Red Alert!

Jean sat in her stalled car. Nothing seemed to help. The car just wouldn’t start. It was 7pm and most people were probably still at home or had already reached their destination.

The road home had a particularly bad stretch which was normally quiet even when the rest of the city was in traffic jam status.

She dropped her head onto her steering wheel while she berated herself for being so careless.

Mike was always telling her to a) Be aware of your surroundings and b) Make sure that there are no emergency lights on her dashboard.

Now she was really aware of the vulnerability of her situation but how could she have known that that weird red light was a red alert that something was seriously wrong. She had decided that Mike would know what to do when she got home. But now…?

Her cell phone was in the boot but she could normally uses her car’s Bluetooth to make calls but now there was nothing – her car was not co-operating. It was dead and even when she turned the ignition key there was still nothing. She hoped her hazards would work.

If she decided to make a call, she would have to get out the car, walk around to the back, open the boot, and dig around in her voluminous bag to find her phone.

She looked all around – all seemed safe. She tentatively opened her door and it banged into a man who had come out of nowhere.

Now she was scared and quickly closed her door and locked it.

The man was prancing about outside, dancing around her car muttering strange sounds. She saw that he was in full African regalia. Maybe he was a witch doctor but what did he want from her?

Suddenly he rapped on her window, indicating that she must try to start the car. The car obeyed and started. She looked around to thank the man but he had disappeared as quickly and silently as he had arrived.

She wasted no more time and allowed the car to limp back home.

When she related her experience, Mike laughed at her and said that the “medicine man” had done nothing. That was the way of modern cars. Give it a rest and it will limp back home. But Jean knew deep down that the “medicine man” had helped her.  

 

Becoming Me

The sun was glinting on the sea causing the water to give off an almost blinding glare. As my eyes grew accustomed to the glare, I cast my eyes around. The ship was fully booked but the deck that I had discovered was not used by many people – most used the “social deck”. The one that was at the top of the ship. The one that had the pool, deck chairs, and ready refreshments. I needed the solitude that my quiet deck gave me.

I stood by the railing, clutching the urn. The urn that contained the happiest moments of my life. The urn that contained the saddest moments as well as the angry moments.

As I looked at the urn a feeling of peace started to descend on me. Soon I would rid myself of all the unwanted emotions in my body. Soon I would be ready to start my life as a different person with a different name and an identity that I could live with. Sarah Brown would be gone. Jill Inverness would step off the boat in Italy, ready to start a new life.

I opened the urn.

It was filled with my thoughts, a few material possessions, and my writing.

I looked around to make sure that no one was around and scrabbled in my bag for the lighter that would obliterate my old life. I placed the urn on the deck and slowly lowered the lighter into the urn as I ignited it. It was fascinating to watch the flames eating up my old self.

When the flames had died and my old life was now ashes, I lifted the urn above the railings and emptied Sarah Brown into the ocean.

Piccadilly Circus

I have heard that if you stand in Piccadilly Circus for long enough you will meet someone you know. Well I sincerely hoped that I would see Bob as we had planned this meeting last year already. Yeah we had chatted in between times, reminding each other of this anticipated “date”.

Bob and I had met at school. He arrived as an exchange student in my gr 11 year. I was asked to show him the ropes. An English guy arriving complete with British accent had thrown all of us girls into a tizzy. Brenda lorded it over us as her family was Bob’s host family.

Bobs complexion, hair colour and accent reminded me of my major crush, Prince Harry. I silently drooled over the prospect of showing him around. We had a bit of a fling but he was more interested in sport and became quite a  favourite with the rugby guys.

Now I was meeting him again. As I stood nervously waiting I realised I really didn’t know much about him. Of course we had chatted about college etc. but never anything meaningful.

My world fell apart as I saw him walking up to me hand in hand with the most handsome guy I had ever seen.

© Vera Alexander

 

 

My Get A Grip Moment

 

I stood looking at my classroom in total horror. The kids had virtually exploded. The furniture had exploded. There was mess everywhere. Sandwiches mixed with books. Twinkies wrapped around pens and pencils. Paper! Paper was everywhere.

How did this happen? How did I lose such control? This was my second week of teaching and the kids were monsters. My dream job was quickly becoming a nightmare. The kids had escaped and were rampaging around the school disturbing all the other more disciplined classes.

I sat at my desk. Head in hands trying desperately to hold back the tears. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up. The headmistress stood there. I tried to get up but her gentle touch forced me back down onto the seat. I glanced at the door and saw my monsters calmly standing quietly outside. The head moved to the door and closed it. She pulled a chair up to the table.

“You really need to get a grip and teach the kids that you are the boss not them. I’ll help you today but you need to be firmer. You are not their friend. You are the one in charge.”

She went to the door and held it open until the last quiet, responsive kid had entered.

“Stand next to your desks. Look around you. Are you really that barbaric? You will stay in every afternoon this week under my supervision and you will clean every classroom and corridor on this floor. Windows, lights, everything.”

Horror appeared on all faces as the headmistresses words sunk in.

Taxing Time

 

Christmas is around the corner. This is the time of year when everyone takes a breather, even if for only a couple of days. Even those who are not Christians benefit from the pause at the end of the year.

I often wonder why the tax season coincides with this wind down as tax season winds me up.

I am an artist and financials scare me and send me scurrying away from the papers and paperwork.

Work also reaches a taxing time. Everyone wants their stuff finalised before the silly season.

So apart from the government taxing you, your feelings and emotions are taxed.

Where did the time go? Too much to do and this year you said you would be ready.

Christmas decorations have been up since October, reminding you that your feelings, your time and your wallet are all going through a taxing time.

© Vera Alexander

The Green Door

 

Joe was walking his dog down the streets of the village. Suddenly Buster started pulling him off the beaten track. Joe saw that there was a cluttered path leading off to the right. He battled through the bushes and undergrowth that were fighting to encroach on the path. Buster pulled him, walking faster than was comfortable for Joe.

Suddenly they reached a small clearing. A long, high wall extended into the scrub on either side of a green door. There was no house, no other signs of buildings apart from the high walls.

Buster pulled Joe to the door and sat outside, barking, looking at Joe, and then sitting with tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Joe extended his hand and grasped the doorknob. He was surprised that it turned, and with much creaking, the door opened a bit, enough to let Buster dart away from Joe as he ran, yelping in excitement through the gap, but Joe held on firmly.

Joe peered through the door. Brush, weeds, and shrubs prevented the door from opening fully. As Joe was trying to remove some of the obstacles, Buster took advantage of Joe’s lack of concentration and pulled away from Joe as he belted through the doorway, yelping in excitement.

Joe yelled “Buster! Come here!” but Buster ignored him.

Joe muttered “So naughty, so unlike him.” as he pushed his way through the debris at the door.

Joe looked up and was amazed at the secret garden in front of him. Buster was lapping water from the shore of a calm, blue lake. Dragonflies were darting over the surface of the lake, almost looking like fairies. Butterflies and bees fluttered from flower to flower. Birds twittered, undisturbed by the human and dog who had invaded their privacy. Joe gasped in wonderment. Whose garden was it? It had a solitary air about it, unkempt but yet beautiful. A sense of calmness surrounded Joe as Buster ran back to him and ploughed into his legs, sending Joe sprawling in the sea of flowers. Buster darted around him and on top of him.

Dog and master rolled around, Joe laughing and Buster’s eyes sparkling. Soon the game was over, and Joe lay on his back, absorbing the peace and tranquillity while Buster sprawled beside him in total contentment.

 

Windows of the Soul

I met Paul one steamy day. The heat haze was rising from the tar. My hair felt bedraggled around my shoulders as I entered the coolness of the coffee shop.

He kept me waiting. He had asked for this interview and had chosen the time and place so how dare he keep me waiting? A reporter does not have time to waste on stupidities. As I waited, I got angrier. The waiter came to my table and asked if all was well.

“Yes, thanks. I am waiting for someone, but I am just about to give up.”

A warm blast of air pelted my back as the door momentarily blasted open.

“Is that who you are waiting for?” he asked.

I turned around to look at the shabbily dressed man who stood hesitantly in the doorway.

“Maybe, I don’t know. He asked for an interview, and the paper sent me.”

The waiter walked over to the man and was soon escorting him to my table. My eyes took in the disdain of my fellow patrons.

As he slid into the seat, his eyes shifted nervously from side to side.

“Are you Paul?” I asked

He nodded as he whispered, “Did you come alone?”

“Yes,” I replied. “As instructed.”

“They are out to get me. I have to be careful.”

Oh boy! Another nutter.

“Who is out to get you?” I asked.

“The government.”

And just as I was about to pooh-pooh his idea I looked into his eyes which dragged me deep into his soul. I read fear, despair, and loneliness. If he was a nutter, he really bought into his fear.

“Would you like to explain?” I asked as gently as I could as I indicated to the waiter to bring two coffees.

“I’ve been on the run now for a week. I haven’t dared to go home. They know where I live. I feel smelly and dirty, and I could really do with a change of clothes.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that, but would you like to let me in on the secret?”

“I am Dr. Paul Fielden. I am a research scientist at the university. Part of my job is to search the internet for any scientific breakthroughs in the world. Somehow or other, I got into the dark web. I don’t know how and I doubt if I could do it again. As you know, our ruling party is extremely divided at the moment. I thought it was divided into two parts, the one who is making the rules and the other is fighting the rules.

“I was horrified to discover that there is a third breakthrough. This section hates what the other two divisions are doing, and they are formulating a plot to spew civil unrest into the mix. I know the date and time and where and how. I just couldn’t stop myself reading once I got in, although the horror of what they were planning made me fear for the lives of every South African – Black, White, Indian, and Coloured. No one is going to be safe. If you are not for them, they will come for you.”

He paused as the waiter brought our coffees.

“Can I have a glass of water, please?” he asked the waiter.

“You said you didn’t know how you picked up the site? Could one of our techs get in?”

He picked up his right hand, index finger raised as he brushed his hand back and forth in front of his mouth as his eyes darted to where our waiter was walking back with the glass of water.

“Thank you!” he said as he drowned the water in one massive gulp.

“Wow! You are thirsty,” I remarked.

“I have hardly had anything to eat or drink this past week. Fortunately, the homeless are very caring towards the newbies on the street. That is until they manage to get you hooked. Each newbie that gets hooked on Whoonga brings cash in hand (or whoonga) to the referrer.”

“Can I get you something to eat?”

“Something quick. I can’t afford to sit in one place too long. They are tracking me. I don’t know how but I know why.”

“Would a Chelsea bun do it?”

“Perfect big and filling with a bit of sweetness.”

I called the waiter and asked for two Chelsea buns.

“Do you want to carry on?” I asked gently as a warm blast found my back. The coffee shop door was opening again.

I watched in horror as his eyes opened wide with terror as two extremely smart men took the table near us.

“That’s them" he whispered.

“They won’t do anything in a crowded shop,” I whispered back. “Let me think.”

I was struck with a brilliant thought. My cop boyfriend could help. I texted him shielded by the tablecloth.

Hi sweetie. Big problem. Interviewing a genuine case of asylum. He is being threatened. Pick up my GPS and help please. 

“All sorted,” I whispered, then continued an imaginary conversation with him. “Have you seen Sarah lately?”

I can’t believe how quickly he picked up the conversation ball.

“No. I think she moved to Cape Town.”

“Lucky devil. I would love to relocate to the Cape. Can you believe I have never been there?”

“It is a beautiful part of the world. Dave followed her, but I think they broke up.”

Our Chelsea buns arrived, and Paul grabbed his hungrily. I didn’t eat mine as it was a spare for Paul to take with him.

Our conversation stopped as Paul gulped down the bun and his coffee. As he took the last bite, there was a rumpus outside, and the warmth flew in as two uniformed policemen entered and approached my table.

I winked at Paul as one of the men grabbed him and roughly pulled him to his feet.

“We have been looking for you, Stefan Visser. You are coming with us. Please don’t struggle.”

The second cop cable-tied Paul’s hands behind his back as they marched him out.”

I watched as Paul’s eyes relaxed and his soul whispered “Thank you for believing in me.”

© Vera Alexander