Month: September 2008 (Page 2 of 4)

Frank crouched on the top of the wall, bunched up against the cold, blowing warm air into his balled hands. It was two degrees below, and most people would have considered that sitting around in Washington Square Park was not a sensible choice to make. His reason for being there made sense to him, at least, but that is not saying a lot.

About another half an hour passed before they arrived. Enlow came first with his trolley, filled with loose leaves of notepaper, covered in his scrawlings. He nodded to Frank and took a seat at one of the concrete chess tables; he stared quietly at the board inlaid on the top. McCreedy arrived only a minute or so afterwards. He did not acknowledge Frank as he took his place opposite Enlow. A stark contrast to the shambling, stooped form of James Enlow, Charles McCreedy was tall, slim, well dressed and clean cut.

Frank stepped down from the wall and reached into his jacket, bringing out a small ebony box. He stepped up to the table, and began laying out chess pieces from the box.

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“Hello there Cliff, come in and close the door would you?”

There was a chill in the office, and I was not used to the deputy head asking me to close the door when he wasnted to talk to me. He motioned towards a chair and placed a coffee down on his desk in front of me.

“How have you been getting along, Cliff?”

This felt for all the world like a pre-amble, but I was in no mood to rock the boat; if he wanted to ease in then I as going to let him.

“Fine, thank you for asking. This is the good coffee, Harry, what’s going on?”

He sighed and his shoulders dropped. I could see in his eyes that he was not pleased to have to talk to me about whatever was coming; that he was annoyed to be put into this position, whatever it was, rather than directly with me.

“Cliff, there has been a complaint against you. Can I ask you a personal question?”

I nodded

“Cliff, do you take nude photographs in your spare time?”

“Yes Harry, why?”

“One of the parents has found out that you do and is planning to tell the local paper unless we fire you.”

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“Didn’t you ever play Billy Goats Gruff when you were a kid?”

The incredulity on Harry’s face would have made her feel even more ridiculous if she had not seen this level of excitable but inherently ironic disbelief from him before. He loved pretending to be amazed that she, having grown up in a completely different country and speaking a completely different language, did not have a common experience of childhood to him.

“Not once. Should I have?”

A large smile spread across his face;

“Oh yeah, you should have. You know looking across here at this beautiful old bridge, I’m thinking that we ought to play; right now, right here.”

With that he started to throw his leg over the wall. This was good, even spontaneous until she realised that she still did not have the slightest inkling what the game that he wanted to play was all about; any moment he was about to be over the wall.

She reached out and threw her arms around him, pulling him back and distracting him with a kiss

“Tell me how to play, and where are you going?”

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This Ficlet was inspired by the following image:

Photo by Wolfgang Staudt (on Flickr) you can see the photo’s page here.

Joel looked up from his seat and smiled to himself as he took in the scene of genteel carnage in front of him. All around the stage there were little clumps of champagne flutes and empty champagne bottles. Here and there ashtrays appeared, not overflowing, but clearly well used. Off towards the back of the stage a table was still silently offering finger sandwiches and crab puffs. It had been a fantastic closing party.

Eight months before he had invested some of his inheritance in Karl’s play. Nothing prepared him for the lessons he learned along the way about how little he actually knew about the theatre. Seeing a lot of plays and organising university productions of Oedipus Rex and Cabaret was not even close to experience it turned out.

Against all the odds it had worked. There had been a good deal of luck along the way. Discovering Lottie for the female lead, getting unusually good notices from the Times. Now he was a theatre producer. There was no doubt; his first London production had closed in profit.

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“Mr. President? We need you to make a decision sir. Sir?”

This was the first time that he had been put in this position. President for all of two and a half hours, the oath sworn in the Oval Office what seemed like mere moments after his friend, the former or indeed late President was pronounced dead. The Chief of Staff and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs were standing on either side of the CIA Director, the Resolute Desk between them and him.

He could hear the ticking of the clock that the Swiss Prime Minister had brought for Ted. The stewards had not yet cleared the Oval of Ted’s personal things. God; Rosemary would still be at the hospital, but his kids were up in the residence. He looked up. The three of them were still there.

“Jim… Is there any scope for a non-military response here? I don’t want it to seem that what happened to Ted led me to over-react.”

The Chief of Staff put a hand down on the desk.

“You need to do this, Mr. President.”

Mr. President, that just did not sound right; at least not this way.

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I forgot to do the Wednesday Poll – I offer this instead…

She smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair. The early morning sunlight was filtering through the blinds and across his face as he slept on, peaceful in a way that she had not seen for a long time.

All of the time that he was away she had worried that he was not sleeping. Many times before they had become a couple she heard him explain that he did not sleep well when he was left to sleep alone. She had wondered if other women hearing him explain this felt the way that she did, that it sounded awfully like he wanted a woman to be in his bed just so that he could get a good night’s sleep. Once she decided that she wanted to be that woman, and once she had become her, she came to realise that this impression was not quite correct. While it was true that he slept well with her in his bed, she was left with no doubt that it was actually her presence rather than a presence that was the key.

She traced a fingertip across his brow; she slept well with him too, but she particularly loved waking him with a kiss.

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Karsten turned off the wireless and turned to face the gathered throng. Normally there was at least some kind of wisecrack from someone if not a return to the back and forth of conversation when the evening news report was concluded. The children were quickly sent to bed; almost as soon as they had left the room the shouting began.

For a short while he allowed the frightened, angry adults to speak and shout over each other; then

“Friends! There are things we need to discuss, and this will be easier if we do not all speak at once.”

There was a gentle murmur of assent. Karsten felt the sense that they were relieved that he was taking the lead. He was not sure why they were looking to him.

“The rumours that we have been hearing are clearly true. I don’t mean to alarm any of you, but I think that it might be time for us all to consider leaving Germany. These latest laws make a reality of the sense we have all been worried about for a while. Malachi, do you still have a connection that we can use to get into America?

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This Ficlet was inspired by the front page of Wikipedia for the 15th of September 2008, in English. The Featured Article was about the passing of the Nuremburg Laws in pre World War II Germany, 1935; you can find out more here.

“I don’t think that you understand, James. I’m not saying that I’m not attracted to men anymore, I’m saying that I have discovered I am attracted to women, and I am being honest with you about the fact that I slept with one.”

James’ face fell even further, and he seemed to gasp for air as he tried to speak.

“You slept with someone else, Ken? I mean let’s put aside that it was a woman for a moment and deal with that. How could you cheat on me?”

Ken’s shoulders fell, as though he was relaxing having shed a heavy burden, and he slumped back into the armchair, his head in his hands. He could not look James in the eye.

“James, I… I did not feel as though I was cheating at the time, it felt as though with it being a woman I had an excuse, but I feel as though it was now. I feel guilty now, and you should know that it happened, but how could I cheat on you? I don’ t think that I ever could again, but that assumes that you can forgive me and that we stay together.”

James nodded;

“Let’s try. I still love you.”

“I love you.”

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The sound of the stream was soothing, almost hypnotic, as he lay awake in the room above the millrace. The moon was shining through the window; having wanted the moonlight he had not drawn the curtains. For years he had dreamt of this, to have a quiet secluded place, away from street lights and roads and signs of man, or modern man at least.

He had fallen in love with the house, a converted water mill, the moment he had stepped out of the car on that first visit to look at the property. There was something wonderful about having one’s own stream, and once he realised that it actually ran underneath the house he knew that he had to buy it.

Elsa would have loved it too, he reflected. She had loved the sound of running water. Suddenly he could imagine her there, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking into his eyes, naked in the moonlight. She had always loved the moonlight. Whenever the opportunity had arisen to moonbathe, as she called it, she had taken incredible delight in lying naked the shafts of moonbeams.

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