THE SWITCH

“I don’t know what it does, why should I?” Keith push Simon out of the way as he walked over to look at it. “I’ve never seen it before.”

            “But this is your house isn’t it? you should know what its for.”

            “Well, I swear I’ve never seen it before, I’m sure it wasn’t there yesterday. Bill, you was here on Tuesday, did you see it?”

            “See what?” Bill walked casually out of the kitchen, a can of beer he’d found in the fridge in his hands. “What are you talking about?”

            “This switch here.” Keith moved to the side and pointed at it. “Was this here on Tuesday?”

            “What the hell is that? No mate” he laughed. “That wasn’t there the other day. Something like that I guess we would have spotted.”

            “Let me get this right.” Simon snatched the beer from his hands “You’re telling me, than you’ve been here for over six months and you’ve never seen this switch before?”

            “Yeah, honest. I swear it wasn’t there yesterday. I’d have seen it wouldn’t I, a big red thing like that in the middle of my living room wall.”

            They all stood back, passing the beer between them as they examined the switch. It was certainly hard to imagine how they’d missed it. Keith and Bill had been playing on the Xbox all night on Tuesday, the beer stains of the wall where Keith had thrown his can when he’d lost were visible around the switch, there was even beer on the surrounding plate.

            “Well.” Bill walked over to it, “What does it do?”

            “I don’t know…” Keith clasped in head in his hands, “I’ve never seen it before.”

            “Switches don’t just appear do they?” Simon asked causing the others to stop and turn.

            “Err...” Bill frowned, “I don’t think so. Never put one in before myself, but I can’t imagine they migrate.”

            “Your being stupid the pair of you” Keith passed the now empty can back to Simon and walked over to the wall, pushing his finger on the top as he started to click it down.

            “I mean, what’s the worse that could…….”

THE SPACE-NINJA, COWBOY PIRATES THAT TIME FORGOT

The ship cruised silently thought the voids of space causing hardly a ripple on the fabric of reality, Joshua Make-piece knew his ship and how to control it, and she had seen him through a number of close calls in the past few years. He liked this time of the day, the quiet time, time when his crew had logged off for the day leaving him at the helm.

The concept of day and night didn’t really exist in space, with no orbiting sun there was nothing to reference against, so the ship kept count for them, though their enemies didn’t care what time they attacked and he could count four times so far that he’d had to get out of the bath in order to decapitate some bad guy or other, and he’d usually had to refill it afterwards as the water seemed to go cold quickly in space.

It had taken him almost half a century to collect his crew, travelling the far flung reaches of the universe picking up the best, the brightest and the toughest that he came across. Mad John McGrunderer he’d found on a small asteroid, as he survived on all that remained of his planet, though he didn’t like to talk about what happened to the rest of it. Plain Jane the Ninja Queen had joined him after the massacre of Aisle Two on Tesco seven. Gunder Jack and Psycho Bill had escaped from Juniper 21 using only a used toothbrush and a bag of marbles, and Bill Brain-Smasher was just a very good cook. He stared out into the darkness before him, lost in his own thoughts when there came a knock at the door.

“Enter.” He called, in his crisp English accent.

“Beggin your pardon, Captain.” Mad John grinned, “But me and the boys just wondered if you fancied doing something. You know, to pass the time sort of thing.”

“You mean a rescue, or an attack on a heavily defended outpost?” The captain’s eyes sparked, “Maybe to go head to head against the Jukiluk Bird of Ontar one, naked and armed with only a spatula?”

“No, not really.” Mad John shook his head. “Jane was thinking of Monopoly.”

             Captain Joshua Make-piece looked out onto the sea of dark matter outside his cockpit. “What the hell.” He nodded. “But I want to be the doggy.”

SALT

“Would you give it a rest, woman.” I didn’t mean to get angry but it just happened, it was just that recently everything I did seemed to be wrong in some way. Ever since the doctor told me I had slight health issues, slight he’d said… He even told me not to worry to much about it, just to be careful. The worse thing I did was tell my wife.

            Since then, she’s watched me like a hawk. `Don’t do that, Dear.` or `Let me do that for you.` like I’m some sort of old man already. Don’t get me wrong, I know she means well, I know she’s doing it because she cares, but I have to be allowed to do things, I can’t spend the rest of my life covered in cotton wool. I just wish she’d back off a little and let me breathe.

            I’ve already cut down on all my fatty foods. I used to love a plate of sausage and chips, or a bacon and egg sandwich. But now, it’s down to salads, or muesli, ack.. Bloody muesli, squirrel crap it is. Not enough meat for a real man, although I must confess to being a little more regular now, but that’s besides the point.

            “You have to let me live a little. I’m going to go crazy if I can’t have the odd pleasure.” I purposefully twist the grinder over my poached egg as I stare at her, a little to angrily to be honest, but she was winding me up. “For the last three weeks now…” I twist again. “You’ve been on at me…” and again. “I’ve given up bloody smoking haven’t I?” twist, “I’ve got rid of the chip pan.” Twist, “all I want to do now, Is have a quiet breakfast. With my Bloody low fat newspaper.” Twist, “ and have a peaceful weekend.” Twist. “Without you going on and bloody on about my diet.” Twist.

            “A little salt will do me no.” Twist. “Bloody” Twist. “Harm…” She sat silently before me. Anger welling up being her eyes as she places her knife and fork quietly next to her unfinished breakfast before standing up.

            “I was going to tell you that you’d picked up the `Pepper pot`, you ungrateful prick!”

THE RAIN-MAKER

Permission to display the artwork granted by the wonderful artist Chris Larkin.
(http://www.facebook.com/ChrisLarkinArt?ref=ts&fref=ts)

REFERENCE ART FOR THE STORY:

The Rain-Maker.
By Ian Hawley

A slight mist rose from the pavement as the rain drops exploded against it and a roar filled the air, this wasn’t a regular downpour on any level, this felt more like war but Malcolm didn’t mind it, in fact he’d grown accustomed to it over the years, the late afternoon downpour could almost be planned.

Malcolm liked to plan, he liked things to be just so, a place for everything and everything in its place and he smiled to himself as he stood in the shop doorway, watching the rain dance outside. His cigarette held carefully between his fingers as he drew in the calming smoke, holding it for a moment in his lungs, letting the heat burn slightly before he released it. He used to smoke a lot, almost sixty a day if not more if he was honest with himself, but it had done him no good in the end. Now, well now he saved them for special occasions, those moments when he could stop and just enjoy the moments.

He tapped the ash into his gloved hand before taking another pull, listening as the sound of the fire burnt closer to him, the feeling of peace and harmony all wrapped up into a little role of paper and dried herbs, such a simple thing that should bring so much pleasure.

He looked at his watch. The rain would continue for another five to ten minutes yet, keeping people off the streets or at least, keep them moving quickly along, heads down as they rushed from one place to another. This was his time; his moment, and he allowed himself a little smile as he broke the end of his cigarette off and placed the filter in his pocket before flicking the still burning end into the street where it was quickly extinguished before being carried away to the drain.

With one final look back into the shop he turned the open sign round and pulled his coat up around his neck before stepping out onto the pavement, letting the door close behind him.
It was only a small walk to the bus stop, and from there he could mingle with the other unseeing people as they tried to protect themselves from the elements.

By the time they found the body, he would be gone. No trace or evidence would be found again thanks to the weather and it would be chalked up to "The Rain-maker" once more.
He quite liked the title the press had given him.
After all, he liked the rain.

THE INVISIBLE

It is said that the meek shall inherit the earth, but, let’s be honest, pretty quickly after they do, someone will come along and swindle them out of it. 

The Meek are a strange group of people who live in the shadows of others, watching from a safe distance before shuffling off to their dwellings to mull over their fate in life, their numbers are unknown as no one has ever really cared to look into it.

I met a meek person once, a while back, she called herself `One of the unseen`, one of the invisible, I was going to ask her if she could see other meek, other invisible people, but I forgot and walked away, and it wasn’t until later that I realised but by then she had gone.

I started an experiment to study them, to keep track of them as I tried to understand their habits and lifestyles. I found that `The Invisible` tend to live in a state of almost poverty, shunning their materialistic needs, for a more simpler lifestyle, they avoid gatherings and parties, so live well on their own without the need of others company. 

As an experiment, I gave up a lot of my social comforts; I reduced myself down to a smaller existence and started to avoid the eye contact of others. Initially, people tried to talk to me, to check and see what was wrong, but after a day or two they left me to it with only a small few of my friends who tried to maintain some form of contact, but even they eventually left me.

I have to say, for the first few weeks I felt so isolated, so alone that my life turned dark and soulless which surprised me, in a city of half a million it is amazing how alone you can feel, how insular you become.

After a month, and my experiment completed and I tried to return to my normal way of life I found my path removed, I tried to talk to my friends but my voice was weak and they walked by without acknowledging me, so, after a day I returned to my existence.

It seems that once you turn invisible, it is very difficult to break free, to gain the strength to pull yourself out of the reality you have created round yourself.

So, now I write this down in the hope that someone will read it, someone will take the time to understand my predicament and help me.

I don’t want to be invisible anymore.

Please help.

I HAVE NO EYES TO SEE YOU.

It's not often I do poetry, usually they just drop out of my head when I am working on something else.
Most are turn out slightly mad and funny, but then, once in a while, something like this drops out.

I HAVE NO EYES TO SEE YOU.

I have no eyes to see you, my love my life of mine.

I’m living in the darkness that your light has left behind.

You leaving cause a pain that no mortal man can bear.

My love is with me solely, no other with which to share.

I miss you now my love, my dearest sweetest wife.

The colour in the world has gone there is no sign of life.

I spend my days in darkness now just sitting feeling cold.

I always thought we’d be together, sweethearts getting old.

But I have no eyes to see you, my breath is getting short.

Maybe I will see you soon, much quicker than I thought…