Half and Half

Carefully he placed the buttered bread on top of salted tomato slices and pressed down. With his sharp knife he cut the sandwich into a perfect half and then cling filmed the two halves separately. He put one half in the fridge 'for later', and put the other in the front half of his shoulder bag.

He half ran half walked to the bus stop and boarded his transport to the ground. He got off halfway there as he preferred to walk the last mile merging into the growing crowds.

The first half was exciting with his team playing well but when the whistle went for half time he got up from his seat and left the ground to avoid the crowd departing. Boarding a bus he rode halfway home before getting off.

On the spur of the moment he decided to stop at the Halfway Inn for a hot drink to warm himself. As he sat at the vacant table in the window he saw the waitress approaching with a mug and two jugs one steaming with hot liquid the other beaded with the chilled milk.

'How do you like your coffee?' she growled.

He turned to look at her before replying, 

'Black'.

Breaking with Tradition

The Veer family had a long record of failure, it was a family tree grown from feeble roots. They had had many opportunities for success but at the first hint of difficulty, the first signs of challenge they would give up and shrink away. Once things got hard they just gave up and generation after generation had done the same.

Standing in the church and seeing her new baby boy in the vicar's arms Catherine prayed that this child would different, this child would finally break the hereditary spinelesness. This child would succeed where all the others had just thrown in the towel.

She was woken from her thoughts by the sound of the vicar christening her offspring. She saw him drop the water on the baby's head and heard his voice baptising him with his new name - Percy Veer. Could this child be different?

What's in a Name?

Anna sat quietly considering how everything had changed. She nursed her gin and tonic as she remembered back to when she was the ‘it’ girl. When everyone was talking about her. Now, things had changed, now she was yesterday.

Suddenly there was a lot of noise at the other end of the club with people shouting out greetings. She had heard of the new girl, Welsh and Italian parents making her exotic. Everyone loved Di, their lives were better, clearer. What a welcome, what a reception.

Finally she was brought over to be introduced. Anna stood and tried to get the creases and lines out but it was no good. She heard the voice say, -  'Anna Logue, this is Di G’Ital'

Things would never be the same

A matter of life and death

Dear God, it was tougher than he had ever imagined. Young chickens flying at him from every direction with only one thought on their minds. He dropped down behind a tree stump panting and trying to figure out how he would make last few metres to safety.

He knew tactics were going to be useless. He was just going to have to run for it and just duck, dive and hope. He slowed his breathing, calmed himself then jumped up and just ran. 

The noise was deafening as the young birds flew at him. Jumping, crouching, running he made the fence and slammed the gate behind him. He sank to ground as the young chickens hit the wire mesh.

He'd done it. He'd read about it and seen those films where heroes somehow unbelievably escaped death but be had done it in real life. He had dodged the pullets.

The Groundbreakers

He sat, tense, as the very first to pilot this ‘airship’ as he and his brother had named it. With its strange wings and large propeller it was a cause of nervousness for those who had gathered to watch.

The press chatted mindlessly, worried that their cameras and flashflares might not capture this groundbreaking moment.

With his brother safely in the seat he walked the length of the grass runway and picked up the red flag at the very end preparing to give the signal. Breathing deeply he lifted and waved the flag about his head and heard his brother started the engine.

In the cockpit he stared at the simple controls and lifted the yellow flag to wave the he was about to set off. A quiet tension descended as the airship began to gather pace hurtling towards its first flight.

The brother’s eyes met at the moment they both realised that the great craft was not going to leave the ground. In one crashing moment both were killed in a scene that the cameramen failed to catch.

They were – the Wrong Brothers

The Party and New Glasses

She was smiling at him from her desk. Well at least he thought she was smiling, he hadn’t got quite used to his new glasses so some things were still a blur.

When he returned to his desk there was an envelope propped up on his keyboard. That was unusual enough but when he opened it and looked at the invitation he was amazed. In his life the only invitations he had received were to Birthday parties of class mates and these had dried up by secondary school. But here, here in his hands was an invitation and not just to any party but a party that was right up his street.

He memorised the time, date, location and other details and put it back into his pocket and sent an email of confirmation straight away. The woman at the other desk heard the tell tale noise and clicked on her mouse. She turned and smiled, well he assumed she smiled.

His ability to memorise things, facts, dates, information, had been obvious since early childhood. His passion for certain things could have been considered obsessive, well was by many people and his parents and grandparents.

But here, here was a party that played to his strengths and interests. He was sure he knew it all but he would spend the next two days before the party just re-reading his books.

On the bus over to the address that he had memorised, he ran facts through in his head. David Niven born 1910, Barry Nelson 1917, Roger Moore 1927, Sean Connery 1930, George Lazenby 1939, Timothy Dalton 1944, he had begun to lose interest around now but he could still remember Pierce Brosnan 1953 and Daniel Craig 1968.

From that it was easy, ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ was made in 1969 so George Lazenby would have been 30 when he made it. ‘For Your Eyes Only’ was made in 1981 so Roger Moore was 54.

He got off at the bus stop nearest to the house he was going to. He had all of the bus routes and timetables for the area in his head. Walking up the path he took the envelope from his pocket and looked at the writing on the outside. He was so glad he had decided to wear his old glasses tonight so everything was clearer.

He rang on the bell four times as was his way and, as he waited, slipped the card from the envelope to show who ever opened the door. He could hear a muffled shout and steps getting nearer.

The door was opened by someone wearing a rubber suit with buckles and belts and appeared to have a small tennis ball in his mouth.

He looked down at the invitation. With his old glasses it was clear. This wasn’t a Bond Age party.

A Story for Valentines Day

The door slid to and locked behind him. He stared at the wall in front of him and counted thirteen from the left and eight down. He didn’t need to count, his eye knew the position of his box from memory.

He took out a pair of cotton gloves from his pocket and stretched them onto his hands. Walking toward the table in the middle of the room he lifted a cotton hankie from his top pocket. He spread it on the shined wood table its surface aged and warmed with years of polish. In the middle of his freshly laid virgin white cloth a single key.

He picked it up carefully and smiled at its shining perfection. Taking a long single deep breath he moved forwards. Even before he got there he could see there was something wrong. Scratches around the keyhole. Scratches where there had been none. His eyes flicked at the boxes around his and quickly scanned the other walls. It was just his, just his that had been damaged.

He pushed the key into the lock with sound of pulsing blood in his ears. It wouldn’t turn. He took it out and put it in again, nothing. This time he counted carefully even though he knew he was not mistaken, thirteen from the left and eight down.

He turned quickly and looked up at one of the CCTV cameras monitoring the room. He gestured with his hands, the white gloves and anxious movements making him look like a manic tic-tac man.

Within moments the door slid open and two security men plus the duty manager entered. A few words spoken, profuse apologies, promises of an investigation and an angle grinder requested.

The sound of the disc cutting into the little door, metal on metal, rebounded around his ears, the sparks and smell demonic to eyes and nose.

With the door open the security man stepped away. The container was still in there, it didn’t look like it had been tampered with. He pulled at the little handle and it moved towards him. In his heightened state he couldn’t work out whether it felt different.

As he carried it towards the table the manager and guards withdrew echoing their earlier apologies and promises.

He waited until the red lights from the CCTV cameras had gone off and he knew he was truly alone. The box had not been tampered with, the keyhole unmarked. His little key turned and he lifted the lid and breathed a sigh of relief that seemed louder to him than the angle grinders efforts. It was there, it was there, IT WAS THERE

His heart. No one was going to get near that again

Or

His last Rolo

(alternate endings, depending on whether you want to think or smile this Valentines Day)