Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (23) The Motorcycle and Sidecar

Who can resist anything shiny and metal?  Especially something that also goes very fast?  Not me, that's for sure; and that’s why I bought a motorcycle with sidecar (from ebay).  I fitted it out with cross country tyres for easy driving in forest situations and suspension for bumpy paths.  Despite which I still thought I would fail before I even started.  I mean, this was quite a wide vehicle - much wider than any cart or games board I had previously wheeled through the forest.  I guess I was buying it for me mainly as a way of buying a motorcycle with acceptable stabilisers (I can't ride a bicycle, you see...)

With this in mind, I went on a recce on the chosen day, armed with a width stick and, to my surprise, found both a path to the clearing from the road and a circuit that would take me through it three times.

After lunch and a laze around reading the weekend paper supplements, I took the motorcycle and sidecar on its final drive around mid-afternoon.

The noise of the motor was enough to bring the unicorn out and she was waiting in the clearing when I pulled into it.  Now I knew she could be a curious kitten so I thought I would whizz around a few laps to get her blood up a bit - and to get to know the route a bit - where I could push it, where I needed to be more careful, that sort of thing.  Each time I came back racing through the clearing she watched me go past, her head turning as I went by, getting more alert and excited on each pass-through.  Once I knew the course, I brought the vehicle to a halt back in the clearing and waited for the unicorn to get in.

Which she did almost instantly, breathing quickly, jittering slightly, nervous but anxious to experience this new thing.  But safety always comes first.  I had bought a helmet identical to mine, though smaller, and drilled a horn sized hole in it.  I slipped this on her head, buckled it up and revved up to pul away.

I took it quite slowly at first because I was still quite unsure and the extra weight changed things a little.  To the unicorn, though, it was like the Eurostar.  She neighed with delight on the straights, but was a little nervy on the corners as it often looked like we were tree bound.

And then we started to go faster and her face became more focused as she tried to take in every detail of this new experience.  Every frame of vision, every feeling - the wind rushing over her nose and body and about her neck, trying more by opening her mouth and closing her eyes. 

Round and round the course we sped.  The plan, like with the sudoku, was to gain her trust, or rather her complete concentration, before simply driving off the course and out of the forest, taking quiet roads all the way home and into my garage.  As we sped around our little circuit, neither of us noticed the mess we were making.  The tyres were tearing up dirt under the trees, and grass and flowers in the clearing, forming three distinct paths.  But we were oblivious, enjoying the ride.

Suddenly on one lap, the path stopped being smooth- it became bumpy, like the ridges you sometimes get before roundabouts, and I was forced into slowing down a bit, confused.  The unicorn began to complain  about the discomfort.  I turned to her to reassure her and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a creeper of some sort shoot across the path.  I had no time to react and we drove straight over it.

Almost instantly we started to lose more speed, and control too as the air came out of the tyres (you could hear the hiss mocking us).  I promptly gave in and brought the motorcycle to a stop. 

At this point the forest made damn sure I wouldn't be able to pull such a stunt again.  Roots sprung out of the ground and started to grow first around the wheels and then around the whole vehicle before crushing it down slightly and making it prisoner.  Needless to say myself and the unicorn had jumped clear long before the crushing had begun.

And so that was that.  The unicorn walked away with heavy footfall - presumably disappointed that the motorcycle had been put out of action rather than because my plan had fallen apart.  I  started to walk to the edge of the forest wondering how I would get home.

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Myths of our Solar System (27): Celtic Afterlife 2

It is bliss here, my darling, a greater place to wait than I could imagine. And although I
was cursed by my sudden end and in my parting from you and our boy, I feel blessed
here.

Look to the west, my darling, and think of me at dusk for it is in that direction I dwell, and
it is in that direction you will travel to join me some day. And together we will roam on
this endless isle through waist deep grass and flowers, and lean against trees together.
I yearn for you, my darling, but I can wait, for when I see your face again it will be for
eternity.

I have so much to show you, my darling. Honey dripping from trees, apples as you would
never believe, whole boars for the eating, wine and beer flowing like rivers in spring.
Endless cool forests with tamed animals to sit and chat with. Everything we dreamed of
and talked about as the fire burned down.

Oh, my darling, how I desire you, how I want you between my legs once more, to kiss me
as you once did, to take me where no one else could. But, my love, do not rush here, you
have so much to do before you come. So much experience left in that life to build, to store
up and tell me about when you arrive from the east. Kiss our boy for me everyday and
bring him up well- oh I know you will, my great bear, my only love.

And I shall wait for that day when you will sail to me, my darling, and we begin the wait for
our son and then his own kin.

250 Words: Voices in my head

Everyday, everywhere, they talk to me, drive me mad.
Don’t know where to look, where to go, who they are, why they’re there.
Just know they are. And I have to live with it.
Fucking weird y’know? It’s so scary. They tell me where to go, what to do, what to
say. Always thought others were weird, but now I’m like them: paranoid of everyone,
everything. Scared to do anything they won’t like.
Which is why.
I’m standing.
On this chair.
Staring.
Through a noose that will help me get out.
“No,” they scream, “Our work is not done.”
I beat my head with my fists to try and shut them up.
They won’t, they will scream until I’m in my grave. Never will they let me be.
My head is through, one step will kill us all.
I want to ignore their frantic attempts to talk me down, have a beautiful moment of
silence before it’s eternal but they seem to make sense. This way could send me to
hell, an eternity of this. Life, they say, could help. They, they say, could help me find
help. But one step.. just one.
A step I take.
After removing the noose.
“You’ve passed the first test, you are ready now.”
“Am I weak or strong,” I wonder. I’ve faced death but they are still with me. Need to
be strong, need to seek help. But I owe them my life. They bought themselves more
time cleverly.
Is there no escape?

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (22) Sudoku, Part Three

I pulled very lightly to start with, trying to ease the board-come-trolley out of the four dimples it had rested into.  The whole thing lifted slowly out and onto the overgrown grass and the unicorn didn’t notice a thing.  She was too busy moving a ‘4’ into position.  I continued to move and manoeuvre the board out of the clearing, leaving behind a bright green rectangle and I was on my way back to the van and out of the forest while the unicorn happily continued her sudoku puzzle. 

She truly was a slave, just as all those chumps at work were.  I mean, to not know you were being towed along like that was pretty bloody crazy.  At one point, one of the playing pieces slid right off the board  when I hit a bump and she didn’t even spot that.  I picked it up and replaced it.  She snorted at me for interfering before returning to the game, not looking up enough to notice the change of scenery - all she could see was that godforsaken grid.  The plan was therefore working better than I could have possibly imagined.

On I coaxed the board, ever so slowly for fear of upsetting  the fragile state of play by hitting a root or whatever too hard.  On and on under boughs laden with fruit, fortunately not quite ripe enough for some to fall on the unicorn’s head and bring her to her senses, and past watching animals too curious or taken aback to warn their forest colleague.

Soon the light at the edge of the forest came into view and victory beckoned.  I could see the path was, wide and therefore, flat enough for my purpose and I didn’t look back - I put my head down and steadily pulled the unicorn toward that light and my van.  I got so into the moment, so into my cause, that I didn’t even spot the shift in weight.  Instead I only noticed she had finished the puzzle, realised what was happening and run when I had the van doors open and turned around to start the final push up the ramp.

*

I returned the board to its position in the clearing in the vain hope it could work again but the following week it had disappeared and I didn’t see the unicorn again for several weeks.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (21) Sudoku, Part Two

It took a few weeks to really get going.  I set up new puzzles on each visit, starting them off myself, the unicorn helping out, slowly doing more and more.  I helped when she struggled, looking up for assistance.  And I fed her oats to encourage, at first just when she did something but eventually when she completed a puzzle.

At the start with she lost interest once a puzzle was completed, feeling that was enough to beat me, and she would wander away once the oats were eaten and I had tried nothing at all to kidnap her.  I would start up a new one to try and regain her interest. 

As time wore on, though, she got more into it and would nudge me when done to ask for a new one.  I would sit and read while she did, oats at the ready.  Eventually she would ignore these and instead pick up the Sudoku book in her mouth and drop it at my feet, or if I hadn't even noticed she was done, in my lap, getting quite irate if I took a long time.

Evenings became pretty bad as she bit and held onto my sleeve in order to try and keep me there, and I had to pull her off and leave her behind.  She ripped several sleeves off shirts and jumpers and, one time, even came prepared with sticks so I could make a fire and stay after dark.

By then she was waiting for me each week (tapping her foot impatiently) to set up her first puzzle of the day and I began to experiment with trying to distract her as she played.  I tried offering her oats, which sometimes caused her to snack for a few moments before returning.  Then I tried making noise and she would snort at me to be quiet.  And I tried throwing fallen twigs and leaves at her and she stamped her feet.

Eventually, though, I did these things and there was no reaction at all.  During play she was entirely oblivious to me, having learned to block me out, and she only acknowledged me when she was between puzzles.  I knew then that it was time to pull the rope.

250 Words: A six-and-a-half-year-old daydream-cum-nightmare

We don’t live in Aitken anymore. We’re together, living in an old cottage with a
thatched roof in the green valley I dig up while she cures. At weekends we walk
through fields and lie in tall grass and talk all afternoon. In summer we go abroad
and look at ancient stones. She listens carefully and intently as I tell her their
stories. Our life is perfect, peaceful, serene. We rarely argue. We are 50:50, best
friends. Every beautiful cliché. All was good, all was great. Until the clouds came.

They came in summer, an unprecedented move. I knew something was wrong,
could see it in her eyes. I feared the worst. I got the worst. The cancer came,
developed and took her quickly and, I think, painlessly. She was heartbreakingly
brave, wasting away to nothing before my eyes.

Nothing could be the same again. The thatch came out, the valley went brown, the
cold foreign stones mocked me, knowing I had no one to tell their tale. I stumbled
through life without her. My digging meant nothing if I couldn’t show her and tell.
I quickly degenerated: drunk too much, slept on her grave. I wanted her back so
badly I began to think she was really dead and started to cry. Other passengers
looked at me, concerned. I told them I’d taken a daydream too far. They looked
at me as if I were mad. I switched on my stereo, determined not to go back to the
dream.

Myths of our Solar System (26): Celtic Afterlife 1

In my first experience I was a warrior. Married with children but cut short in my prime.
Quite literally. That is where my journey began. That was my first experience.

Then I spent time as a mouse, scurrying quickly around a village grabbing scraps where
I could and when I could, having watched and waited before furtively edging forward until
letting loose that burst of energy to capture my quarry. That was my experience until the
cat got me.

For a time I lived as a bear, an animal I’d never see in my life but only heard about. I
roamed the hillsides of the north, captured smaller animals and fish- it was almost like
I was human again, except that I was much more free. I was entirely my own and my
family’s. And I was able to sleep through the winter.

Then I went all tropical. A parakeet- oh, to always be a bird, what an experience!: I
thought I’d been free as a bear but… flying from tree to tree, gliding above and looking
down… such a different experience yet it wasn’t enough, I longed for more and soon
became an eagle, far above, nesting on a mountain top- amazing; so much so it tired
me out and through the rest of the Roman Era I became a tree and contemplated my
experiences thus far as an oak. My body had formerly been inhabited many times and,
from the imprints of those souls, I learned about other experiences in other places.

When the Normans came I saw a rabbit and longed to return to that manic activity and I
moved on, joining a large family again and I lived snug underground in a life constantly
endangered by predators but one that also involved many relaxing afternoons lying around
in meadows.

Then I continued underground and on the ground in forms I had not yet taken, not even
thought about. A worm, a woodlouse, a ladybird. Then flowers and plants, fish in rivers
and the sea. A whale, oh what a magnificent beast, it’s heart alone larger than most forms
I had previously taken. And always moving, always singing in my most vast playground
since I had been an eagle.

After centuries away I began to pine again for Britain, returning as a grey squirrel, once
more scampering about as a small creature; and having much (practical) fun finding and
hiding food, always being careful to pat the earth down firmly and to remember where
everything was. I also helped drive the red squirrels further from their homes, deep down
feeling shame but having to bend to the will of the animal whose form I was experiencing.
Then I took to the skies (as well as parks and open paved spaces) as a pigeon, exploring
London and gaining food from humans as I had in my first animal experience as a mouse.

And, finally, nearing the end of my experiences, I find myself relaxing once more as a tree.
This time in Highgate Woods, away from the footpaths. I stand in old age, the breeze
rustling through my many arms, the sun warming my upper most parts, my roots deep
in the ground and drinking. I’m not visited much. Just occasionally dogs come sniffing,
children run by frantically or lovers will use me as a post and remind me of the happier
times throughout the experiences my soul has had during it’s wanderings.

And I think of my first love, my first family and my first regret. If only I had not been a
warrior and gained a more peaceful life, that I had known my Iseult a lot longer.

Myths of our Solar System (25): Pluto, underground man

As he stood, rising to his feet, his eyes wide, his cheeks covered with dry mud and with
rocks in his hands, Pluto turned his mind first to fresh water, the old wells having emptied
and collapsed in on themselves. He quickly set about using the skills Mother Earth had
given to him as he lay listening and he wandered out to find pockets of water in the rock
between the earth and the Underearth; and to the First People he brought knowledge of
divining and well digging, ideas he would spread throughout This World.

Pluto then travelled This World conducting his own research of that rock beneath Mother
Earth, as she had asked him to do. He found many resources (some for now, some to be
discovered later) to tell This World’s inhabitants about.

But first the war came and Pluto was forced to introduce mining as a tactic, digging tunnels
under the enemy’s positions and using the explosives Mars made to destroy them from
beneath.

After the victory, Pluto and his Mining Platoon took the people underground and they
mined for tin, copper, coal and iron. Together they passed on knowledge of digging and
props and removing spoil and goods alike as well as dealing with flooding and other
dangers.

And out of the mines This World began to flourish into one of commerce- each town
producing its own goods to trade with others.

250 Words: Singer in a tribute band

I wish we had the talent to be in a proper band, the skill to go beyond this perfect
imitation and at least knock on the door of originality. Because this doesn’t feel quite
right. It is fake, just fool’s gold. Who will remember us for anything more than what
we are? Because we look and sound like them we get praise and adoration only
they should be receiving but don’t because they are gone and we are here partying
in their grave.

I wish I could be myself and not caught up in this charade. But I am just an actor
singing his lines, wearing his hair and clothes and mimicking his mannerisms. A
mindless marionette jerked here and there about the stage. It is our manager who
pulls the strings now. I used to but I lost my faith and cry in his unhearing ears. So
now I pray nightly to the brightest star for the blue fairy to come and do for me what
she did for Pinocchio.

The mindless monkeys go mad. Transported back to youthful exuberance they jump
about like thugs, ruining it for the youngsters who missed the real thing. Either way
they masturbate over memories or dreams of how it used to be, using this synthetic
bumph to get them there.

And you can always see the real fans doing what I wish I could do - walking out,
disgusted they ever came to this side show in a dirty and dingy pub.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (20) Sudoku, Part One

Before the craze hit town, people used to congregate in the tea room mid-morning, lunch and mid-afternoon to talk and to rest from the onslaught of numbers and letters; to escape the monitor's incessant glare.  We would chat about television, music, film and politics sometimes.  Gossip, too, about others around the office or offer snippets of news that would become that gossip.  Admittedly, I was generally a fringe figure in all of this but there was a time when there was a bit more life in the office.

Since the craze hit town people sneak off to make their tea, scared they might bump into someone doing the same puzzle in case they get answers, give them away or find out they aren’t as far along.  Or they bring a flask in, or an alternative drink, and stay put at their workstation.  And you can see them when they should be working, a paper or book hidden in folders, casting furtive glances around hoping no one will notice.  They are slaves, every one, to Sudoku, the Japanese God of Puzzling.  If I could get the same level of worship from that unicorn...

*

I built a board for her from the back of an old oak bookcase, etching and then painting the grid on, on one side of the board, leaving room for a unicorn to sit and, on the other side, for the numbers, each having its own space so you could see how many of each were left.  These were big coin-like pieces with the numbers again etched and painted - with ridges like in Downfall or Connect 4 so she could move them about the board - and each had a hole as well so they could be lifted.  Finally, I bought a book (Carol Vorderman’s picture sold me, she’s intelligent, isn’t she?; plus lots of people at work had it, so it must have been a good one) and joined in the craze at work in order to get the hang of it so that I might pass on the madness.

Once ready I took the board in my van, fixed wheels and a rope on it at the edge of the forest and dragged the whole thing to the clearing where I sat down, set up a puzzle, and began to play.

After lunch and having played four (simple) puzzles, the unicorn finally approached and sat opposite me across the board, just as she had when I built the bonfire, but this time right on the spot I had made for her; and she watched, sitting perfectly still.

I completed a fifth (again, an easy one that I had before) puzzle and was part way through the sixth when the unicorn suddenly lowered her head and moved a piece, a number 3, into place.  And soon after an 8 and then a 9, we were on our way.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (19) A Plan Going Nowhere

What I really wanted to do, now I was being more relaxed in my approach and not getting so pissed off when it went wrong, was to dress up as a male unicorn and tempt the unicorn back to the van.  Not that I really knew what one looked like.  I didn't even know if she was old enough for that sort of thing. 

That wasn't my biggest problem, though.  What I'm talking about here, the plan I mean, is a white panto horse suit with a great horn sticking out its forehead - and that takes two, baby.

One person I would need to rope in.  Probably more to help make the costume.  But how do you go about roping someone in for such a plan?  Not everyone believes unicorns even exist, you see, so to pick the wrong person could have been fatal.  How do you tell someone that your hobby is trying to trap a mystical and legendary wild animal to tame and to keep?  Most people just won't listen, the rest will rip it for all eternity. 

And what do you say are your reasons because you can't tell the truth, that could just make it worse, make the laughing that much harder. 

Do you tell them about all the side parts?  The other mythical beings and the magic - it would all sound so preposterous out loud, I am sure, no matter what the truth. 

Or the person you choose could turn out to be an animal rights activist, a greenie - there are a few in our office.  Everyone thinks I’m one of them, in fact.  You see, I was pretty vocal in support of the fox hunting ban when it was discussed at the water cooler.  A large part of it was me trying to get a certain someone’s attention, to impress and stuff.  I could be crucified for this in that respect.  The hypocrite whip could so easily be unleashed.

So naturally I had told no one at all of my forays into the forest for fear of being made a fool. 

And even if I picked the right person, would I want to share her?  That was the problem with  one guy at work.  He was the only person at work I ever considered as an ally in this plan; but that was because he reminded me of myself. 

This guy was awkward in character, with often greasy hair and he wasn’t much of a looker either, and often quiet - he sat at an isolated work station avoiding sociability when he wanted, ignoring others, living in his own bubble.  Occasionally, when he tried, he would often go too far, say something in a way that rubs hard - remember what I said about fox hunting.  That went down badly with a lot of people, mainly because of the way I put things, semi-attacked people.  He sometimes did the same sort of thing.  Only in a kind of creepy way. 

Sometimes our eyes met and it was like we both knew something important about each other.  Why we didn't talk more, I didn't know.  I guess we had our own circles outside work and so didn't bother inside.  Anyway, as I say, he was a lot like me and I think he would have loved the unicorn, found the same peace in her, would want her too.  But maybe see his chance and shop me - I was quite paranoid, actually, of that possibility and stayed away from him in case I let slip as I was sure I would.

I put that plan to bed, then.  It was far too risky to let someone else in.  Either I would be humiliated or I would have to share the one thing in the world that only I knew about and the thing I cared most about.  And, anyway, the puzzle was mine to solve.  I had to go it alone.  So I filed that plan away to forget and came up with another.  While sitting in the office and stewing I had spotted just how addicted virtually everyone was to sudoku... 

250 Words: Imaginary world: wake up!

There you sit in your imaginary world, pretending to be a star of the movie world,
the music world, the football world; and in a country that doesn’t exist and can’t
exist, it breaks so many rules, all formed in your ignorant youth. It was fine when
you were a child but now you are grown and that world gets in the way of your life,
your work, your dreams. You live too much in your head, away from the windows
of your soul sat in an armchair faced away and living firmly in that world of your own
construction: wrapped in its red and blue striped blankets, faded to fuzziness and
ignoring my rapping on the window. It simply isn’t healthy. Just anti-social. You
want a girlfriend, don’t you? But you can only ever imagine one.

“Don’t criticise what you don’t understand… you’re happy… not depressed like me.”

Go then, boy, sit with distant dead eyes if you want. Disappear through the mazes
you make and run to hide. Let mould grow thickly on your skin and your hair fall
out. Allow the world to flow about the impenetrable thorny perimeter unwaded in by
your soft feet. You will miss every boat and be left with nothing but cheap symbolism
in your ivory grotto. You need a Kreuzberg-style realisation, a kick up the arse to
set you free and out, blinking, into this brightly lit world to get a life, grab your real
dreams and join the real world.

Myths of our Solar System (24): Demeter, Persephone, Hades, Zeus and the seasons

Demeter held sway over the fertility of the earth and of the living creatures living upon it.
No one knew quite how critical she was until Zeus, in his eternal arrogance and meddling,
gave their daughter, Persephone, as wife to his brother, Hades. Demeter sought out to
follow and take back her beloved daughter, moving through the earth to the rock below but
could find no way through to the realm of Hades and she began to pine and to cry bitter
tears that killed the harvest and poisoned the livestock causing the people to go hungry.

Meanwhile in the Underworld, Persephone rejected the advances of her husband,
unwanted as he was, and starved herself in protest, pleading to her father, Zeus, for some
hind of reprieve.

On the surface, as the people starved, Zeus saw his mistake and decided to reverse
his decision. He went first to Demeter. Upon promising to return Persephone, Demeter
became happy once more and the plight of the people began to ease.

However, on his way to Persephone something occurred that would allow Zeus enough
wiggle room to save some face following his disastrous match making. As he approached
the lair of Hades, Persephone gave way on her hunger strike and ate. As such Zeus could
rule that she had not entirely rejected Hades and he was able to reach a compromise.

For half the year, Persephone would reside in the Underworld with Hades, while for the
other she would live upon the earth with her mother.

And that is how the seasons began, with spring and summer appearing for the first time
with the return of Persephone, bringing with them birth, growth and harvest. Whilst, during
the autumn, when Persephone returned to Hades, the leaves turned brown, then the frosts
and winter came as Demeter began to miss her daughter more and longed for her next
return.

Myths of our Solar System (23): Ceres, daughter of the earth

Ceres had always been closer to her mother than her siblings. As she grew she had
become a confidant of the First World’s lady leader, counselling Mother as her relationship
with Moon broke down. So close were they that Saturn had had to drag her, and then call
on Merlin to stun her, in order to ensure Ceres was safe from The Chaos.

When she emerged alongside Pluto, Haumea, Makemake and Sedna, Ceres had been the
first to recover from the initial shock of seeing their mother crumble into earth and the first
to start grieving. She had also been the first to spring into action upon rising to her feet,
her eyes wide, her cheeks covered with dry mud and seeds in her hands.

But they could wait a little longer. Ferreting the seeds away in her bag, Ceres strode to
the wreckage of the First World and saw the bodies of once immortal beings lying dead
before her. And, initially on her own, she began to bury them one by one as her Mother
had asked her to do, committing the bodies to Mother Earth, their soul joining with their
former leader who took them into her care.

Then Ceres moved onto her main task. The seeds in her bag were a mix of cereals and
vegetables and Ceres soon set to work creating and preparing areas in which plant her
mother’s gifts.

As these grew and stocks of food recovered from the First World dwindled, Ceres supplied
what food she could from the trees and plants that Mother Earth had brought forth as she
formed This World, all the time teaching people what was safe to eat and what was not.
Ceres kept listening and whispering to Mother Earth and learned over time what needed to
be done season by season, soon organising and stocking larders for the frozen and nearly
lifeless season that Mother Earth told her would come. A long period when Mother Earth
would sleep, replenishing herself for the next spring. And when Ceres would rest also
while looking forward to speaking again with her mother.

Ceres, the doting daughter, devoted her life to fulfilling the pleas of her Mother,
transforming her into a less wild and more organised landscape, though one still beautiful.

250 Words: Fred’s Tea Shop

I will always remember this among the lighter memories from those sweaty days in
the jungles of Burma, along with the self-heating soup can exploding on me and the
look on my corporal’s face every morning when he took the nasty salt tablets. All
the little things that helped get us away from the memory of the Japs running at us
screaming, “Banzai,” with a look straight from hell in their eyes. A look we always
returned with bullets and bayonets. No doubt a similar look in our eyes.

Whenever anyone went out on patrol through the thick jungle one by one, nerves
on end, shirts drenched, rifles loaded and bayonets fixed and ready to pierce along
paths well trodden, eyes constantly looking into the green dazzle keenly looking for
anything not part of the pattern. The ears similar, filtering any noise for anything as
unnatural as us. And through villages hoping to meet with friendly Burmese and not
the retreating enemy with one up the spout and aimed at us. Our nerves always on
end, our fingers always itching: scared enough but not too much.

Anyway, whenever anyone returned from patrol they would always find Fred grinning
and ready with a brew: that little piece of home that was always with us. He would
be sitting down with his funny little cardboard sign reading, “Fred’s Tea Shop.” And
he would hand us a mug to refresh us. “Get that down you, make you feel better.
You’re home now, son.”

Myths of our Solar System (22): The Six Dwarf Children of Mother and Moon

After the First World had pulled apart and This World had formed, its people were clueless
as to how to continue. Before them was a land of earth and rock, plants, trees and
animals. All of which they knew nothing at all. They had seen some of it in the gardens
around the Tree of Life but had never taken the time to learn about it all. That had been
the domain of the servants, who were all now either deceased or transformed. Some
wizards knew but they were aloof creatures and spent their time furthering their studies
rather than teaching at the start of This World. In short, the people had lived in a world
without worries or concerns and now they had to learn how to live. The Six came and
showed them how.

The sextuplet dwarves had been the darling of the First World when they were first born,
seen as a sign of Mother and Moon’s great love. As they grew, however, people could see
they weren’t normal (particularly when also given the behaviour of Eris and Makemake)
and they were shunned, their parents keeping them away from the rest of the population.

Soon they became forgotten by most but not by Saturn who had seen what they would do
long before they were born. And thus, as with Jupiter, he kept them (apart from Eris) safe
from The Chaos that existed after the First World began to tear apart.

And so The Six, long drifted from memory, seemed to come from nowhere. Many
speculated about where they had come from and where they had been. Upon emerging
from their shelter, five of The Six saw their mother walking aimlessly, seeing nothing, her
brain a fuzz of shock and sadness.

Together they tried to catch up with Mother, seeking to help her. But it was difficult to do
so whilst also trying to get through the crowds and avoiding falling rocks and so before
they could do so she transformed before their very eyes.

They all stopped in unison, staring at the earth spread out before them like a rug. Until
Ceres stepped forward and laid down on her front, the others following her example. They
each put out their arms in an attempt to hug their mother, grasping handfuls of earth with
their fingers, their tears intermingling with the soil and muddying their faces.

There they remained for hours, the grass forming around them, leaving them in a perfect
circle of earth. And they did nothing but weep for their loss. Until suddenly they each
thought they heard the voice of Mother. Frowning they looked at one another before
putting their ears to the ground and finding that they had not been mistaken.

And they each listened, then whispered. Listened. Whispered. And Mother Earth
imparted the secrets of This World that she was still shaping around them so that they
could help build its society alongside their brother, Jupiter.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (18) The ‘Mr. Tumnus’ Plan

Back to rip-offs, natch.  Or homages.  Yeah, back to paying homage to some of the greatest plans in history.  By ripping them off. 

I read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe when I was a child.  Watched it on the TV when I was a bit older in a Sunday evening teatime slot just before Christmas.  One thing that always stuck with me was the bearded faun, Mr Tumnus, and his plan to kidnap Lucy to hand over to the eponymous witch, and  his failure to go through with it because he was ultimately good.  He put her to sleep by playing a funny flute-like instrument mixed with an open fire.  When she woke he was crying at what he had done.  I can play the flute, you know, so I thought it was worth a shot.  And, as far as I knew, there was no fascist regime watching over us to be afraid of.

I made the bonfire quite small, mainly so I didn’t have to carry quite so much wood to the clearing.  Yeah, I know I could have collected wood once there but I was too scared something weird would happen.  I figured non-magical wood was the way to go and built the fire as the light began to fade, igniting the wood in the gloaming; cooked a dinner of sausages and beans in the glow and heat of  my little creation, by which I then read as I waited for my audience/victim.

Mid-evening she arrived and sat on her hind-quarters opposite me, as it were, on the other side of the fire.  I picked up my flute for the first and only time that day, having felt that my presence alone was, by now, enough to bring her to the clearing.  Or if not, the fire would be.

I started to play a kind of lullaby that I had spent the evenings of that week composing (while recording all my weeknight TV for a proposed Sunday marathon).   It was a sleepy, circular chant with a certain dreaminess to it, or so I thought, or hoped.  Something that was supposed to compliment the fire’s lazy crackles and snaps.

And it started well.  The mix of the repetitive softness of my song and the soothing, rhythmic crackling of the fire made the unicorn’s eyes droop pretty quickly.  And soon she began to sway from side to side.  I watched her through the madly dancing flames, my eyes (and only my eyes because of my playing the flute) watched her move back and forth like a swing.  And my ears began to tune in to the fire’s sweet sounds and how it acted as a neat accompaniment to my piece as I listened to its spiral and watched the unicorn sway gently.  And the fast, random movement of the flames started to become too much, it made me feel tired.  And the heat of the fire washed over me, beckoning me like a duvet on a cold night.  I decided to keep my eyes on the unicorn to see the progress I was making, to try and re-focus, but that didn’t seem to help - it just made me more tired and made my eyelids go heavy and they started to close briefly and against my will every ten seconds or so as I tried to play on but my fingers and hands were getting heavier too and then my arms as all the factors mounted up against me - the lullaby and the crackle and the pendulum and the embracing heat and the flute’s tune by then just in my head because the flute hit the floor first.  My head can’t have been far behind.

It was a peaceful night’s sleep in the main - I’m sure there was a dream of me and the unicorn sitting in the positions we had that night, but without a fire and in the daytime.  And we were talking.  Though, if there was a dream, I’ve never been able to grasp the contents of what was said.

I woke with a start, hearing what sounded like hooves (or coconuts…) banging together, by the cold ash of the fire.  It was the middle of Sunday afternoon - I had slept right through.  The unicorn was nowhere to be seen so I sleepily made it back to the van to drive home in time for the evening, missing out almost entirely on my marathon of weeknight TV.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (17) Breaking Back In

Following my disastrous attempt at discovery, I forgot those events completely and eased myself back in with a variation/near repetition of a method I had tried before and seen a be-zillion times on screen: the box and the stick.

I dragged a large box missing its bottom (or top or side, I suppose, depending on how you look at it), some parcel string, a sturdy plank and some delicious, delicious oats to the clearing and set it all up in the obvious way, complete with a sprinkled trail of the oats to lead the unicorn under the box where a pile of her favourite treat would greet her. 

I sat back to wait, string in hand, waiting less nervously than I ever had in the past.  There was almost an air of devil may care about it.  Deep down the lust was still there, otherwise I might have been at home, but there were various coats painted over the top that took away a lot of the desperation. 

Mostly this was the feeling that I couldn’t win, of course, but this new attitude felt like there was more to it than that.  Like I felt this was the way it should be.  The idea still doesn’t make total sense to me, even now, and at that time I knew it was just a front.

She appeared in the middle of the afternoon just before the sun began to dip for its descent to beyond the horizon.  It wasn't long before her nose was leading her mouth (and attached body) along the trail of oats and in barely thirty seconds I had her trapped right in the centre of the clearing!

Eagerly I stepped forward with the sixth side of my cuboid jail and knelt down in the grass to slide it under the box, slowly and carefully, so as not to cause injury to my prey.  Nervously, I moved the piece of wood but it met no resistance, and neither did I hear any feet shift onto the new surface.

I stood and put my eye and then my ear to one of the air holes.  I heard no breathing and could see no unicorn shaped shadows within.  I hammered the top with my fist in anger (nothing) before gently tipping the box on its side, again feeling no resistance, and finally slid the removable side out of its runners to confirm what I already knew.

Or thought I knew.  I had to throw myself aside as the unicorn bolted out of the box, neighing triumphantly as she ran for the trees.

250 Words: One of my favourite things

They say simple things please simple minds and, well, this is a pretty simple thing.

Certainly a small and inconsequential thing.

But one that can bring pleasure on a daily basis: and at work too, invading the daily
grind delightfully.

As with most excitement at work this revolves around tea.

Whittards, I think it is, advise putting the milk into your cup before the tea because
the two will mix (or maybe it’s “fuse”) more easily in this order. (This can be seen
quite easily with the naked eye, actually).

However that way round misses out on a little bit of fun because, with a steady hand
and a little milk, beautiful clouds can be made.

If you get it right the milk will disappear without trace before reappearing as a
writhing mass of milky storm that rises and falls as it spreads out and consumes the
previously dark liquid.

An unsteady hand and a lot of milk still gives a nice effect but is clearly one gone
wrong: an almost complete whitewash sitting under a thin layer of black tea.

The best effect I’ve seen, though, was with a wide rimmed teacup in Birmingham.
I poured the milk into the centre of the cup and saw it return in several equally
spaced ‘jets’ around the edge like a fountain working in reverse (and encased within
another liquid).

Whatever the result, I always feel it a shame to dip in a teaspoon and bring these
little miracles to an end.

Myths of our Solar System (21): Poseidon outdone

Poseidon was pleased with himself and his effort. He felt his entry in the competition (the
prize of which was to the Patron God of the City) was a bit of a corker. All he had had to
do was produce something more useful than his rival.

The day of the contest was a hot one and, up on the Acropolis, Poseidon became inspired.
He looked down at his feet, seeing dry dust and rock, then he looked out to sea, his
domain, that these people transported their wares on for sale and got food from: but could
not drink.

The idea pleased Poseidon, he would complete the circle of gifts from him. With that he
struck the rock with his trident and from it sprung a stream of clear, pure water that would
forever provide for the people of the city founded by Erichthonius. They would be able to
drink this and use it for agriculture.

Poseidon, however, had got himself caught up on an idea that proved too simple. As the
God of the Deep Blue Sea, with water running through his veins, this was easy to do. He
had not looked between the Acropolis and the sea to see what the people had and had
not.

They had sunk wells, they had drinking water and water for irrigation. And true, they had
food from the sea. But so do all cities by the sea. And fish, though they can be salted
and sold abroad, are bulky and cannot easily be transported and sold in particularly great
numbers. Poseidon had not recognised the need for a new crop.

Athena had. And from the earth she made grow the city’s first olive tree- and the people
saw a fruit they could eat and transport in great quantities around the world as food or as
oil. Not to mention the exclusivity of this plant. Everyone would have to come to them and
only them for it.

And so Poseidon was outdone and it was Athena who gave her name to that City of
Greece.

Myths of our Solar System (20): Neptune, first protector of humans at sea

In the First World Neptune had been a servant; and one of the ones who would later
became known and remembered to this day. He had been a water carrier, one of the boys
who collected and distributed water from the great wells in the lowest level of the tower, far
below the great fields and the Tree of Life.

Not long before the end of the First World, Neptune had become the water carrier to
Mother and Moon’s chambers. It was Neptune’s job to ensure they always had cool water
to drink and hot water for washing.

In doing so the young man caught the eye of Sedna, one of the daughters of the great
leaders, and she his- something that did not escape the notice of Mother. Not that a
romance could have blossomed in the First World, of course. For various reasons, not
least of which was The Great Change that was about to occur.

Neptune found himself in the bowels by one of the great wells when the First World began
to break-up. The shock of the first earthquake flung him head first into it and was followed
by a great chunk of ceiling, under which he sunk quickly toward the centre of the earth.

As the world above began to shift and change, so did Neptune. The young man was
prodded and poked by the rocks about him, their sharp fingers scratching into his neck-
and just in the nick of time- before he drowned Neptune had received a means of
breathing underwater.

They then continued to alter the boy, skin was removed from Neptune’s back and used to
form webs between his fingers and a special film formed over his eyes and within his nose.
Then Neptune’s fingernails grew rapidly and Neptune was pushed against the wall and his
toes were fused together and then his feet were flattened and stretched to form flippers-
then, finally, his ankles were set as if he were forever on tip toe and his heels shaved off,
completing the job.

Once this was done Neptune stopped sinking and began to rise a little. Then suddenly
he shot up and up and up until he, all the other water carriers who had gone through the
same process as he, and all the water in all the wells shot out of the ground, through the
empty space where the First World had been.

Then over the plains of rock they flew until they all landed in the sea, dazed and
bewildered. Here Neptune was, at first, very confused by all he had been through. But
the young man was a survivor and he quickly learned to swim, finding his new feet very
useful indeed. Soon Neptune and the others were hungry and he led them in catching
fish, finding he now had much faster reflexes than before and that his longer fingernails
were very handy for grabbing the little blighters.

Through this quick recovery and leadership, Neptune was able to further organise his
colleagues and so it was he who became the first King of the Sea Imps.

250 Words: Thompson's last space walk

The spacewalk had gone well. All repairs had been successful, everything was fully
operational again and the Heimdall’s crew were relaxing in the lounge. Jonsson
seemed happy enough to ignore the anomaly of the outside damage. He was pretty
blasé about most things, though. And he hadn't been on the spacewalk.

Thompson, however, was unable to shake the idea of sabotage; ridiculous as it
seemed so far from anyone. The damage to the craft did not seem like that made
by space debris, of which there was plenty in the quadrant and was the usual reason
for spacewalks. Certainly it was no malfunction… someone had gouged into the
side of the ship and ripped parts out. And he couldn't ignore the feeling that he had
not been alone in the airlock.

These fears he voiced to Jonsson who pushed them aside. Ridiculed them in fact.

“It's just us out here, you know that. And we'll be out of here in a week," he’d said.

"Yeah, it's just cabin fever."

"Precisely."

Although Thompson had managed to put Jonsson’s mind at ease it was hard to
ignore what he felt. Not quite everything was right. The fear in Jonsson's eyes
quickly confirmed this. They were fixed to a point above and behind Thompson's
head, their pupils wide in confusion and disbelief. And in them Thompson saw the
faint reflection of something that made his eyes do the same. It was the last thing he
ever saw.

Six weeks later the war began.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (16) Tracking for Reconnaissance

Before the flirting I wanted to find out more, stay at peace, keep the ceasefire active for a bit while I found it in me to attack again.  My need to tame her was still as alive as ever but my confidence was shaken by those great worms.  So I took a day off work in the week to do some reconnaissance - to try and discover something about this unicorn to help with said proceedings.  Was she part of a herd, for instance?  where did she live, exactly?  and how old was she?  was she still a foal or was she fully grown?

I left my van with a rucksack containing my lunch, some maps, biscuits and flasks of tea and coffee, and headed for the clearing first.  Here I breaked for a spot of morning coffee - washing down some tasty biscuits, shortbread I believe they were.  Then I went in the direction the unicorn normally left in and started looking for signs of her.  I hoped that she might have bumped into some trees and/or left hairs in bushes after the ordeal with the quagmire… though she had left in quite a calm manner so I knew it might be in vain.  Quickly, however, I started to find these signs - first on the trunk of a tree then in some thistles - she must have got clear of me and started to run home.  She must have left restrained and dignified, not calm from shock.  Excited, perhaps for the wrong reasons, I kept on.

On past the holly, the ivy on the willow by the stream, across whose rocks I slipped and stumbled toward the oaks, up a hill of bracken toward the forest of tall trees I didn't recognise but seemed familiar where I stopped for lunch: a scotch egg, turkey sandwiches, smokey bacon crisps, fruit cake and a hazelnut yoghurt washed down with the first half of my flask of tea.  I would remember this so well because, for a while, I thought it would be the last meal I ever ate. 

After lunch I continued onward through the woods and until afternoon tea it went much as the morning had.  Clues of hair and hoof prints by rocks, on tree trunks, in bushes and so on appeared to me and onward I trudged.  On and on I walked, happy I was getting somewhere, that eventually I would see the unicorn herself.

And then, while drinking tea and eating chocolate digestives, I realised I had eaten lunch in the same spot.  Five minutes later I went by a disturbingly familiar oak.  And then I found my own tracks on a path through some undergrowth that I had made earlier in the day.  I was going in fucking CIRCLES.  Bugger.  Well, it was just one circle at that point but I was starting to panic and half an hour later I was back on bracken hill for the frigging fourth time, shortly before slipping on the same damn stream rocks for the third time, this time losing my balance and the maps I'd forgotten I even had.  Standing up red-faced and soaked to the bone, I realised I was really in the shit now, starting to picture myself half-friezing, half-starving to death or stumbling into the web of a giant spider.  And, worse still, it was beginning it was to get dark.  And I had no dinner, no way to get dry and no night provisions.  I began to scramble madly about hoping to find some shelter, forgetting about the unicorn entirely and starting to get paranoid over every sound that came rattling through the trees.  Naturally they were the same sounds I'd been hearing all day and in the clearing for months but they sounded pretty bloody fearsome by then, believe me.  Like lions and tigers and stuff.  So it was some relief when I found a cave.  Inside I went, curled up and waited for morning, too dejected and gloomy to do anything sensible.  Content instead to shiver and bemoan my fate.

It was two hours before I noticed the unicorn hair glittering at my foot, beside me and all round me.  Two hours of jittering fear, uncontrollable shuddering and flinching at every sound, every branch movement, every change in the moonlight.  The hair relaxed me instantly and I soon found the mossy bed to fall asleep on.

Damn pity I didn't have enough sense or wits about me to check further back in the cave because I woke up in the back of my van, naked and wrapped in straw, my clothes drying out beside me.

I guessed it was time to get back to the games in our little amphitheatre, that was where my bread would be won, after all, and forgot the whole episode for quite a long time.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (15) All Apologies

The next Monday night I woke with a start, realising what I had done.  To the unicorn and the clearing.  No matter how much I wanted to capture and tame this creature, putting her life in danger was unforgivable.  I had discovered her weakness and found I was just as scared of it as she was.  And the damage I had done to a place of such astonishing beauty was as big a crime.  I remembered how I had felt when first I entered the clearing.  Somehow that hope had been destroyed and I was left with festering gloom.

I slept no more that night and called in sick the next morning, spending an hour or two in a Garden Centre, picking up grass and flower seeds and bulbs and plants hoping the quagmire had dried up sufficiently for me to work.

It was a tense, nervous drive out that day.  Fraught with guilt, I felt physically sick, slowing down several times just in case I threw up.  Once at the edge of the forest, in my usual parking spot, I loaded up my big cart with my morning's purchases before dragging it slowly to the clearing.  As I got close, I slowed down, not wanting to see the wreckage I had created.

On entrance, though, I was pleased and astounded to find it was all as I had first found it - long grass and dandelions and daisies and buttercups and butterflies.  Relieved and pleased, I lay in the grass at he centre of this miracle, cart at my side, letting the night catch up with me and fell into a blissful and relaxing sleep. 

I was woken some hours later by a wet sensation on my face.  I opened my sleepy eyes to find the unicorn licking my face awake in delight, clearly excited about something.  I nudged her head away with my hand and sat up, still a little delirious.  She stood staring at me for a second before nudging my cart a little and smiling, I think, and finally turning to trot away. 

Forgiven, I felt better but not complete.  At least I knew normal service could resume. 

However, until I met the elves, it was just cartoonish fun.  Knowing, or believing, I could not win, I simply went to the forest and tried different ideas because I enjoyed it and needed something to do.  And it was the same for her, I guess; she enjoyed playing me for a fool, foxing me and what have you, and she needed something to do too.  So, in short, we became friends who flirt a lot.

250 Words: Horny fucker

The snake writhes ceaselessly in the pants, the juice stirs and whips it to action,
aided and abetted by the man's eyes, and sometimes nose. So many sights make
his groin restless, not least his memory (which the horny fucker is always ready to
hump; and is already doing so in his head). Bare arms and legs, beautiful eyes or
hair, cleavage. All triggers to set him flowing.

The mucky mind stays active at all times: whether in frozen foods or the street, on
the bus or train, or, oh lord, the beach in summer. Every woman passed is a woman
to kiss, caress, seduce and enter, leaving her changed. The horny twat likes to think
his eagerness is all that matters.

On the scene standing against the wall, a bottle in hand to help later hold back the
flow and a roving eye lining them up in the order in which to take a crack at taking
them home. A method honed to precision with words, smiles and even moves on
the dancefloor where he shakes his ass like its the key, moves his hands in when
invited, only letting them wander once invited; a brain keen enough to hold back until
the eventual ruck.

And home to do the bad thing or to masturbate furiously, the ladies of that night
either racing through his mind in various positions and states of undress or doing so
under or on top of him. The snake satiated for one more day.