Slaves

'In war,' answered the weaver, 'the strong make slaves of the weak, and in peace the rich make slaves of the poor.

- Oscar Wilde's "The Young King"

The Otter Woman

I lay on my back in the water, floating serenely underneath the cotton wooled blue sky. On my stomach lay the remnants of a delicious fresh water crab I had had just crushed with a stone and eaten on the spot. I considered brushing it off but really couldn’t be bothered – the moment was too perfect.

A harsh cry broke the stillness, “Heeeeenry!!!”

It was her, the otter woman, the woman I’d left my faithful wife for, the one I’d eloped with, the one I’d married, and now the one I was enslaved to.

“Heeeeeenry, why the hell haven’t you taken out the garbage again??”




(Fictional Six Sentence)

Lola

This was the place: derelict building, at the end of the alley, last door on the left, the guy had said. Mind you, he had been very drunk and took two full unsteady minutes to examine the photo I showed him before answering, “That's Lola for sure, not that you'd recognise her; you her father or summat?” I nodded and gave him all my available cash before moving on; this was the end of my search, many months of wandering the streets at night, peddling the picture of my little girl, trying to avoid trouble. I pushed the door open and climbed the stairs, covering my mouth because of the putrid stench of urine-washed vomit, finally arriving at what was her room. I hesitated before pushing the door open, dreading what I might find. She lay there, my angel, pride of my heart, cold and immobile, gone.



(Fictional Six Sentence)

Worker's Tale

It came to pass long ago, when the earth was young and the internet a fishing term, that a baby boy was born to the farmer and his wife. The farmer was immensely pleased, as he had worked hard to build up his farm and needed a son to help him at his labours. The boy grew up quickly into a fine, handsome young lad of golden disposition, however it soon became apparent to the farmer and his wife that their son was bone idle. At first his mother attributed it to an artistic strain in their family, but since he did nothing but spend his days dreaming under the apple tree on the hill, they eventually realised that there would be no practical manifestation of his gift. Perhaps this is all a little unfair on the young lad, because whilst he had idle notions, he did sometimes show promise: like the time he thought to weave a 3ft daisy chain for his mother. He was however so immensely proud of this achievement that he kept the floral necklace for himself.

The years went by, and it was not long before his parents had passed away and the lad, now a young man, sat idly under the apple tree, contemplating what to do with his inheritance. The farm he had of course sold immediately as he knew not, and indeed cared not, what to do with it. The bag of gold sat heavily in his lap and he regretted having asked for quite so much.

An apple fell to the ground and rolled down the hill towards the road, and the young man in that instant decided to follow it and see the world that had not bothered him much before. He set off with a jaunty stride, gold in hand, dreams in his head, whistling a little tune his mother had taught him.

Not long after that, perhaps not even an hour, he began to feel hunger pangs and he wondered what he would do for food. It was quite a problem as he was in the middle of nowhere. In the distance however he spied a man sitting next to a cow, seemingly eating his lunch. He smiled, pleased with his good fortune, and ran towards the stranger. On arrival he greeted the man and asked if he could have some of his bread and cheese. The man looked at him with some surprise, no doubt wondering whether an exchange was to be offered, but since none was forthcoming and being a charitable fellow, he shared his lunch with the young man. They fell to talking, or at least the young man talked at length about himself, until he noticed that the cow was a milk cow.

“Sir, I don't suppose you would give me your cow, so I can have milk the rest of my days and need not go hungry?”
The man replied, “Son, I have just acquired this cow through a trade and am not inclined to give it away.” The young man looked so downcast that the man continued, “However I did exchange some magic beans for it, and if you hurry you might be able to catch up with the youngster I gave them to. Perhaps he would give you one or two.”

The young man cheered up immediately and was about to run off when he thought, "this bag of gold will slow me down, I shall give it to the man." So he did, and set off at pace. Nightfall fell, as it usually does, and he came to small cottage in which a cosy light shone. He knocked on the door and enquired if he might have lodgings for the night. The owner of the cottage, an elderly woman and her young lad were only too glad to have visitors, for it had not been a good day. Their only cow, Tulip, had been foolishly exchanged by her son that morning for a handful of supposedly magic beans. The young man made himself at home an regaled them during supper with dreamy tales. When they enquired as to his destination he said he was looking for some magic beans he had heard about.

“Magic beans?” cried the woman, “Not you too? How strange Fortune is. We have some beans lying outside our window which you may freely have, but I doubt they are magic. However it is late and I suggest we turn in and attend to this tomorrow." They bade each other good night and settled down to sleep, the young man sharing a bed with the woman's son.

Dawn broke, but instead of the radiant morning sunshine, a green hue shone through the cottage windows. At first the occupants thought that the world was about to end and fell to praying, but when nothing happened, decided to go outside instead and investigate. It will no doubt not come as a surprise to you that a gigantic bean stalk had grown overnight from the magic beans and extended many miles up into the sky.

“Let's climb it!” exclaimed the lad.
“No, it is not safe.” replied the mother.
The young man turned to her, “Do not fret, you have been so kind to me. I will hold it steady while he climbs.” The reality was that he had developed over the years a keen nose for strenuous activity and how to avoid it and this bean stalk had strenuosity written all over it!

The lad clambered quickly, watched anxiously by his mother, and soon disappeared from their sight. They stood a while, but since chores wait for no one, the mother soon went inside to attend to them. The young man settled down for a nap under the leafy shade of the bean stalk. He must have slept for a good few hours because when he awoke the sun was past noon. He wondered what had awoken him, but soon heard frantic rustling as the young lad climbed down with a hen under his arm.

“Quick, quick!” the young lad cried. “Fetch the axe.”
Fortunately his mother heard, because the idle young man knew not what fetch meant, and detecting the urgency in her son's voice ran out with the axe.
The boy reached the ground, gasping for breath. “Giant... hen... golden eggs... coming ... cut it down!”

Seeing that the young man was not hearing him, and indeed had wandered off into the orchard to look for apples, he grabbed the axe from his mother and began to frantically chop at the bast of the bean stalk. A giant roar from on high only served to increase his pace and soon the bean stalk gave a violent creak and tottered mightily. A second roar was heard, this time more like a screech, as the bean stalk began to tumble to the ground, casting its gigantic clamberer to the earth, to his death, into the apple orchard, where a young man of idle notions wondered when his fortune would hit him.

If you are a familiar reader of such fairy stories, you will no doubt be wondering what the moral is. Well fear not, here it is: "Don't you have anything better to do than read tales of idleness?"

Define Necessity

Spread the word!

You

It had been troubling me all day but I said nothing. Henry and I had been hiking in the Scottish Munroes for three days, camping overnight next to charming little brooks and living off frugal but delicious rations. We'd only been married just under a year and things had not been going very well, as often happens with newly weds I guess, so we decided to get away for a week and do what first brought us together: hiking. Henry had “rescued” me so to speak when I twisted my ankle during an organised hike by offering to carry my pack. We lagged behind the main group and got to talking, soon discovering much in common. We were married 4 months later.

There it was again, that nagging sense that we were not alone.

“Henry?” I called.
“What?”
“Stop a minute, please.”
He stopped. “You ok?”
“Yes, well, no, not really. Do you feel anything?”
Henry frowned. “No. Like what?”
“I don't think we're alone. It's like we're being watched.”
Henry smirked. “Out here? You're kidding, right?”
I must admit it felt irrational. It was late autumn and the hills were devoid of the usual tourist hikers. Even the bed and breakfast we stayed in on the night before we started was going to be closing within a few days.
“I suppose you are right, Hen. Just being silly, I guess. This place does give me the creeps a little.”
He smiled and resumed his walking ahead of me. The thing is, I just knew we were being watched. Don't ask me how. I just knew.

We camped that night at the foot of Schiehallion. It was our third night and we were half way. Henry went off to look for some wood while I started preparations for supper. We had reserved a bottle of red wine and some brie and crackers for that evening because it was our first anniversary. It was good to sit down after the long hike and I loved the heathery stillness of the glens. The gas stove hissed contentedly, gently warming a couple of cans of spaghetti and sausages. Not exactly haute cuisine but when you were hungry and cold then it was the perfect thing. The meal began to bubble and I was just beginning to wonder where Henry was when he returned, whistling to himself. He dropped an armful of tinder next to me, obviously pleased with his foraging efforts. “Its all dry too,” he said, “I found it in a cave, so we should have a decent fire tonight for a change.”

I smiled. A fire would be nice. I still hadn't shaken the creepy feeling I'd had all day and got goose bumps on my arms thinking about it.

We polished off the meal and then sat next to the fire with our cheese and wine.
“It's beautiful out here, isn't it” Henry mused.
“Yes.”
“You know I love you, don't you?”
I nodded.
“It's been a tough old year but I think we're through the worst of it.”
I reached over and took his hand.
“Definitely. I love you too.”
We kissed tenderly.

Suddenly I started. “What was that?”
“What?”
“A noise, like a cry.”
“I didn't hear anything.”

Henry was visibly annoyed. I think he was expecting to get laid. “What's up with you? You're jumpier than a jack in the box!”

I leaned forward and nestled into him. “Sorry. I just can't shake this feeling.”
He smiled and put his big arm around me.
“Don't worry. Even if there is someone or something out there, I will protect you.”
I punched him playfully. “Always my knight in shining white armour.”
“Ow!” he replied, “that hurt. I'm not wearing my armour at the moment!”
We sat huddled together until the day was well and truly gone and the star washed sky overhead shone black as velvet. It was very romantic and I felt my fears slowly dissipate as sleep approached.

I woke the next morning with a start. The sleeping bag next to me was empty.
“Henry!!” I called out, but there was no reply.
I thought perhaps he'd gone to the toilet, so got up and got breakfast ready. Half an hour passed and I began to worry.

Here's what I think about it all...