MY MISSION

“No, that’s not big enough” exclaimed Sharon. “The land surrounding the house has to be
at least 2 acres. I told you before. After finding the right property, I then need all the
contracts signed as soon as possible and my boyfriend and I want to be in our new house
by December.”
The man sitting behind the desk raised his eyes to the ceiling and sounded exasperated as
he replied “I’m so sorry Miss Davies, I just can’t help you. I think you had better look
elsewhere.”
Sharon felt like crying. Time was running out and now yet another estate agent could not
help her. She turned away from the desk and reluctantly walked over to the door. “Do
you still wish to be kept on our books, Miss Davies?“.
“No thanks. You’ve done your best. I’ll have to look elsewhere.“
She opened the door and made her way out. Standing on the pavement she tried to gather
her thoughts. Somehow she just had to find a house with that much land, although part of
her felt like giving up. Dave wanted to find the right house as much as she did. There
were too many desperate souls relying upon her and Dave. So what did it matter if this
estate agent couldn’t help her. She was registered with other ones and had viewed so
many properties over the past couple of months but each one had been totally unsuitable.
She did in fact have another house to view at 1 p.m. Sharon walked back towards her
parked car, pausing only once to buy the local newspaper. She decided to pop into the
coffee shop, take a break and sit whilst she scrutinised the newly advertised properties for
sale.
Sipping her coffee, Sharon’s eyes quickly darted through the pages hoping that
something would virtually leap out to her, but there was nothing there. Ten minutes later,
Sharon left the coffee shop and hurried back to her car. 1 p.m. was fast approaching and
she must get out of town and about 20 miles into the country. About an hour later, a
despondent Sharon looked back at the house she had just viewed which bore no
resemblance to the description given to her by the estate agent. She sighed in disbelief.
Yet again, another waste of time. Making her way back to the car she felt so depressed.
What on earth was she going to do. She looked at the newspaper again and decided to
ring one of the other estate agents. Luckily she got through straight away and spoke to the
manager and was able to make an appointment to see him at 4 p.m. that afternoon to
discuss her requirements. She would really have to get back to town quickly.
She had only been driving along the country roads for about fifteen minutes when she
noticed ahead an elderly man standing at the side of the road. As she drove by, she could
see he was standing by a green Morris Minor car with its bonnet open and he was holding
a dirty looking piece of cloth in his hands. She looked in her rear view mirror at the man
and suddenly had this urge to stop and see if he needed her help even though it would
make her late for her appointment. She stopped the car and reversed back to where he
was standing. Looking at her watch, she quickly got out of her car and walked up to him.
“Are you okay? Do you need any help?”
“Oh, thank you so much for stopping but it’s nothing serious, I’m just checking the
engine for a couple of things” said the elderly man.
“My uncle used to have one of these cars many years ago but this one looks in much
better condition” laughed Sharon. “Have you not rung someone to come out and help
you?”
“No. There isn’t a telephone box around here for miles but I‘ll be alright.“
“So, you don’t have a mobile ‘phone?” asked Sharon.
The old man looked puzzled and said “I don’t understand what you mean”.
“Oh, not to worry I can use mine if you like. Who do you want me to call?“ enquired
Sharon.
“No dear, you don’t have to call anyone. As I said, it’s nothing serious.“
“Are you sure?” asked Sharon, taking another quick look at her watch.
“It was so good of you to stop but you do seem to be in a hurry, dear.”
Sharon laughed as she replied “Well, yes, I’ve got an appointment in town but I think I’m
going to be late. Sharon then introduced herself properly and proceeded to tell the old
man about her predicament.
Jack Dibley listened carefully and when Sharon had finished, he could see that her eyes
were filling up with tears.
“Now don’t you worry. I think I may be able to help you. There is a house nearby which
is just about to come onto the market. I’m sure it would be ideal for what you want. It
would only take you ten minutes or so to get there. Go and see it now. Trust me.”
Sharon looked at Jack and even though she had never met him before, somehow she
knew she could believe him. She eagerly listened to him as he described the house and a
huge smile appeared on Sharon‘s face.
“Well, I can’t just turn up. I’ll have to contact the owners if you say it isn’t on the market
yet.” she said.
“No, it will be alright. I know the people who live there. Go on. It’s going to work out for
you. I know it will” Jack smiled. He then gave her directions and Sharon got into her car
and drove off not knowing whether she had really done the right thing.
As she approached the house, she had a strange feeling inside her and stopped the car.
She got out and stared across to the house. Somehow she just knew she had found the
right place. She walked up the path and knocked on the door. She couldn’t believe what
she was doing. How could she have put all her trust in a complete stranger. The door
opened and a middle aged woman stood there.
“Yes dear, can I help you?“
“Well, this is going to sound odd but I understand you are thinking of selling this house
and I am very interested in having a look at it” replied Sharon.
The woman looked confused but said “Well, that is so strange. I’ve been trying to make
my mind up whether to sell or not and today I was going to ring the estate agent. My
father used to own this house and then my husband and I and our children came here a
few years ago but now the children have grown up and left, it is too big for us. How on
earth did you know this?”
“It’s a long story” laughed Sharon.
“Come in dear and I’ll make some tea and we can have a chat. I know you shouldn’t let
strangers into your house but somehow I think you are genuine.”
The owner of the house was a Mrs Susan Blake and after making the tea, she settled
down in the chair opposite Sharon and listened to her story. Sharon told her about Jack
but Susan couldn’t understand how he knew that she wanted to sell the house. It didn’t
make sense but she was pleased that Sharon had arrived and was definitely interested.
Sharon explained that she had recently spent two weeks in Corfu with her boyfriend Dave
and they could not believe the amount of stray dogs roaming around. Being animal lovers
they had spent a lot of their time trying to help the animals. Of course, they were not the
only tourists to have been concerned and appalled by what they saw but Sharon was
determined to do something about it. Although there were many desperate animals, there
were five dogs in particular which Sharon was so very keen to help. That was when
Sharon and Dave decided to change their lives and take the animals back to the UK.
Sharon put her cup and saucer down on the coffee table and looked at Susan.
“So, that was in May and the dogs are in quarantine. Dave received some inheritance
money a little while ago and we both decided that we wanted to run an animal shelter
centre. We want to build at least 50 kennels and have plenty of exercise areas for the dogs
and then there has to be accommodation for kennel maids and loads of other things to
organise. If I haven‘t got something sorted out soon, the dogs will be put down. We must
have somewhere to take them by December”
Suddenly Sharon looked past Susan towards a table where there were a number of photo
frames standing on it. One of them was of a man smiling and standing by a green car.
Sharon stood up and rushed over to the table and picked up the photo. “Goodness me,
who is this in the picture?”
Susan looked at it and smiled “That’s my father with his pride and joy. He loved that car.
That must have been taken back in the 1950’s He actually died not long after that photo
was taken. He was a lovely man.”
“I can’t believe it” shouted Sharon. “That’s the man I met by the roadside. He said his
name was Jack Dibley.”
“Well, that’s a coincidence! That was my father’s name” said Susan. “How strange. My
father was a vet and dedicated his whole life to helping animals and here you are,
wanting to buy his house and turn it into an animal shelter.”
The two women looked at each other and the younger one knew for sure that she had
definitely found the right property for her dogs and her new venture. Although she
couldn’t make sense of what had happened, she was grateful she had stopped to help the
old man.
Hospital bound

By the looks of his t-shirt the nurse decided it had never been folded neatly and stored in
a tidy draw. By the looks of him he obviously avoided washing and his mother didn’t
seem to care what state he left the house. Yet, after his bed bath the nurse was proud to
say he scrubbed up quite well. She watched him as he lay there still unconscious from the
anaesthetic. She felt sorry that he didn’t seem cared for. He was bound to come round
soon. It hadn’t been major surgery just urgent. She checked his dressing on his hip. He’d
be just fine.
“Ow!” he screamed, waking as she hurt his side. “What ya doing woman?” he spat at her.
Mickey came to with an agonising bang, He felt where the pain was emanating and
feeling the dressing he started to panic.
“What’s this?” he asked as the tube in his arm stopped him from putting both hands to his
side. “What’s this shit in my arm?”
The nurse had jumped back from the bed and at the recognition his anger was now a little
too scared to approach the bed again.
She asked gently trying to calm him down, “Do you remember what happened? Do you
remember how you got here?”
He scowled and tried to scratch his head, the tube getting caught up. He bit his lip in
recollection. The nurse watching as the fear and confusion showed on his face.
He started talking slowly, almost to himself, “Yeah. I was out with my home boys at a
party. Someone’s house party, I don’t know who’s house. We were messing around a bit
we were having fun.”
The nurse looked a little quizzical. She asked bluntly, “So how did you come to be
stabbed?”
Mickey squirmed around, “Yeah, well. Well you know, things sort of got a bit out of
hand. We sort of had a bit of a fight. Yeah. It was in the kitchen.” Mickey pulled himself
painfully into a better sitting position. “How are my homies? Are they ok?”
The nurse seemed quite happy about this, “Oh yes,” she said, “you were the only one
hurt. Do you not remember? Look maybe the doctor can tell you more. He’ll be here
sho0rtly after he has spoken to the police.”
Mickey became agitated spluttering, “The police are here?” Pretty much answering his
own question he swung his legs out of bed and gently lowered himself to the floor. It
wasn’t as painful standing he noticed.
“You can’t leave,” the nurse said, adding, “You’ve got a serious injury and an IV in your
arm.”
Mickey cocked his head at her and while looking her in the eyes ripped the IV from his
arm.
“Not any more I don’t. And I ain’t staying to meet up with no police.” He looked around
the room, “Where’s my stuff?”
Mickey spied his t-shirt and walking slowly over to it he pulled it over his head.
“Where’re my jeans?” He asked.
Apologetically the nurse explained that they were bloodied and needed to be cut off him.
His face was distraught at this carnage. But instead of shouting he walked out of the room
shaking his head. The nurse hit the panic button by his bed. Mickey meanwhile legged it
down the corridor darting into a room and stealing a sleeping mans trousers and wallet.
Ducking out of the doors to the stairs Mickey realized that his side actually hurt less now.
Catching a glimpse of himself in a window he saw he had a big black eye too. Touching
his face his marvelled at the strength of the drugs they had given him. Maybe he should
have taken the IV with him. It was then that he realized he didn’t have any of his
jewellery on, his earrings, his eyebrow ring and pinkie ring. Well he was damn sure he
wasn’t going to leave them, so he found an orderly jacket and putting that on made his
way back to his room.
Mickey made his way back to his room circuitously. Approaching his old room he
thanked his good luck that it was empty. Of course it would be the last place they would
look for him. He chuckled at the stupidity of the police. He found and pocketed his
jewellery and unhooked the IV before making his way down the corridor again. Just as he
did he saw two policemen walking toward him? He lifted up the IV in an effort to hide
his face.
“You alright mate?” One of the officers asked him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just taking this vi to the doctor.” Mickey said.
“No mate.” The officer said as he blocked Mickey’s path, “I was wondering about your
side.”
Mickey looked down and saw the blood seeping through the t-shirt and through the
jacket. In a panic Mickey tried to push past them and run away but he was weak and
blacked out all over again.

Kim Zanes
My Nasty Ex

I am naked dripping wet. I step out of my sparkling yellow tiled shower unit, grab my
fluffy white towel and wrap it around me. My precious 3-month kitten Little Paw is
meowing on my rug in the bathroom. I hear a loud crack! This gives me goosebumps, and
Little Paw runs to the sink. I glance out the bathroom window to where the noise is
coming from; the back of the garden, where my pond and large flowerpot are. I observe
that my large flowerpot is still intact. I hold my towel up against me and see Little Paw is
under the sink playing with a cotton ball. I scan the garden further. I look again but this
time to the left of the garden. I spot his familiar red and white muddy trainers.

He’s outside yet again! When will this stop? I ask myself. It has been the third time this
month.

Damien 5 ft 8, mid thirties, is my 'evil ex-boyfriend’ who still thinks he is with me. The
last time he was in the back garden he kept shouting: ‘I love you! I love you! You’re
mine, you’re mine’ about 10 bloody times. He left a big bunch of red roses by the back
door with a note saying...

‘We are a match made in heaven. I love you always and forever.

Never us to part, never, never.’

Love Damien xxxxxx

That was the last creepy letter. It was written in blood. For the next week I was terrified.
The police said they couldn't do anything about it.

Damien is by the weeping willow tree wearing a mustard t-shirt and jeans. He is holding
something in his hands but his back is turned so I can’t see what he is doing. I grab my
bathroom robe, put my slipper son and run around locking all my windows, front and
back door. Little Paw follows me. She is looking like a lost puzzle piece deciding which
way to go and be placed.

I go into every room drawing the curtains. I have a bad feeling of past stress on my
shoulder. I enter my white walled bedroom. Little Paw is reaching for her cotton ball, her
paws digging under the bed. I draw my pink poker dotted curtains. I peek through them.
Damien is still standing behind the tree and not the brown wooden shed like last time,
when he took out my spade and started digging.

There is movement. He is holding a pair of binoculars in one hand. In the other, some
kind of cloth. I squint to see what he is up to. He is holding what looks like a recent pair
of my red knickers that Kevin bought for me on Valentine’s day. He is cutting them up
with a pair of scissors. He spots me with his binoculars and holds up bits of my cut up
knickers in his hand. He tilts his head back and laughs obsessively, observing with his
emotionless shark eyes. I close the gap in the curtain and pace up and down the room
thinking :’Yuk! Yuk.’

I phone Kevin for help who immediately jumps on his piaggio scooter and is on his way
over.

I open my drawers and grab some undies to put on. I notice my red knickers are definitely
missing. I pull a t-shirt and pair of trousers out of the cupboard and get dressed.
Downstairs, I hear a noise. The back door handle is rattling furiously like someone is in a
locked building trying to get out. My heart is darkening into a black hole of deep
drowning emotions. I crumble heavily into my past memory and question myself. What
made me go out with him? Why is he doing this? What makes him think he is still with
me?

I hear the bedroom door screech like fingers down a blackboard and it opens slowly. I
can see an image in my mind of Damien’s pale face turning grey. But that’s my
imagination. I look again and there is Little Paw meowing. I then build the courage up
and go to the back door. It has stopped rattling. Kevin will be here soon, I reassure
myself. I hold my hands against angry tears that fall past my cheekbones. My heart is
beating too fast too count and my legs feel like jelly.

Damien is behind the two birch trees. I can hardly stay focused. All I see is a black strap
in his hand and attached is string to which he is putting some small weights on.

I am now wondering what the hell he is constructing? I watch him, he walks over to the
small pond in the garden.

What on earth is he doing? He places his small black strap contraption down on the
freshly cut grass beside the pond. I pace up and down and take my mobile phone from my
back pocket to call Kevin. I dial but it goes straight to voicemail.

I notice a piece of paper slid under the door. It reads: Choose between me and Kevin
tonight or your Little Paw will suffer. You have 30 minutes.

I go into the front room. I open the curtain and glance out. His face is up against the
window holding a knife and he is chewing gum. He seals his lips together and then kisses
the window and looks into my eyes. I close the curtain and my hands are shaking. I hear
Kevin’s scooter pull up outside the front door. I feel safe knowing the fact that Kevin has
arrived. I fast pace to the front door, open it; his scooter is there with his helmet on the
seat but I can’t see him. Little Paw is rolling around with the cotton ball by my feet. I call
out Kevin’s name but nothing. I quickly close the front door scared now that Damien is
watching me. I run to the kitchen window to see if I can see Kevin in the back garden. I
grab the large torch from under the stairs. I call his phone again but it goes straight to
voicemail.
I open the back door and slowly step out with my torch. I tremble inside, looking through
the gaps in the trees. I see that the shed light is on. As I get closer, I am thinking 'where
the hell is Kevin?' I start to worry what if ? what if?

I am at the back door of the shed. I hear Damien’s voice. I bend down minding the
branches and peek through the back window of the shed. I can see Kevin is sitting
comfortably on a chair opposite him.

‘Damien you need to stop this,’ he says.

I smile to myself and my shaking bodystarts to adjust itself. I think Kevin has it all under
control. He is doing it the nice way though I am a little frightened as to how Damien may
react.

‘I will stop stalking the bitch once you tell her the truth!’ Damien responds.

I wonder what truth? This confuses me I lean closer to the window without them noticing
me.

Kevin takes hold of Damien’s hand and strokes it. ‘Look I told you just 2 more days,
that’s all’. Damien moves his head forward to kiss Kevin on the lips, they embrace
passionately

I am utterly stunned by this. I accidently trip on my gnome and it falls on the concrete
pathway smashing into pieces. They stop kissing, Kevin opens the shed door. I am
standing there, no longer frightened but mystified. I have my hands on both my hips
shaking my head.

‘Why, why? I trusted you, I thought you were in love with me!’

‘It’s not like that, I just I just…’ Kevin says.

‘Just what Kevin? You're a liar? Why ? And why Damien?'

Kevin puts his head down.

Damien comes out of the shed holding his knife tightly. ‘Come on Kevin let’s kill the
whore’.

‘Damien put that down’. Kevin tries to talk him out of it.

‘All our problems will be solved if she is dead’. Damien says.

Damien rages towards me with his knife in his right hand. I run towards the house. I spot
my spade leaning against the tree. I grab it, stop in hesitation. Damien lunges at me with
his knife missing me by inches. I whack the spade right on his head and hard. He passes
out on the floor blood dripping from his forehead. Kevin kneels down and comforts
Damien. He feels his pulse and starts giving mouth to mouth resuscitation.

‘You have killed him,’ he looks at me with deep sadness.

Little Paw comes out of the cat flap meowing. I pick her up, go back inside, lock the door
and call the police.

Nathalie Sadhwani
The Pen of Time

More than two decades have passed since an arctic cloud dropped upon earth three stones
of crystallite. Two of the crystals stones lay to rest to the far dark of the north, inside the
walls of the land of the Hollow souls. They would lay until the day they are called upon
to fight against evil.

To the south fell the smallest stone of the three, in just a few broken pieces it lay, beneath
a dying black tree. With the nature of magic within, the tree was touched by crystal dust
and soon began to blossom vivacious and fresh again.

On the edge of the flourishing village of Thorlakshöfn a boy of five, was working on the
land. In a need of a little rest he came to sleep beneath the transform black tree. He awoke
in a bed of cherry rich flowers, with a crystal quill laying next to him.

A boy with the freshest white long hair, and Godly blue eyes stood up from his flower
bed, with the pen of time between the palm of his little hard working hands. To the boy
keeping the pen somewhere felt heavenly scripted.

As he was unaware of the pen’s magic and strength, it took until his teens yeas where
many animals suddenly fell it, he felt he should a wish to heal them all. In
the wondering sky and wrote ‘vinsamlegast healt dýrin’ wishing nimals to grow strong
again. The following day all the sheep, horses and pigs all looked back to health.

From the dawn of his birth the sun and the moon touched in a concomitant partnership
high upon the sky, welcoming Haraldur to the world ‘Velkomin sonur tíma Guð’. He is in
fact the son of the almighty God of Time.

As the years went on, he grows taller than a small evergreen tree, closing in at 6’5 feet.
He is most dazzling masculine, with a fiery physique and with a fighting spirit of a God.
The villagers are not fooled they know how soft and gentle he is indeed.

His village lies by the sweet scenting mountains to the south, a place with vibrant fairy
lake. A wall of almond, cherry and pear trees fruitful surround
the area almost as a welcoming committee.

With the darkness crater of evil from the north the land of the Hollow Souls seem to
spread being closer in. All land to the far of the north, are grey and sadden black. Even
the air has been sucked dried.

On a dust road not too far from Thorlakshöfn, Haraldur is riding home from helping a
town suffering by the hands of unworthy lords. In trust he left the pen of time protected in
a case of ice. No evil hands are capable of breaking it free from its “house”. As he is
riding close to his most loved village, a deep decay he is sees instead. The land of the
hollow souls have poisoned the land and sucked the life out of people, plants and
animals. Each and every house has been broken in half, and a fire is blazing away.
He rushes to find the pen but it has been taken to the dark dark land of the Hollow Souls.
He cries in pain, as he can actually hear the sunken souls of his family.

The poisonous land, leaves him sleeping, up against the yet again the black dead tree. In
his dreams he sees where the pen of time is imprisoned. He awakes in a shock as he hears
the calling of his pen. He decides to embark on a deadly rescue, lacking the basic
necessaries of food and water. But with his godly strength he will reclaim the pen of time.

Still encased in its icy protective shield the Hollow Souls is unable to Touch the pen until
it melts. If the Hollow Souls write with the pen they will rewrite history and eliminate all
human kind.

Beyond, the gates of the Hollow Souls, Haraldur is crossing a bridge roped together by
once sacred souls. Hanging in his strong muscular arms, he
moves shiftily beneath the bridge to reach land where he senses the luminous navigation
from the pen of time.

Once on unholy ground, he struggles across in the darkness on his bare hands and knees.
In the knowledge his blood is in fact marinating the crushed bones on the ground, the
spirit of the pen keeps him fighting on. He will fight and defend all the good and purity
living on this vibrant planet of life.

With the breathless air quickly killing him, his organs start shedding layers of
his tissue. His heart no longer pumps blood around his collapsed veins. Only the power of
the pen can keep him alive. He will never surrender the pen to write for the sacrilegious
powers of the Hollow Souls.

High on up a mystic shimmer infuses the breathless sky, it’s the last pure life of the pen.
The icy shielding is vastly melting and soon the soul of the world will be enslaved.

With his soul dragging along side of him, his body drops comatosely onto the
two crystallised stones once dropped from heaven those decades ago. From his
heavy fall, several of his eye lashes landed on the crystals awaking the two skjonar.

The two crystallite horses touched their paladin Haraldur, and his soul gathered
itself from hanging bridge. His chest begin to beat once again, his godly blue eyes
regain all their colour. His horses fly him to a lava spitting volcano, the place
of the pen’s prison. The pen is tied in a long blue flame, and hanging down
deep into the raw reddish of the volcano.

Circling the angry the volcano, Haraldur and his two skjonar are awaiting to
strike. They try to cut the long flame holding the crystal pen, but his hands
are crispy black burned. The ice is dripping helplessly away, and so is the soul
of this earth. The screams from the crystals pen is making him weep in pain.
This is the last moment of stupendous good in the world as it will soon taste
the bitter end. Haraldur is unable to free the pen from it burning flame. Slowly
the pen of time begins to fall, as Haraldur hears the dying words ‘save the sacred souls’.
Then he jumps into the blazing flame, clinging on to the crystal pen.
With his saintly touch, he manages to break free the pen before they both plunge
into the dome of lava.

Everything turns darker than the deepest black, the raise of the Hollow Souls
is about to happen. Suddenly the ashy black air clears to day light, the pen has
been rescued.

There sitting in the wet green Grass, on a bed of cherry flowers sleep Haraldur
under the “renewed” fresh tree. His eyes opens as he feels echoing sound of hooves
galloping on the ground. In front of him, kneel two crystallite skjonar.

In a shimmering scripture written across the sky, Haraldur feels the pen of time
in his pocket and knows that his village and the rest of the world is save from
evil. All hollow souls have been released and they are yet again cherished people.

Now he walks guarding the earth with the pen of time in a chain around his neck,
protected with his two assailants. For each Hollow Soul he finds, he pulls his
crystal “sword” to prevent evil forever harming the world again.

The legend might say if you listen very carefully you can hear the earth thanking
Haraldur 'takk White Knight ' the only true white knight.

There might even be a white knight locked away inside all of us.

Jeannine Nielsen
Fade to Black
The force of the front door slamming closed blew an untidy heap of paperwork into a
snowstorm of bills and circulars. Brad burst into the living room, nostrils steaming like a
bull and grabbed her hard by both shoulders.
“Molly”, he screamed, “you selfish bitch!”
“Why did you do it? I can’t believe it, you murdering cow.” He slapped her sharply
across the face, his own cheeks stinging with rage.
“I thought we’d sorted it all out. We were gonna have this baby and be a proper family.
My baby, how could you get rid of my baby, without even telling me? I’m gonna make
you regret that for the rest of your life.”
She shook, unable to stand up against the weight of his rough, unforgiving hands round
the back of her slender neck. A small whimper escaped her lips, white with fear and this
set him off again. He slapped her once more, this time on the other cheek. Silent tears
tracked their way through the heavily applied foundation on her hot, shameful face.
“Now that it’s gone, you’d better get back to work this evening and earn me some decent
money, you skanky little whore. That baby’s had a lucky escape from you”, he added.
She lowered her head, feeling the weight of his hands lift as he ambled towards the
kitchen of the tiny flat.
It was no home to her. For it to be a home, didn’t you have to have some sort of love?
There was only despair, fear and loathing here. She could run, but, as he would often
remind her, there was nowhere to hide.
Once she would have been able to hide inside her head and her heart. Now, she was
destroyed, exposed, blown apart like a gaping bullet wound, bloody and raw. Her own
fault, she conceded, for getting on the game in the first place, but no one deserves to be
raped, much less to conceive an innocent child in the process. She thanked God the client
had never found out and she had been able to convince Brad that the child was his. She
had no doubt that he would have added murder to his criminal repertoire if he’d ever
gotten wind of it.
He slouched back to the dreary, stained couch and flopped onto it, a beer in one hand and
began to unbuckle his belt.
“Oh God, no”, she thought. “Not now.” She was still sore and hurt from the procedure
that morning.
“Get over here” he menaced. She knew it would do no good to refuse.
“Kneel down”, he ordered. She lowered herself in front of him, expecting him to remove
his trousers. “Take off my belt”. She complied, her hands trembling.
He stood up. His eyes were immediately taken hostage by a crazed look, as the belt
crashed against her temple, her eyes, mouth, jaw – all smashed to pieces to match her
already broken, weeping heart.
As she fell at his feet, he delivered a final blow from his Doc-Martin clad toe and left her
there in a crumpled heap amongst the letters, now crimson, with her seeping blood.
He switched on the television, sliding prone on the couch and as the black screen gave
birth to its kaleidoscope picture, she closed her swollen eyes and faded to black.

Michelle Eshkeri
Poolah's lesson
It was almost the day of the annual kayak race on the tiny island of Viati. Everyone was
involved, from the most ancient village elder down to the island’s youngest newborn, just
two days old but already swaddled to its mother’s back in bright tribal colours.
Poolah of the Timor tribe had a quest. He intended to win. His manhood ceremony would
be held at the end of the next moon cycle and his standing within the village hierarchy
was dependant upon this race. Poolah was building a new boat, and it would be like
nothing the islanders had ever seen before. But Poolah was cheating. He was using cedar
wood stolen from the neighbouring Danog tribe. The Danogs maintained only an uneasy
truce with the Timor and were fierce rivals in the boat race. In the middle of the night,
when everyone was asleep, Poolah had stealthily trespassed into the hallowed woods on
the far side of the island and had chopped down a sacred cedar tree.
He had confided his secret to only one other person, his childhood friend Peenah. Peenah
was very disappointed in Poolah and had said so many times, but Poolah would not be
deterred from his quest.
Peenah, however was not the only person who knew of Poolah’s deceit. Almost from the
very start Poolah had been spied on from deep within the undergrowth by Konig, the old
Danog chieftain. As he watched Poolah’s illicit boat begin to take shape, Konig avowed
that Poolah must pay a price for his devious trickery.
Unaware of Konig’s anger, Poolah spent several sun cycles working hard on the building
of his new kayak. He chiselled, trimmed, planed, stitched, glued and painted until at last,
after a final varnish with sweet smelling pine tar, the craft was finished. He knew that a
boat made from cedar would be lighter and faster than all the others, which were built
from sturdy oak and would be cumbersome in the rough, cold waters around Viati.
The villagers were astounded when, on the day of the race, Poolah produced his beautiful
boat. Collectively, apart from old Konig who hung back and said nothing, they admired
its curves and lines, and gasped at the excellent craftsmanship, unaware that under the
fine paintwork lay a guilty secret.
The islanders from both tribes gathered at the shore, but just before the crafts were
launched into the water, Konig approached Poolah and handed him a small terracotta pot.
“Poolah” he said “to acknowledge the beauty of this boat and the skill of its builder, and
to show there should be no animosity between our two proud tribes, I have this gift for
you. In the dead of night, when you are exhausted and cold then use my gift to help
you” .
Amid much excitement, the race began. Almost immediately, the curved hull of the cedar
wood craft slipped into an easy lead, Poolah’s muscles flexing as his oars cut sleekly
through the choppy water. Throughout the day and into nightfall the island menfolk raced
against each other in a gruelling test of endurance and stamina. By moonhigh it was
bitterly cold and Poolah felt wretched with fatigue. It was then he remembered old
Konig’s words “in the dead of night when you are exhausted and cold use my gift to help
you”. He picked up the terracotta pot from the bottom of the boat and curiously lifted the
lid. Inside were precious magnesia and aluminium flakes, renowned for their ability to
hold and give warmth, and a small tinder box, which Poolah quickly used to provide a
spark.
Unfortunately the tinder box provided two sparks, one of which embedded itself into the
fine cedar wood hull. This at first began to smoke, then to glow, until suddenly it caught
alight. Too late Poolah realised his plight as his finely crafted masterpiece started to burn
and sink, leaving Poolah with no choice but to jump into the icy depths of the murky sea.
Just as Poolah feared the freezing water would take his life he heard a familiar voice
calling his name “Poolah, Poolah, I am coming for you” and over the crest of the next
wave appeared Peenah, rowing frantically towards him.
“Peenah, my good friend, thank you” gasped Poolah as he was seized by Peenah’s strong
arms “ You have saved my life and I have been such a fool!”
“It is not wise to cheat” Peenah replied as he hauled Poolah into his boat “for you are
only cheating yourself. If you wish to become a man then you must live your life with
honour. You cannot cheat in order to win and still call yourself a man. You have learnt a
valuable lesson today Poolah.
You cannot have your kayak and heat it!”

Sue Butler
Memories

“Memories, like the corners of my mind” Cynthia cooed softly to Jack.

“Misty water coloured memories, of the way we were.
Cynthia knew she was playing with fire, The matron had warned her many times before.
“You haven’t time to be singing to them my dear, there’s work to be done” The voice still
resonated through her head like an echo. She had been suspended from duties for a week
just a few months back, accused of not doing her duties, but she had always made sure
her tasks were completed before she sang to her patients. Even while on suspension she
still came in on her own time to sing to those that it made such a difference to.
The smile on Jacks face alone, made it all worthwhile. She was well aware that this one
song, “The way we were” was special to Jack.

Cynthia had been nursing at ‘Clarendon Grange’ Home for the aged, for nearly three
years, after spending 15 years working at various hospitals. This was by far the most
rewarding position she had held.

“Cynthia Mulvaney get back to work this instance” The voice made Cynthia jump, but it
was followed by Raucous laughter as she realised it was her colleague Annie doing
another of her impressions.
“Oh Annie, you frightened me, one day you’ll get caught out, and then I will be the one
laughing at you”. Annie was Cynthia’s best friend here, at Clarendon Grange. They had
hit off right from the start. Annie sometimes covered for Cynthia while she spent time
with Jack, indeed she was the only one that knew the real reason for Cynthia being at this
particular nursing home. The reputation of the aged care home was not particularly good,
And with Cynthia’s age and experience, she could have worked at much better places.

Jack started to laugh along with the two women, but the dementia that had taken over his
mind, didn’t allow him to understand why. Jacks laughter just brought on more laughter
from the two women. The moment was broken by a booming voice echoing up the
corridor.
“What is going on here? Its time the lights were out in Room 18, that old person needs
their sleep. And you Cynthia Mulvaney are treading on very thin ice”
Cynthia was seething, she gently let go of Jacks hand as she rose from the bed.
She entered the corridor which acted like an echo tunnel, especially when Matrons voice
was in use!
Cynthia felt compelled to stand up for Jack, and herself. “If you don’t mind, this
gentleman’s name is Jack William Dawson, not Room 18 and it is only eight thirty pm.
Jack will get to sleep when feels like it, not when you decide it for him”
Cynthia knew by the expression on Matrons face what was coming next.
“My office immediately” barked Matron, Cynthia turned to re enter Jacks room, and
walked slowly to his bedside. She bent to put the worn photo album back into Jacks hand,
and walked silently out of the room.

Cynthia looked Matron in the eye, those non descript coloured eyes, not brown, not hazel,
not even green, somewhere in between. The Grey plaited bun on the top of her head, was
suited well to her personality.
“Singing to the patients just upsets them for the next shift, and it’s not you that has to
deal with their difficult ways, you should have more respect for your fellow workers.
Matron spoke, Cynthia noticed a slight crackle in the ageing voice.
“I reserve my respect for the people in my care, and if I can put a smile on their faces
with a song from their past then I will continue to do so” Cynthia had given that little
speech many times before. But it never seemed to make a difference. Matron was a sour
character, one of those that you felt would never be changed, by any of life’s sad events.
Cynthia was convinced she would die being unaffected by a single thing. She was
possibly in just the right job then!!
“You are dismissed early, you may leave now, your pay will be adjusted accordingly. I
suggest you go home and learn by that.”

Cynthia looked at her watch, she still had five hours of her eight hour shift to go, while
she stood there thinking of the unfairness of it all, Matron had already picked up the
phone and put a call in to the nursing agency for someone to replace her.
None of this made any sense, Cynthia knew for such short notice the rate of pay was
doubled, and it made her wonder who was learning the lesson here?

Having ignored orders Cynthia sat next to Jacks bed, She knew he was close, his
breathing was laboured, she took his hand in hers, his grip tightened and his frightened
stare pierced at her heart. She continued to sing, with a tremble in her voice this time.
“Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind, smiles we gave to one another for the
way we were”

“You are supposed to be at home learning a lesson”

Cynthia’s heart thumped against her chest as she realised she had been caught out again.
Very slowly she rose from her chair, looked the matron in the eye, put her finger to her
lips in a hushing action, and motioned with the other hand for her to leave the room. As
she followed she knew the exact words that would pass her lips. Cynthia closed Jacks
door gently and took a deep breath, before raising her whisper.
“I am in there learning one of the most valuable lessons that nature could bestow upon
humanity, I am making a lonely old man very happy. The lesson that is teaching me is far
greater than any lesson you could teach me. And it really wouldn’t hurt you to learn the
same lesson” Cynthia took another deep breath.
“ I hope that when it is your turn, when you are in exactly the same position as that
darling old man in there, and it will be you one day. Only the loneliness will be for a
different reason. I hope that on that day, somebody will sing to you”
Cynthia couldn’t ever remember feeling so strong as the Matron stood there speechless.
“Sadly” she continued, “It won’t be me, I no longer wish to work for you. However you
won’t stop me doing what I do, I will be here every day in a voluntary capacity singing to
‘my family’”
With that said, Cynthia turned and crept back into Jacks room. As she returned to her
position, Jack opened his eyes, one last time. Cynthia wondered with some hope if there
was just a spark of recognition within those beautiful blue eyes. As she gazed into them,
she noticed the fear was gone, replaced with a look of peace.
Cynthia took hold of his hand again, only this time it didn’t grip hers. There was no
strength left, she stroked the back of the frail old hand, with her thumb, and noticed for
the first time how similar their hands were, the length of the fingers, the pattern of
wrinkles on the knuckles, the lines on the palms. She did have some of the Dawson traits,
in fact, she thought to herself with a smile on her face, she had the very best of them. The
fact she was here, sitting by this bed, confirmed that firmly in her mind.
She watched as Jack William Dawson closed his eyes and took his last breath.

And as a single tear rolled down her cheek, Cynthia felt great peace within herself. At
peace with her decision not to reveal the truth, the real reason she chose Clarendon
Grange as her final place of employment before retiring.

As she dabbed with a tissue at her own blue eyes, she picked up the well worn leather
bound album of memories and pressed it close to her heart, after all it would be hers now.
Cynthia closed her eyes, to take the opportunity to reflect on years gone by. Most of the
years were filled with happiness, just the last few, when Jack no longer recognized his
only daughter, his only remaining child.

Cynthia’s tears started falling faster now, She felt a warm embrace and turned to see
Chris, her husband of 30 years. “What, how” He pressed a finger to her lips to hush her.
“Annie called me, Cynth, why didn’t you call me? I would have been here for you both, I
loved Jack like I loved my own father”

“Chris”, said Cynthia, “please understand, I had to do to this alone” Chris bent to place a
gentle kiss upon her lips. “ I am so proud of you Cynthia Mulvaney”

As they both turned to walk out of room 18, Cynthia already wondered, who would be
moving in there tomorrow. As that was the way of these places.
And ………………Life goes on.

Lisa Green
DARKNESS

They sat huddled around the fire trying to keep warm, the flickering embers provided
little heat. There was a silence drawn over them as they awaited their fate. The sage
would return to them soon and they knew one of them would be chosen for the dangerous
quest ahead.

Exchanging glances around the fireplace, the crackling from the fire breaking the silence.
They continued to sit in the darkness, quietly hoping they could go home. Feeling the
chill in the air, the men were spared the harsh wind by the trees that formed the
woodlands behind them.

The bushes across from the men rustled as the old sage returned. The men stood up
nervously. The old sage was tired and weary, the long journey he had taken to reach the
oracle was treacherous. He rested for a moment, leaning on his staff. His long gown
flowed in the wind as he moved himself towards them.

'The chosen one shall travel forth tonight!' His words were said with a power that
belittled his stature. 'All come forward to me.'

The men lined up with their backs to the fire. One by one the old sage pointed and waved
away. And then only he was left. The chosen one. Arthur.

The other men walked away knowing that for now at least they were safe. But for Arthur,
his journey began and he could not return until he found the orb of eternal light. Without
it, daylight would remain an ever fading memory.

No man had seen the light of day since the evil wizard Chargon cast a spell to remove the
sunlight, stealing the orb from it's rightful place in this land.

Arthur was face to face with the old sage, he was passed a small purse. Opening he saw
three dark stones. He looked up at the old sage, his face frowned as his arm was still
outstretched. The old sage explained that the stones were to be used on his quest and that
they contained magic beyond his understanding. The old sage had used to defeat many
enemies before. 'Use them wisely Arthur. With those stones, magic is in your hand.
Arthur still looked confused, but the old sage continued. 'You have been chosen by the
oracle and it has been foretold that you will return the daylight.'

Arthur put the purse away safely. The old sage put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. 'I know
you are strong Arthur and I know you are courageous, but others have tried on this
quest.... Arthur interrupted, 'They've tried and failed?'. The old sage spun him around
quickly and spoke angrily, 'They've tried and died.'

Arthur's face whitened, he knew the task was treacherous. And he must go alone.
Tonight.
Coming to terms with the quest, Arthur stood for a moment and looked out towards the
woodlands that he must travel through. He'd never stepped foot in them before, as a child
he was told they contained many dangers. His mind cleared just for a moment and he felt
a calmness release his mind from fear.

The old sage looked upon Arthur and smiled. 'You'll return here soon, it has been
foretold'. Arthur smiled nervously as he headed out.

Arthur held the fire lantern out to light the way, the entrance to the woodlands was ahead.
The many stories of the woodlands ran through his head. Slowly he made his way
forward, small branches cracking under his footsteps. The noise echoed around the
woods.

There was a clearing ahead. Looking around he saw a burnt out fire. Someone else had
been here recently. His senses working harder than ever. The trees waved in the wind, but
there was something else. He felt like he was being watched.

His heart pounded. A rustle came from the bushes as his pulse raced. Suddenly a creature
emerged and stood facing him. Arthur froze. Never before had he seen such a creature.
It's large eyes and ears firmly fixed on Arthur, it's dark coloured fur raised up on it's back.
The creature stood on it's hind legs, hooves digging into the ground, the creature was now
looking down on Arthur. He panicked.

Arthur ran through the trees as quickly as he could. The branches rattled passed his head
as he ran. His pulse raced on. His chest pounded. His mind was awash with fear, knowing
he needed to keep moving.

Suddenly he stopped. Arthur fell to his knees and looked up. A dark knight stood before
him, bigger than he'd ever imagined such foes to be. Crawling backwards for a moment
to try and ready himself. He stood up. Sword pulled from his belt and now grasped in
both hands. Arthur felt small. Tiny.

The dark knight approached, It's heavy armour concealed much of it's body. It marched
closer, lunging at Arthur with it's sword. Arthur managed to duck under the blow, but felt
the sword run close past his ear. The dark knight approached and swung again. This time
Arthur was slashed in the stomach, the blood seeping through his clothing.

He fell to the ground. His fate was sealed. Arthur's sword dropped beside him, his grip no
longer strong enough to hold it. With the thought that he had failed, Arthur looked for the
stones. Arthur looked up and saw the dark knight approach. Quickly he fumbled through
his bag.
The stones were gone. He couldn't find them in the bag. Looking towards the ground, he
saw the purse over where he had first fallen. He fell back down in defeat, the hope in his
eyes faded away.

The dark knight came a step closer, it's footsteps trembling the ground around Arthur.
Suddenly the bushes beside them came to life and the creature that Arthur had ran from
attacked the dark knight. The creature was no match for the dark knight but his heart was
bigger than them both. The dark knight was rattled and stumbled backwards. Realising he
had a chance, Arthur crawled over to his purse, took out one of the dark stones and threw
it towards the dark knight.

There was a flash of light and a crack of thunder. The ground shook for a moment as the
power of the stones exploded through the woodlands. The dark knight lay dead on the
wrecked ground. Arthur rose to his feet and looked towards the creature. 'You have no
reason to fear me. I know of your quest.' Arthur was stunned to hear the creature speak.
But he was thankful that he now had a companion. 'I am Arthur, what is your name?',
Arthur moved towards the creature as he spoke. 'I am Ramis and I will stand by your
side.'

Arthur noticed where the dark knight had fallen, an archway stood behind. Ramis
explained that this led to Chargon's realm and it was here that he would find the orb of
eternal light.

Slowly they walked through the archway. The beautiful green woodlands became sullen
and black, all the trees looked dead and any life here had all but vanished. The stench of a
thousand souls haunted them as they continued on through this realm.

Ramis stopped. His senses picked up a noise and he stepped in front of Arthur to protect
him. Arthur grabbed a stone in his hand, holding it ready as they proceeded on.

There was a huge rumble that knocked them off their feet. All the trees and bushes
around them fell to the floor as if they'd been burnt to the ground. And there it was. The
orb. Chargon stood proudly next to it. His evil smile revealing his pointed teeth
protruding from his mouth.

Chargon's huge cloak wrapped around him, his wrinkled hands beckoning them closer.
As they moved forward, four dark knights moved from behind the orb and flanked
Chargon.

Arthur held out his hand, there was only two stones left. Two of the dark knights
approached. Arthur stood there braced with his sword. Ramis by his side, ready to fight.

He took one stone and threw it to the feet of the dark knights that approached. A hole
opened up in the ground and swallowed them. Chargon looked on. 'So, you think you are
a wizard?' He sent two more dark knights towards them.
They marched with lances out in front of them, their footsteps louder than before.
Thudding on the ground as they got ever closer. Ramis set himself upon one of the dark
knights and knocked him to the ground. Arthur grabbed his sword and duelled with the
other.

Sparks flew from their swords as they fought hard. Arthur could take only a few more
blows from the sword. It was so much heavier than his and Arthur's wound was causing
him pain.

He managed to knock the dark knight off balance as he over stretched. Arthur took his
chance and stabbed the dark knight. Arthur's heart thumped faster as he saw the dark
knight fall to the ground.

Looking over, he saw the other dark knight hovering over Ramis. He raced over, but it
was too late, the dark knight plunged his sword into Ramis, before Arthur could thrust his
sword into the dark knight.

He knelt down over Ramis and held his head. 'There is only Chargon to defeat now.'
Ramis encouraged Arthur with his last words, his breathing slowed. Arthur looked up
angrily at Chargon who stood there confidently.

Chargon beckoned him over. Arthur stood up, his face scrunched up in anger. 'Good.
Good. Now you will fight me.' Chargon grabbed his sword from his side and they
duelled. Blow after blow struck, the sound echoing around this dark world. Flashes of
light flickered across with each contact.

Arthur remembered the teachings of the sage. He backed off and let his anger slip away.
Grabbing the las stone from his pocket, he threw them at Chargon. There was a huge
flash of light but Chargon just stood there laughing. 'You are no wizard, the old sage was
unwise to send such an inexperienced warrior'.

He had used all the dark stones the old sage had given him. He felt defeated. Slowly he
backed away. He heard the evil laughter of Chargon echo inside his head. He looked
across and saw Ramis on the floor. Arthur's head fell. Defeated.

But he realised it was time to face his fear. Arthur had to fight Chargon to the death. He
turned and approached. The evil wizard held his sword out and they duelled again, but
Arthur couldn't get close.

With his last bit of strength, Ramis rose up and approached Chargon from behind, biting
his leg. The evil wizard turned to see the creature that had bitten him. He kicked out,
grabbed a small dagger from his belt and threw it at the failing body of Ramis. But as he
turned back to fight, Arthur managed to stab Chargon. His sword now plunged deep into
the wizard's heart.
Chargon let out an almighty scream, reaching to pull the sword out. But it was stuck.
Chargon dropped to his knees, looked upon Arthur with defeated eyes and fell to the
ground. He was dead.

Looking across to Ramis, he was just breathing. Arthur sat by his side for a moment, a
small smile lit up across his face as he passed away. Gently Arthur lay his head down to
rest.

He got up and turned towards the orb. Grabbing it in his hands Arthur remembered the
instructions the old sage gave. He took a deep breath and threw the orb as high as he
could into the air.

Suddenly, light drew across the woodlands. The colour returned and flowers immediately
flourished to create a rich and inviting landscape. The stale stench that haunted this place
was replaced by the smell of flowers that had been gone for so long.

As Arthur grabbed his bag from the ground, he noticed Ramis move. The light had
brought him back to life and he got to his feet. Arthur smiled and they both walked back
through the woodlands.

His quest was complete. He could return home to his family and be sure that Chargon had
been defeated and could never bring darkness to this world again.

Steve Johnson

WHO AM I?

Alice clutches the steering wheel of her Hummer as she peers out at the Highway
speeding beneath her wheels. Yes, she is sure-almost sure, she is perfectly safe in the
Hummer. She lists in her head all the reasons why the Hummer is the safest car for her: It
has automatic transmission-no need to worry about changing gears when there is traffic.
It has a framework of steel-or something even stronger than steel-whatever that
framework is made of-it is built like a tank. Yes, a tank. In this day and age, all women
need a tank to drive around in-to feel safe, to feel really safe. Should anybody-and there
were lots of crazy people on the roads now-should anybody crash into her, this
framework of extremely strong metal-would protect her from being horribly injured.
Then, the beauty of four-wheel drive! Should there be any kind of severe weather-snow,
ice, blizzards, -she could drive through them all without hesitation, without fear, because
the four wheel drive would give her traction on those awful treacherous surfaces at all
times. Should she-heaven forbid-have to drive off road for any reason-to evade a stalker-
(Alice glances up to look into her rear mirror. Her eyes narrow. Was that red car the same
one she had seen back in Raleigh, an hour ago?)-The Hummer could drive off-road as
easily as driving on the Highway.Yes; it could scale mountains, ford fiords and
circumnavigate ravines. Her headlights, with the extra headlights mounted on the top of
the roof racks, plus the fog lights (-don’t forget the four fog lights) could light up the
night sky brighter than the brightest sunniest day, in summer. So there is no problem
driving at nights, in the dark-no problem whatsoever.
Yes, yes, she is safe-as safe as she can be, given the state of the World as it is, now.
Her exit is coming up.
She thinks she might go off one exit early just in case-just in case the car behind her-the
red one, has been following her. She does n’t want to lead the perpetrator to her door-
right to her home- so she is going to swing through a gas station first, pretend to buy gas
and see if the car follows her off the exit.
Off she goes-off the exit-into the gas station-oh no, this looks like a very bad station, the
kind of place where people scatter nails and sharp things on the ground deliberately to try
cause punctures and breakdowns…Luckily the wheels of her Hummer are set so high off
the ground and are so tough, they are practically indestructible. She pulls into a parking
space in the gas station. A little red car pulls in right beside her. Alice reaches down into
her glove box and pulls out her nice, dependable colt 38.

by Jacqui Mehring