warning: some stories may contain disturbing scenes

love conquers all

   How do I describe the events concerning my friend, David. How do we rationalise such things; how do we grasp for under­standing? We are told, from birth, that some things are impossible. Yet at the same time we have phrases such as 'faith can move mountains', or 'love conquers all.' But can it conquer so absolutely?
   David had been in love with Rebecca from the moment they met. Two beautiful people thrown together by a chance encounter; or was it fate? But which ever it was, love was immediate, and still had room to blossom.
   David and I met often before he met Rebecca - for a drink, for a game of football in the local team. For any reason - we had been friends from school. But my importance soon declined, as it will when one's life partner arrives on the scene.
   I never begrudged his separation from me for an instant. How could I when I saw how happy he was - how happy they both were.
   Marriage, inevitably, followed, but not children. They never even bothered trying to discover who was incapable of having children. 'It isn't important,' he told me one night when we DID go out for a drink. 'It will only lead to blame; and we can do without that.'
   Yet I'd never known a couple so capable of handling such blame. But maybe children had never been quite that important. They were happy - totally happy - with their own company.  In fact, in the five years that David knew Rebecca I never saw either of them without a smile, without a knowing that they were one for ever and all time. Until that car came along and left Rebecca dead in the road.
   Life is a balance and a bitch. For whatever emotion you feel, the same intensity can come to the opposite when that sick cosmic joker plays his games. And David's love was mighty. So it was inevitable that his grief would be total.
   He tried so hard to remain strong through the funeral. But it was impossible for one who had experienced so much love. He collapsed, wracked with grief, comatose with the knowledge that Rebecca was gone from him forever.
   'Not forever,' he said, talking afterwards through the tears. 'I will see her again.'
   Over the following weeks I was deeply worried about David. I could not coax him out for a drink, could not make him talk again - to explain what he meant. Over those weeks I saw his grief turn to a kind of determination, and eventually it was he who came to me.
   'Come with me,' he said. 'I'm going to talk to Rebecca.'
   I seriously doubted his sanity as we got into his car and drove off. But eventually I realised what he meant - and wished he hadn't taken me there.
   We all have an image in our mind of the Spiritualist medium as some crank in flowing robes and a mania in her eyes. So when we were introduced to a well dressed, well mannered, and seemingly sane man in his thirties, I was surprised.
   Together we went into his room, and following a preliminary chat in which I was sure David let slip enough hints to furnish the medium with the required information, he attempted contact.
   'She was taken from you suddenly, wasn't she David?'
   He answered in the affirmative, and the medium went on: 'You were both very much in love, and Rebecca misses you. But she has a message for you, David. You mustn't grieve for her too long. She wouldn't want that. She says you must try to get back to life. You mustn't forget her, but look for her in others. Look for her, David, and you may find what you had with her again.'
   Later, I had to admit the medium was a clever soul. I don't think a psychiatrist could have eased his mind better. We went for a drink afterwards and I could see him visibly cheer up, as if he really believed Rebecca had told him this. But what goes on in the grieving mind is different to other minds. They cling to the spurious, find hope in that which others couldn't even dream.
   He carried out her wishes with a renewed energy.
   'I've signed on with a dating agency,' he told me a week later as he came for a drink. 'I haven't been out dating for so long. Do you think I'll be alright?'
   'Of course you will, David,’ I said, 'enjoy yourself.'
   Of course, he didn't.
   'She was nothing like Rebecca.'
   I nearly choked on my drink. 'I don't think you've got the idea quite right here, David,' I said.
   'Oh, I have. Believe me, I have.'
   Over the following month he went out with maybe half a dozen girls, none of them fitting the bill. But then we went out one night and I realised another change.
   'She was so like Rebecca,' he said, 'I'm going to see her again.'
   'But it isn't Rebecca, David. It's someone else.'
   His eyes glazed over then, as if he had cut out this knowledge from consciousness.
   A week later, I met his new girl. And sure enough she was nothing like Rebecca. Yet, when I saw her again a couple of weeks later, she was subtly different, both in looks and mannerisms. And she was different in the way Rebecca had been.
   'I'm so happy with my Rebecca,' David said a few weeks after that.
   'But David, it isn't Rebecca.’
   'She does everything just as I like it, and we're almost together again …’
   I wasn't exactly sure what David was playing at, but I suddenly felt his new girlfriend could be in danger. And it was my duty to warn her, despite my friendship with David. Hence, that night I secretly went to his house, crept up the garden and looked in the window, checking that his new girlfriend was there.
   She was, so I waited for her to leave, tackle her outside and warn her.
   Sure enough, the time came for her to go and I saw her put on her coat and open the door to walk outside. Ready to speak to her, I moved forward, but …
    ... she never appeared.
   I stood, dumbfounded. I had seen her walk to the door and open it. But then it was as if she vanished. I began to wonder then if it was really me who was mad.
   I spied on David from then on. I tried to find out who this new girlfriend was. But I drew a blank. It then occurred to me that she only seemed to exist when she was with David. I once saw her in the hall, just arrived, and go to David. But I had not seen her arrive at the house. She just materialized from nowhere. And then there was the transition in her. Bit by bit she WAS turning into Rebecca, as if she were a thought slowly taking shape in David's mind and externalising in the real world when he was around.
   That, or some form of ghost or spirit.
   Which, I will never know. But one or the other she certainly was. For within another week there was no doubt that the vision that materialised in David's living room was Rebecca. She was Rebecca in every way. In every mannerism, in every physical attribute. And I couldn't get it out of my mind that this night there was to be an ending to the affair.
   And how right it turned out to be.
 
   It was a fire that burned in her eyes as her metamorphosis was complete - a fire that began with a passion as they kissed, and turned almost demonic as her manner changed, as her hands came from his back and placed themselves around his throat, as they squeezed and David's life seemed to leave him. Yet as he fell to the floor, dead, I couldn't help but notice a smile was still on his face.
    I broke into the house, then, not believing what I had just seen. But sure enough, his body was laid, still, on the floor.
   Rebecca - or whatever it was - stood waiting in the corner, and as she waited, I saw David's spirit body separate from his shell. Slowly he walked - floated - across the room to her embrace. And together they smiled; and before my eyes, they disappeared as one, forever.
 
© Anthony North, June 2003
 
 

www dot saucer

 

   There were many reasons why he was called Puck. The obvious reason was his small, thin stature, over-large eyes and strangely pointed ears. If anyone could be a descendant of fairies - perhaps even a changeling in modern clothes - then it was Puck. This, and the fact that at school he was always called 'a little ****' Well, we can work out for ourselves that it rhymes.

   Puck had three loves in his life. One - arguably the lesser - was his girlfriend Cheri. Another was his love of computers. Indeed, Puck was a nerd of unusual ability, who could easily be contacted on his website, www.*uck. And the third, in keeping with his name, was his love of the woods which spread out, up country, from the bottom of his garden. And it was on the day of the story that he was wandering through the woods when a blinding light led to the appearance of what can only be described as a flying sauce, crashed and stuck in the ground.

   Obviously being a genius in cyberspace, initiative rarely infiltrated into the real world. Hence, Puck looked at his new find with amazement, not really knowing what to do. Hence, he sat down, cross-legged, in front of his find and stared.

   Cheri, on the other hand, was made of more sensible stuff.

   She had just finished work for lunch. Walking down the street of the small town, she was feeling rather frustrated. As much as she loved Puck, she couldn't get over the boredom of his constant hours on the computer. It wasn't that he wasn't kind. He was. It wasn't that, when his attention was on her, he was not attentive. He was. But the relationship lacked that all important excitement a full blooded woman required. That, and the fact that when they made love, she had to reach down so far that her neck ached.

   Cheri was contemplating her future with Puck when she saw him excitedly running down the street.

   'Come on,' he said, out of breath as he reached her. 'I've got something to show you.'                              

   This was different. He appeared animated. He appeared exciting. And a natural boost of adrenalin seemed to affect her, too.

   'So what do you think of it?' asked Puck as they stood in front of the flying saucer.

   Cheri had to admit it was interesting. 'How did it get here?' she asked.

   'There was flash, then a bang, and here it was,' replied Puck, before beginning a closer inspection of the shell of the saucer.

   'What are you trying to do?' said Cheri, momentarily.

    Puck's face beamed. 'Why, get in, of course.'

   And so it was that, ten minutes later, Puck had found a door and he and Cheri sat in the tiny cockpit of the tiny flying saucer that was obviously made for a pilot even smaller than him.

   Cheri's neck did, of course, ache more than usual. 'It's so cramped,' she said. To which Puck placed his arm around her neck and kissed her lovingly.

   To Cheri, this was a whole new experience. The find had obviously excited him more than she could have dreamed. But her obvious hopes were shattered when Puck found, on the console, what could be nothing other than a computer. Puck's fingers stiffened, his eyes gleamed, and within seconds he was tapping away.

   Offering a sigh, Cheri looked around her - realised another door existed leading to another cabin. Looking once at Puck and then at the door, she sighed again and went to open it, offering a scream as a small blubbery, grey, bug-eyed alien fell through into the cabin, obviously bloodied and dead.

   The scream terminated Puck's interest in the terminal and he looked round. Seeing the dead alien beside him, he stared for many seconds. Then, suddenly, he burst into tears.

 

   Cheri found the tears most disconcerting. 'What's the matter?' she asked.

   Through streaming tears, Puck said: ‘I’m not sure. I just feel ... I just feel so in tune with it. It's as if a part of me has died.'

   Silence followed this declaration. Puck raced back to the computer and began tapping away again. Not wanting to be too close to the dead alien, Cheri moved round to the other side of the cabin and sat down as comfortably as she could.

   Eventually, Puck stopped his tapping, sat back and said: 'This is fantastic.'

   'What is?' said Cheri.

   'It seems,' said Puck, 'that I'm the alien's great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather.'

   Half an hour later, thoughts whirred through Cheri's head, unable to believe what she had just heard. 'So let me get this right,' she said, after Puck had offered a complete explanation. 'The alien and the flying saucer are from the future.'

   'Yes. '

   'He is, infact, an archaeologist, come back in time, to trace the roots of his civilisation.'

   ‘Yes.’       

   'He obviously lost control and crashed.'

   'Yes. '

   'But he is, essentially, human. And the evolution of man took a turn when computer wizards like you thrived better than the normal human being.'

   A look of pride issued from Puck's animated face. With a declaration of destiny, he announced: 'I, it seems, am the future. '

 

   The sun was setting as they exited the flying saucer and sat in the wood, close by. Cheri was happy to be out of the craft. Rubbing her neck, she said:'So what do we do now?'

   Puck thought a moment and said: 'I'm not sure. But one thing I do know is no one must find the saucer.'

   'Why's that,' said Cheri.

   'Because of the time-line.'

   There he goes with his big concepts, thought Cheri. But she said: 'What do you mean?'

   'It's quite simple,' said Puck. 'The slightest change to what happens now could drastically affect the future and change it.'

   'So you mean, knowing that this is what we are to become could mean that we don't?'

   ‘Exactly.’ Then another thought struck him. 'Infact,' he said, 'it's not inconceivable that it was the archaeologist coming back that began the change in the first place.'

   'Meaning what?'

   'Meaning that my finding of the flying saucer gave me the ideas and intelligence to create the evolutionary change in the first place.'

   Cheri looked agog. 'You mean you would be the actual father of the future?'

   'Yes,' said Puck. 'Which would obviously make you the mother. '

   Cheri had often thought about children. What would they be like? Would they be tall and handsome? Would they be successful in life? But suddenly, she thought of a strange future for man, with mental ability rising above physical ability - as Puck put it - enlarging the brain and shrinking the body. And this was most definitely not the kind of children she had in mind.

   Indeed, maybe it was for such selfish reasons that she picked up the branch and bludgeoned Puck to death. But perhaps we would like to believe it was more about a love of humanity in general. But regardless which motive we choose, as Puck breathed his last breath, a flying saucer disappeared in front of her eyes

 

(c) Anthony North, December 2005

 

 

 

 

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