom of the road.  Peter often escaped here. He headed towards the lake and stared at the swans which were calmly sailing over the sunlit water. Peter sighed again and sat down on the bank of the lake.

One of the swans headed over to where he was sitting and waddled up the bank. Peter sat very still. Swans could be quite dangerous, he thought. If it was actually swan? He looked more closely. The swan winked at him.

‘Gillian?’

The swan nodded slowly and moved closer. Her beak nuzzled at his neck. Suddenly Peter felt a shiver go right through him. His hands and feet were tingling. He looked down. The ground seemed to be moving towards him. He stretched out his arms. White feathers were spouting where his fingers used to be. He looked down. His trainers transformed into webbed feet. Peter shook himself. Gillian’s swan neck was encircling his.

Together they walked down to the water’s edge and launched themselves into the lake. Paddling through the sparkling water seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He turned towards Gillian. She opened her beak and spoke to him. His swan’s brain understood and together they started to paddle harder. Gillian took off ahead of him. Now Peter was flying with gentle flaps of his great wings.

‘Let’s do this together for a while,’ he thought. The thought came back: ‘or maybe a life-time?’

©2018 Chris Hall

Accident on Earth

Chris Hall11 Comments

Accident on Earth lunasonline

From my Flash Fiction Collection

Great Being Five surveyed her handiwork.  She was responsible for four inhabited planets.  She was pleased with herself having recently won an award for the one in Alpha Centauri.  Although the planet was far from developed, life forms had just made the transition from sea to land and it didn’t even have a proper name yet.

But she was worried.  Planet Earth was in trouble again.  She sighed.  It used to be such a nice little planet.  She had enjoyed the dinosaurs and had been quite sad when they were wiped out by a huge meteorite.  She should have seen that one coming, done something about it, made a small adjustment to its trajectory.  But her eye was off the ball, busy nurturing a newly-forming planet on the other side of the universe.  Not that the Great Beings were really supposed to interfere.

She’d watched the new little humans emerge, delighted as they discovered fire, tools and the wheel.  Built great empires, made beautiful music, art and literature.  She loved all the sea creatures and the birds and the big and little furry animals.  Of course there had been terrible tragedies.  Wars mainly.  And awful natural disasters.  She had held back as the Great Beings were required to do, even when they had created those dreadful atomic bombs.  Very clever, but dropping them on those pretty little islands and causing all that sickness and death.  It was all she could do to do nothing.

She had sat patiently through the Cold War, amusing herself with the pleasure of new discoveries by scientists and botanists.  She particular enjoyed the TV broadcasts by David Attenborough.  But now, now there was a problem developing which truly threatened the planet’s future.

She focused her third eye and searched.  There he was, that idiot American with the funny hair.  Donald Trump, making threats against that dangerous madman in North Korea.  The people of the Earth sure did pick-em, she thought.  Tuning in to the escalating situation with nuclear weapons poised on either side, Great Being Five was certain that her lovely blue planet was only weeks away from destruction.  Something had to be done.

A natural disaster, one that was already foreseen.  Give a little nudge to the Earth’s settings.  Which though?  She had to be certain that it would kill off Trump.

She scanned the data banks.  That’s it!  Mount Teide on Tenerife.  One devastating volcanic eruption and half the island would fall into the sea causing a huge tidal wave to sweep across the Atlantic Ocean and take out the US Eastern Seaboard.  Just a small increase in pressure and there she blows!  And look, there are even reports of increased seismic activity.  I just have to wait until Trump’s back in New York and bam!  He’s swallowed up in a massive tidal wave.  Gotcha!

Great Being Five’s conscience monitor started to flash.  What about all the innocent people who will also be killed.  What about the animals?  The cats and dogs, and birds and fishes?  No, think again, Five.

All right then.  Just one little accident, just him.  Great Being Five trained her third eye on the target.  All she need was the opportunity to engineer an accident.

The following Earth day all the news and social media channels suddenly focused on one single event.  Over the airwaves came the BBC World News.  ‘In breaking news, President Donald Trump is reported to have fallen from the roof garden at Trump Towers.  The President had apparently been leaning on the guard rail, tweeting his latest tweet when in a freak accident…”  Five smiled quietly to herself.

©2018 Chris Hall

Incident at the Library

Chris Hall2 Comments

She looked innocent.  Of course she did.  My aunty often told me that once a woman is over 50 she becomes invisible.  So how much more invisible is a little bent over old lady pulling one of those tartan shopping bags on wheels.  Nobody ever thought anything of her.  Nobody ever imagined what she might do.

So there we were that Thursday afternoon after school, Billy and me, just hanging out like outside the library.  Not because we’re into reading or anything, just because it’s a nice shady spot in summer and there are steps and a wall to sit on, and nobody bothers you so long as you don’t make too much noise.  And sometimes you can chat to some girl from another school…well, you know how it is.

Anyway, as I said, we were just hanging out and this old lady, all bent and bundled up, even though it was summer, came around the corner of the library building pulling this thing behind her.  It looked kind of heavy and like something was pushing out the sides of the bag at the bottom.

She was struggling with the door while holding onto her bag, so Billy jumped up to help her.  She sort of grunted and nodded at him but he said he couldn’t see her face because her head was so far back in the hood she was wearing.  He said she had a funny smell too, but that’s not unusual with old people is it?

Anyway, a few minutes later there was like ‘boom’ and all the glass in the library windows shattered and the doors blew open.  Then there was a huge sound like wings flapping and page after page from the library books flew out of the windows and through the doors.  Strings of words slid off the pages and landed in the street where they shrivelled up.  Others landed in the library garden and burrowed into the ground like so many worms.  And then all the blank pages just took off like so many birds with white wings.  Up and up they went into the sky which was so bright with the sun that you could hardly look.

And then there was another sound: ‘whoosh’ and would you believe it?  The little old lady flew out of the doors on a something like a broomstick, although it looked more like one of those old-fashioned mops.  She threw back her head and her hood blew down, long wild wispy hair went crazy around her head.  ‘Free them, free the words!’ she screamed, cackling as she circled once around the library building then headed off over the cars and taxis down Victoria Street.

The library’s been closed for two months now.  We still hang out there, but now we’re watching for the word worms to come up.

©2018 Chris Hall

Shoot!

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10:15. I’m late.  I grab my camera bag and run.  The whole world seems to be out, all converging on City Hall carrying flags and banners: some in support, most in dissent of our ‘glorious leader’.  I’m in the dissent camp. I’m also a correspondent.

I mustn’t blow it.  I clutch the camera bag to my hip and put on a burst of speed.

I’m opposite City Hall but I can’t get the shot.  There are too many people in the way.  The motorcade swings around the corner.  I have to hurry.

I jump onto the perimeter wall of the building behind me and scurry along, closing in on the action.  As I unpack my camera I see that the motorcade has come to a halt.  Military and security service personnel are much in evidence.  Assorted dignitaries line the red carpet which runs down the City Hall steps to the presidential limo.  The limo door opens and the man for whom the masses have gathered, steps out flanked by his guards.

I focus the camera, holding my breath.  If only those two security serviceman in their dark suits and darker glasses would get out of my line of sight.

Shots ring out.  One of the servicemen drops to the ground, bright blood staining his shirt.  The crowd surges.  I leap down from the wall, fighting my way through the confusion.  More gunfire comes from within the fleeing crowd.  But I’m already behind the car doing my own shooting.

A bullet whistles past my shoulder.  I spin round, eye to the viewfinder.  The assassin moves in, weapon in outstretched hands.  The barrel is pointing directly at me.

Another shot.  The assassin crumples.  Blood streams across his face from the single head wound.  Blood pools on the tarmac. My camera whirrs. Snick, snick, snick.

©2018 Chris Hall

Mind Mess

Chris HallLeave a comment

“I thought you said this was a good one.  Ordered mind packed with information, experiences and emotions?” Probe Agent Delta-Zero-Four turned to her colleague, the scales on her forehead raised. “We’re not going to learn much here.  Look!”

Probe Agent Beta –Two-Two peered over her shoulder at the screen, “When tested the subject scored exceptionally well,” he read.  His forked tongue flickered.  “Mmm, does look a bit of a mess.”  He jabbed a manicured claw at the bottom of the screen. “What are those?”

“Initialising visual brain-image enhancer,” she tweaked a knob on the side of the monitor.  “Thought-debris, mind-rubbish, emotional nonsense…I don’t see much else.”

“Very well, are we agreed Delta-Zero-Four?”

“Agreed, Beta-Two-Two.”  She said, pushing a red button in the centre of her console.

The screen went blank for a second, then a message flashed up: “Mind-wipe activated, click on the tab for next subject.”

Delta-Zero-Four clicked on the mouse.

©2018 Chris Hall