Fast Car

Bright lights blurred past the car speeding along the country road.  Bill Marshall had one arm wrapped around Lizzie's shoulders, the wind sprinting through his hair and he felt alive.  The moonlight guided them along the road, contrasting with the electric streetlights.  The roaring engine of his Lamborghini brought a comforting hum in the darkness, as it carried them through the night.  Bill had grown up in this area and knew where to avoid the police.  They wouldn't be spoiling his fun.
****
Bill woke up from the same dream that he had been having for the last ten years.  The last time he felt like he had belonged.  He turned on his side and watched Lizzie sleep, her golden hair slowly turning grey.  Bill had also lost most of his hair, except for a few tufts around his ears.  When did they both get so old? A beeping broke the darkness and Lizzie thumped the alarm clock silent.

"I guess you're working late today, as well?" Bill sighed out.

"You know I have to." Lizzie sat up and as Bill stared into her face, he could still see a spark in her electric blue eyes that had made so attractive all those years ago.

"You've been working late since we were twenty-five.  When are you going to take some time off?"

"When we can pay our rent without starving." Lizzie threw the duvet back and swung her legs over the side.

"Do you remember that night in the lambo? That was a great time."

"Yeah...yeah it was." Lizzie agreed, before standing up and walking to the shower.

"I dreamt about it last night.  I miss those times."

"Bill, I need the car for work today.  Make sure you leave enough time to get the bus for Jimmy's go-kart lessons.  It's his qualifying race for the club league today.  You can't be late for that." Lizzie looked briefly back at her husband, before closing the bathroom door.

****

Bill watched Jimmy zoom out ahead of him kicking up the smell of wet dust.  Bill struggled to keep up with his son who was tearing towards the bus stop.  He was a go-kart in himself.

"Keep up dad!" Jimmy called back.

Bill hobbled towards his son was running around the bus shelter, much to the amusement of the elderly woman and man in a suit who were also waiting for the bus.

"Is that your son?" The elderly woman asked.

"Yeah...that's him." Bill spluttered out.  A moist stain was growing on his back and under his arms; he regretted taking out his heavy raincoat.

"I wished I had as much energy as him when I was his age." The elderly woman laughed out.

"Don't we all?" Bill agreed, watching Jimmy drive around the bus-shelter, weaving in and out of the other commuters, stepping on the brakes, flooring the gas.  The bus pulled in just as Jimmy was gearing up for his final lap.  He sped onto the bus and ran back forth in the corridor.  Bill scanned his oyster card and sat down next to his son who was still running back and forth.

"Calm down, Jimmy.  We'll be there soon."

"But dad...I want to be there now."

Bill smiled in response and leaned his head against the window.  The remnants of the morning's rainshower trickled down the glass.  He felt the engine's vibrations grow, as the bus inched into the lunchtime traffic.  Bill sighed, as he saw all of the cars and vans caught up in the spider's web of the traffic.

"Dad, can't you make the bus go any faster?"

"I wish I could, son, but looks like we're stuck here for the moment."

Jimmy sighed and carried on twitching in his seat.  Bill turned his attention back to the window and stared out at the adjacent lane where cars were speeding past the traffic jam.
****
Bill and Jimmy rushed to the reception of the race track where Bill blamed the bus's slowness for their impunctuality. Said that his wife was using the car.  Bill wished Lizzie was here.  Not only was the go-karting club a chance for children to socialise, but also their parents.  Lizzie would anyway.  Bill never felt comfortable.  He just wanted the last minute checks to the karts to take place.  And then they were off.  Within seconds, the calm silence had been obliterated by the growls of engines, the spray of the surface water, the sizzling of rubber.  Images of bright lights and empty roads crept into Bill's vision.  He shook his head and the images were overpowered by the screams and cheers of the parents next to him.  Bill smiled at the intensity of this noise.  He chuckled at the ridiculousness of the parents taking the races so seriously, when they were just casual races designed to instil some friendly competition into children.  Bill shook his head and stood up and left.  He could fit in some driving before Jimmy's race was finished.
****
Bill caught the bus to the BMW showroom.  He stepped onto the polished marble floor and looked at the German manufactured cars showing off their shiny new coats.  In one corner lay a few toy cars and colouring pencils for bored children, whilst sitting behind desks were sales assistants pitching their latest deals and offers to interested customers.  Bill saw an ageing man with a receding hairline and friendly blue eyes and approached him.

"Ah, Mr. Marshall.  Will you be buying this week or just sampling?"

"Here we go again, Arthur.  Do you really have to call me that?"

"I'm just being professional.  You might be my brother-in-law, but I still have to address you formally."

"If you insist.  Well, like I tell you every week, Arthur, Lizzie wants me to make an informal decision.  She wants me to try as many cars as I can, before we decide."

"Does she want that or do you?"

"Arthur..."

"Mr Marshall, I could be serving customers that are looking to buy a car today."

"Well, if I could drive one that might help us make up our minds."

"You know I can't allow that."

"Let's see the cars anyway.  Who knows? Today might be your lucky day." Bill watched Arthur sigh and lead him into the showroom.  Bill knew that he would never turn away a customer.  Arthur stood next to a sleek, black BMW that dominates the room and saw low, but mighty.  Bill's focus accelerated past Arthur explaining the technical details and instead he started smelling petrol.  The engine's growls were filling his head.  The wind was sprinting through his hair, the quietness of the road enveloped him.  The streetlamps began to blur and Bill turned to the blonde sitting next to him.  With her arms raised high and ecstasy on her face.  The wind snatched away her laughter.

"Mr Marshall?"

Bill shook his head, as Arthur's voice overpowered the engine's roars.

"Yeah, sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked, whether you would you want to accompany me in the BMW? We'll go for a drive around the block."

Bill's eyes widened.  "I need to get Jimmy.  I completely forgot.  I need to go."

Arthur threw his hands into the air.  "You left your son at the races again? How long is this going to continue? I’m not covering for you again.

Bill turned back to his brother-in-law.  "I screwed up okay! Just cover for me one more time.   Please.  I need to get the bus."
****
Jimmy didn't say a single word on the bus ride home.  When Bill unlocked the door, he manouevered around Lizzie and motored up the stairs.
“Oh, hi Lizzie, what are you doing back so early?”
“I got one of the girls to cover the rest of my shift and I’ll do one of hers next week.  But, that’s not important, what's wrong with Jimmy?"
Bill shook his head.  "He won't talk to me."

Lizzie sighed.  "I'll go see what's wrong."

"I'll make lunch, although I'm not sure whether he'll be any more talkative with you." Bill pushed hot air out of his mouth and headed down into the kitchen, whilst his wife headed up to Jimmy's room.

Once there, he gripped onto a chair, as he fought to keep the tears at bay.  Sweat began to moistening his brow.
****
Each creak of the stairs made Bill's heart beat faster.  He slapped himself around the face and stood out of the chair.

"Come on, man.  Pull yourself together."

He got down on his hands and knees and opened a cupboard to take out some frying pans that were wedged together at the back.  He reached out and scrambled for the handle and pulled.  Bill bit his lip, as the frying pan didn't move.  He tugged again, but the pan refused to shift.  He grabbed the handle with his other hand and gave it a ferocious yank.  Bill fell onto his backside as the pan came free, along with countless other cooking utensils that skittered across the floor.

"You know, it'd've been much easier if you had taken everything out first and then gotten the frying pan?"

Bill sighed and stood up.  He put the pan on the cooker and turned towards Lizzie.  "Yeah that'd've made sense." He mumbled.

"Jimmy told me what happened.  Where were you?"

"I'm going to fry some eggs and bacon for lunch." Bill walked towards the fridge.

"Bill, where were you?"

"Actually, I should clean this mess up first." Bill dropped to his haunches and started picking up the cooking pots and baking trays.

"William, where were you?"

"You only call me William when you're angry."

"Angry? I'm furious.  Your son won his qualifier today, he's going to have his first league race next week, but he came home in tears.  Now tell me, where the hell were you?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders. "I...I just had some errands, some stuff to do."

"Stuff? What stuff is more important than your son?"

Bill watched his wife's eyes turn an icy blue, as they stood in silence.  Outside it had started raining again and a cold wind forced its way inside.

"William? Where did you go?"

"I messed up, okay.  When I sat down to watch the races, I realised that I didn't have my phone or wallet on me.  I figured they must have slipped out, whilst we were on the bus, so I went down to the station to see whether they'd been handed in."

"Jimmy said you haven't been there at least five other times.  Did your phone and wallet slip out of your pocket all those times too?"

"Lizzie, he's in a go-kart.  Do you know how fast they go? The audience are just a blur for him."

"So first you lie to me and then you say Jimmy was lying.  What the hell’s wrong with you?"

Bill scuttled back to the cupboard and replaced some of the cooking pots.

"William, were you at the BMW showroom?"

"We already have a car.  Why would we need another one?"

Lizzie shook her head and picked up a wooden spoon that was lying on the floor.  "You know what? Jimmy and I are going to go out for lunch.  We'll give you some time to get your facts straight.  Actually, why don't you take the car somewhere? Go meet up with Arthur and just go fishing or something for the weekend."
****
A line swung through the air and landed on the water leaving an orange float bobbing on top.  Small ripples spread across the surface of the water.  Bill set the rod down on a stand and flopped into his deck chair.  He watched as a swan slowed itself midflight in preparation for landing on the lake below.  Its wings beat back and forth, as it skipped across the water, before settling to a.  At the far side of the lake, browning trees shivered in the wind.  Bill took out a bottle of beer from the cooler and flicked it open.  He stretched out and stared at the lake.  He was looking forward to spending the weekend here.

"Think we'll catch much today?" He asked over his shoulder.

Arthur sighed and set his own rod in the stand.  "Bill.  Now that we're away from Lizzie and Jimmy and just by ourselves.  We need to talk."

"Okay."

"Well, for starters, what did you think would happen? Did you really think you would get away with it?"

Bill stood the bottle on the ground and turned to his friend.  "Do you know what Lizzie asked me? She asked me whether I had been at the BMW showroom.  Where would that idea even come from?"

"She asked me and I told her." Arthur turned away from Bill and started pacing around the campsite.

"I understand...you did what you thought was right.  I can't blame you for that." Bill knew this to be true.  There was no use getting angry over it.

"Lizzie told me she knew nothing about getting another car, so why were you there, Bill?"

Bill saw his float jerk and went to grab the fishing rod.

"Leave the rod and answer the question."

"But I'm going to lose it..."

"Let it go."

"But..."

"Now!"

Bill backed away from the vibrating rod and stared at the dying splashes and ripples.  "For Chrissakes Arthur, we came here to fish."

"No.  You came here to fish! I came here to get some answers for my sister.  Now, stop avoiding the issue!"

"Do you want to know why I did it? Why I continued doing it? I'm scared, Arthur.  I'm tired...I want to get out...I want to escape.  I want life like it was."

"Bill..."

"Arthur, I lost everything...the business, the car, our way of moving on and through.  I remember when Lizzie and I were first dating...all those long nights in the Lambo, I've never felt happier, more alive and now, everything's different.  Now...Lizzie's got her car and her job and I'm stuck taking the bus." Bill ripped a leaf of a tree and pulled it apart in his hands.

"Is this what this is about? You being a house-husband? You think my sister's emasculating you?"

"No! Of course not...it's just, just we had freedom and now, now we're stuck." Bill shook his head and walked towards the car park.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to clear my head.  I'll be back in a few hours."
****
Bill slammed the door and beat the driving wheel.  He exhaled, as he relaxed into the seat.  He wrenched the key in the ignition and yanked the car into gear.  Bill looked over his shoulder and reversed onto the road before slowly putting his foot down.
****
Bill had forgotten how much he loved driving.  Of course, Lizzie's Vauxhall Corsa was nothing like his old Lamborghini, but at least it was something.  At least he could feel the engine's strength, as it slowly climbed to its full capacity.  Granted, it wasn't a convertible, but at least there was a sunroof.  Bill looked at the wing-mirror and merged into the adjacent lane.  He glanced up at the sky and sighed at the overcast light.  It was such a contrast from the clear nights all those years ago.  Back when they had the roads all to themselves, where they weren't surrounded by flashes of red. Back when they could slice through the silent night and didn't have to hear angry honks and four-letter words.  Back when Lizzie was blonde and Bill still had all of his hair.  He sighed, as he approached a roundabout and eased on the brake.  He shifted the car down a gear and put on his right-turn signal.
****
"I didn't expect to see you back here."

"You were right.  I was just looking for a way out.  I was being a stupid kid.  I'm...I'm sorry."

Arthur smiled.  "I'm happy to hear you say that.  Lizzie will be happy."

"Do you think she's still mad at me?"

"Of course she is, don't you know my sister? but you can make it up to her.  Take Jimmy to his first round race on Friday and be there to see him win.  Bill, you will be there, won't you?"

"Wild Lamborghinis couldn't drag me away," the two men stood in silence, before Bill nodded towards the fishing rods, "they been biting?"

"They haven't stopped."

Bill's float jerked back and forth and he rushed towards the rod and started wrestling with his catch.  Arthur stood there watching him.
****
At the end of the weekend, Bill and Arthur drove back to Bill's house, where Lizzie and Jimmy were waiting for them.  As Bill opened the door, his wife shot him a glance.  The two men joined their family on the sofa.  As usual, Jimmy was twitching, whilst Lizzie just looked on.  Bill tried to guess what she was thinking, but couldn't.

Arthur cleared his throat.  "I guess I'll start.  Bill and I had a good chat over the weekend and we think we've come to a decision.

"I'm listening." Lizzie was still refusing to make eye contact with Bill.

"I realise that what I did was wrong.  I lied to you and I wasn't there for Jimmy, but that's not going to happen again.  I'll take Jimmy to his first race and I'll be there to see you win, little man."

A small smile crept onto Lizzie's face.  "Thanks, Bill."

"Are we okay?"

"I...yeah...yeah we are.  I'll take the bus to work on Friday, so you can drive Jimmy to the racetrack."

Bill noticed that Lizzie had barely looked at him, whilst she was speaking. "Are you sure we're okay?"

"Yeah...yeah," Lizzie's lip started quivering, her voice began breaking, "if you...you c-can do this, then we might be."

Bill nodded.  There was nothing left to say.
****
Bill trudged through the rest of the week and on Friday he was watching Jimmy fidget in the seat next to him.  Bill smiled at this and pressed down on the gas.  They had left in plenty of time and were making good progress to the race course.  Bill sighed in contentment and looked up at the sky.  The overcast sky shone a diffused light downwards onto the tarmac below making everything bright but dull.  Bill returned his attention to the road and took a brief glance at his internal mirror.

"How are you feeling, Jimmy?"

"Good."

"You nervous about the race?"

"A little.  What you said to mum...you will be there, won't you? You won't leave?"

Bill looked downwards at his son. "Of course I will.  I told your mum and I'm telling you, I'm going to watch you win that race."
****
And they were off.  Bill watched his son accelerate up the first straight and turn around the corner.  Around him all of the parents were still screaming and cheering, deafening out the engines of the go-karts. Bill shook his head at these people.  He wanted his son to win, but he didn't have to scream to the heavens about it.  He looked back out at the race track and watched his son disappear into a tunnel.  Further down one competitor sharply cut off another one causing a furious torrent of abuse from one of the dads in the crowd.  Jimmy emerged from the tunnel weaving in and out of the other drivers and coming up on first place, whilst the parents were yelling for their children to go faster and faster.  Bill rubbed his face.  He shook his head again and started feeling in his pocket for his keys.  He stood up and started moving towards the exit.
****
Bill slammed the door shut and collapsed into the seat.  There was no way he could stay there.  He had to get out.  All of those parents were like spectators in a colosseum shouting for the losing gladiator to be executed.  He couldn't be part of that.  Bill stuck his keys into the ignition and the car jolted into life.  He manoeuvred out of the car park and onto the main road.  He glanced at his side mirror and pressed down on the accelerator.  Bill looked in his internal mirror and thought about Jimmy.  He needed someone better.  Bill bit his lip and brought himself up to the speed limit.  He needed to drive.  He returned his gaze to the road and locked his eyes on the horizon.

*Author's Notes*

It took me way too long to write this.  So, I started writing this for a contest which required you to write a story based on a song.  The song I chose to write about was Tracy Chapman's 'Fast Car,' which I've recently fallen in love with.  I originally started writing this when I was bored in a creative writing lecture, but unfortunately didn't finish it until long after the contest had closed.  When writing this, I moved away from the theme of generational poverty that's present within 'Fast Car' and more towards the car being a symbol of freedom and escape.  Bill is very much a character who likes to live in the fast lane and keep busy and isn't suited to a suburban, stay-at-home life.  

As far as the ending goes, I always wanted to have it with Bill running away.  It is evident that he is a bad father who's driven by his own insecurities and I just felt it would be too unrealistic for a character like that to change in such a radical way.  In terms of acknowledgements, where would I be without my own little editor Jazmin who gave this a great beta-read and plenty of things to think about and also my friend Louis who gave me lots of helpful knowledge about fishing, even if I didn't really use your information.  I still appreciate your help Louster!

Gulliver's Travels Pastiche- A Voyage to Masiplacti with Critical Commentary

Important, read the author's notes first

Chapter 1

The author sets out on another voyage and is shipwrecked on the island of Masiplacti.  The author giveth an account of Masiplacti and the Masiplactians.

I remained with my family, until on the 28th of April 1710, Captain Septimus Girwood invited me to serve as surgeon on the <em>Intrepid</em>.  We set sail on the 30th of April and I will not trouble the reader of the uninteresting details of the voyage, sufficed to say that I was cast from the <em>Intrepid</em> in a storm.  I recollected waking up later on a six metre long bed, I observed a woman who was of a similar build to myself, yet her face was different with her eyes being the colour of gold and having an intense shine to them.  She informed me that I was on the island of Masiplacti, in their capital city of Fropit and that she was of two and twenty years and named Cepne.

Chapter 2

Cepne guides the author around the financial heart of Masiplacti.

Cepne tooketh me around Fropit and explained that she was a nurse assigned to look after me by the ruling class of Masiplacti, the Nuigea, and Cepne explained that Masiplacti had been founded on the rules of making profit.  Cepne then guided me to Brick Lane, which was where the Masiplactian Exchange lieth, here I witnessed many Masiplactians writing notes at great speed, checking them against chalk tablets that had numbers and either a plus or a negative sign attached to them, as well as chalkboards of twenty metres in length and ten feet in height, before running to give them to riders who departed in great haste.  The scene was of such noise and chaos so beyond any measurable scale that I found it difficult to comprehend and relate to the reader.  Cepne explained to me that the Nuigea used the Masiplactian Exchange to trade in high value items, with weapons having the highest value; Cepne further explained that the Nuigea were the directors of the Lubble Company who owned the trading rights within the Masiplactian Sea, which thus attracted investors from neighbouring lands to buy as many shares as possible in the Lubble Company, that led to the decoupling of stock prices.

Chapter 3

An account of the Director of Masiplacti

Upon Cepne guiding me around the great Masiplactian exchange, she tooketh me to the Houses of Negotiation, where the Nuigea engaged in the grandest and most fanciful of trades, Cepne introduced me to Director Rownc who had eyes shinier than any Masiplactian that I had seen, and he said I would act as an advisor and consultant to the Masiplactians, within their forthcoming negotiations with Costeraria.  I do not wish to trouble the reader with the particulars of Rownc's proposal, but sufficed to say the Masiplactians were intending to sell weapons to the Costerarians who wished to destroy their enemies: the Britalli.

Chapter 4

The author observes the negotiations between the Masiplactians and the Costerarians.

The full negotiations between the Masiplactians and the Costerarians tooketh close to two hours and I will not bore the reader with the intricacies of the negotiation, so I shall summarise.  Firstly, I was alone within the Currency Hall, which was at least sixty feet tall, as Cepne, due to being a woman, was not granted access.  The Costerarians requested a positive arsenal from the Nuigea; of which I approximated the cumulative cost and I was abhorred when the Nuigea set a price much higher than I had estimated, the Costerarians attempted to negotiate the price down, but the Nuigea refused to agree; I observed that Director Rownc and the Nuigea had all but intimidated the Costerarians into accepting the offer.  This troubled me greatly, as I was uncertain whether I should protest the extortionate price or assist the Nuigea, however, throughout the whole negotiation my opinion was not asked upon once.

Chapter 5

An account of the author leaving Masiplacti

After the transactions had ceased, Director Rownc informed me that I was free to leave Masiplacti, as my services were no longer required.  When I questioned Cepne about Director Rownc’s sudden dismissal, which both relieved and surprised me, she explained that the Nuigea are so proud of their skills at negotiation, that they like to exhibit these tactics to outsiders and once they have done, the outsiders no longer serve a purpose to them.  As Cepne guided me down to the Ports of Fropit, we walked through what Cepne explained were the Penny Markets that the Nuigea had created for the Lower Masiplactians to attend and facilitate, for they were denied access to the Masiplactian Exchange; at the Ports of Fropit, Cepne gave me the money to buy travel, which slightly withered my opinion of the Masiplactians.  Of my journey home, there is nothing to report to the reader, except that I returned to my family who were much the same as I left them.

Critical Commentary

Within ‘A Voyage to Masiplacti,’ I aimed to satirise the growing consumerism of the 18th century, by drawing upon the values, ideals and dangers of modern capitalism.  I parodied the South Sea Bubble and the South Sea Company through creating the Masiplactian Lubble Company that dominated trade through the control of the Masiplactian Sea.  The notion of this was to embody both modern and eighteenth century capitalist concepts within the island of Masiplacti.

Upon reading ‘Gulliver’s Travels,’ I noticed characteristics of Swift’s writing, which I emulated in the pastiche.  Firstly, Swift uses a long sentence structure:

he added that his suspicions were much increased by some very absurd speeches I had delivered at first to the sailors and afterwards to himself in the relation to my closet or chest, as well as by my odd looks and behaviour while I was at supper.

Swift also factually tells the reader everything that Gulliver sees, rather than using elaborate description to show the reader: "in our passage from thence to the East-Indies, we were driven by a violent storm." (GT, p. 12) Instead, of describing the horrors of the storm, Swift simply states that it was violent.  Furthermore, Swift writes Gulliver’s observations as quantitative, statistical data: "this body consisted of three thousand foot, and a thousand horse." (GT, p. 29) I emulated these characteristics by having lengthy, run-on sentences that quantitatively reported facts.  I also omitted the development of the secondary characters to correspond with Swift’s characteristic of having superficial, two-dimensional characters.

I drew upon John M. Bullit’s work, who wrote "the satirist must allow himself neither to relax into an uncritical and laughing amusement nor to lose his temper." I intended to balance both the comedic and the critical attitudes of the satire.  Instead of solely using anagrams instead of proper nouns, I chose certain words that directly alluded to Capitalism, such as how ‘Brick Lane’ is paralleled with Wall Street.  I felt that by exclusively using anagrams, I would exhaust the effectiveness of the device and undermine the critical nature of the satire, by over-emphasising the humour within it.  Similarly, I did not want my narrative to be an angry, nonsensical rant.  I felt that if Gulliver expressed his disgust at the Nuigea’s intimidation tactics, the satire’s effect would suffer, as it would devolve into an unintelligent attack on capitalism.  I also made use of 'diminution,' which Bullit defines as "the use of any ""ugly or homely images"" which are intended to diminish the dignity of an object." I wanted to undermine the pride that the Nuigea attach to their negotiation-cum-intimidation tactics by having them ostentatiously display these tactics to Gulliver.  Bullit further describes Gulliver's Travels, as the "greatest example […] [of] the works of Juvenal ""tragical satire."" Its aim is deeply didactic in its almost overwhelming attempt to shock and disgust men out of one vice which Swift believed was still corrigible: pride." I aimed to resemble the scornful abrasiveness of Juvenalian Satire by having the Nuigea so preoccupied with receiving the highest possible profit for their weapons, that they are uninterested in how the weapons will be used.

The pastiche is aimed towards the higher classes who profited the most from travels abroad, Colin Mooers argues that the growth of agrarian capitalism served to shape the colonial and industrial trade of commerce at the time, of which sourced the income of much of the peerage who were engaged in colonial and industrial enterprises.  I paralleled this with the Nuigea being the only social class who have access to the most profitable of transactions: arms dealing.  Furthermore, it is only the men who have access to these negotiations.  Cepne is denied access to the Currency Hall, because she is a woman.

‘A Voyage to Masiplacti’ explicitly confronts the dangers of capitalism and how the promise of a high profit has lead the Nuigea to become morally blind to how their actions would lead to the destruction of the Britalli.  I intended for the Nuigea to foreshadow of what the human race of the 18th century could become, if they let their greed corrupt them.  This is comparable to how having an excess of wealth in modern society can lead to spiritual deadness.  Lastly, I wanted Gulliver’s misanthropy to amplify, as he realises that through humanity’s pursuit of ever greater riches and wealth, they are consigning themselves to becoming a species dominated by their own decadence, just like the Nuigea.

*Author's Notes*

This is my latest assignment for my university course.  For the assignment, we were required to write a pastiche followed by a critical analysis of a text that we're studying.  

The text I chose was Gulliver's Travels.  This text was written in the early 18th century and I have thus tried to replicate this writing style and the writing style of Jonathan Swift.  From reading this book, I have noticed that Swift writes in very long sentences, he tells the reader information rather than showing it and he doesn't flesh out any of the secondary characters.  These are characteristics that I have tried to emulate.  Furthermore, the pastiche and the critical analysis of it both had to add up to 1650 words, so I was also under a tight word limit for this, as a result of this I had to quite ruthlessly cut out a lot of things I would have rather kept in.  Brownie points if you can understand all of the things I'm satirising. 

 This is my bibliography:

Bullitt, M. John, Jonathan Swift and the Anatomy of Satire: A study of Satiric Technique, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1953)

Mooers, Colin, The Making of Bourgeois Europe: Absolutionism, Revolution, and the Rise of Capitalism in England, France and Germany, (London:Verso, 1991)

Swift, Jonathan, Gulliver’s Travels (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions Ltd, 1992

Lines, Creases and Wrinkles

 It isn't junk!" Albert snapped.

"I never said it was, Mr Wetherby." The nurse held his hands up in innocence.

"But you were thinking that, in that face of yours! And how many times have I told you to call me granddad?" Albert slowly sunk to the floor, teardrops balanced precariously on the edge of his sunken eyesockets, ready to tumble down over his creased and cracked face.

The nurse sat down next to Albert.  "I'm sorry, Mr Wetherby.  It's just for professionalism's sake and I didn't mean any offence."

Albert took out his spotted handkerchief and smiled gratefully, as his nurse took it and dabbed away his tears.  Albert sighed, as he looked upwards into his nurse's face.  The skin that was as smooth as marble unlike his own lined with creases and wrinkles, the brown eyes that glistened with life, unlike his own hollow, watery blue ones.  The rich brown hair fashioned into one of those new-fangled hairstyles, which contrasted with Albert's own scraggly grey locks.

"It isn't your fault, Ben.  I'm sorry.  You're a good lad and I'm not just saying that because you're my grandson in law."

Ben smiled at the compliment, showing a full set of dazzling white teeth.  "Thank you, Mr Wetherby.  If you'd like, I can come back in a few days and help you pack everything up then?"

Albert nodded.  "Thanks Ben."

"I'm afraid we can't put it off much longer.  We'll have to move you on Saturday."

Albert swallowed and his skinny Adam's apple bounced up and down.

"I understand, Ben.  You can go now.  I'll see you on Thursday."

"Goodbye, Mr Wetherby."

Albert watched Ben pack up his kit and run past the chair-lift and down the stairs.  He smiled longingly at his nurse's agility and energy.  He was like that once.  Albert would have hit a wall in frustration, if he was a younger man, but now, he couldn't afford to damage his fragile body.  Instead, he sighed over his few remaining original teeth.  Using his cane, he limped into his bedroom to get changed, out of his pyjamas.  He knew that he should call Ben, who was always at his beck and call, to help him, but Albert hated having to rely on other people.  For the first 64 years of his life, he had been entirely self-reliant, but for the last 20 years, his body had slowly started disintegrating.  Albert shrugged off his dressing gown and reached into his wardrobe for a neatly folded shirt and grey formal trousers, all washed, dried and pressed by Ben.  Albert took off his t-shirt and striped trousers, revealing white hair and pale skin.  Inch by inch, he slipped on his salmon pink shirt and sitting on the bed, he pulled on his slate grey trousers and picked a black tie to fit his formal look.  He wanted to look smart for Annie.  He set down at his desk and looked into the old-fashioned make-up mirror that Valerie used.  He pulled it closer to him and tried to bring some order to his chaotic hair.  Albert picked up his comb and Brill cream that were lying next to his and Val's sepia wedding picture.  Albert sighed again.  She was so beautiful.  The old man stood up and stumbled over to the chairlift.  Using a far too skinny finger, he pressed a button and it slowly began to descend.

Albert could still hear the bellowing of the bells.  They were deafening over the chatter of the excited guests, the rumbling of the bellies of the little boys in their tailor-made suits.  The Western doors swung open and Valerie stepped through, her arm interlocked with her father's, dressed in a blinding white dress with a netted veil.  Her father walked her down the aisle and Albert was glad to see that he wasn't the only one that was crying.  Valerie took her place opposite her fiancé and they stared at each other, as the Vicar's words were lost in a blissful happiness

"Do you, Albert Wetherby, promise to take his woman, Valerie Belle, as your lawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, til death, do you part?"

"I do."

"And do you, Valerie Belle promise to take this man, Albert Wetherby, as your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, til death do you part?"

Albert jolted awake at the third bellowing of the doorbell.  He had fallen asleep in the chairlift again.  He stood up and edged towards the door.  He opened it and Annie was standing on the other side of it.

“Hey granddad!” She said, as she hugged him.

“How's my beautiful granddaughter?”

Annie blushed.  “You say that every week, but I keep telling you I'm not.”

“Nonsense! You could even give Val a run for her money.”

“You know I could never be as beautiful as her.”

Albert smiled and knelt down.  “And who's this pretty little girl?”

The little girl blushed and giggled.  “Me.” She replied.

Albert chucked.  “Gilly certainly isn't as modest as her mother, is she?”

Annie smiled her agreement and helped her granddad to his feet.

“Come in and sit down.  I've got a present for you, Gilly.”

Annie and Gilly sat down on the old-fashioned sofa, whilst Albert rummaged around in a box on his hands and knees.

“Where is it...it should be in here...I know it is.” He muttered.

“Are you alright, granddad?” Annie asked.

“I'm fine thanks.” Albert said and continued rummaging.

“Do you want any help?”

“Don't worry about it.” Albert declined politely.

“It's no bother.  I'll come help you.”

“Annie, I told you, I'm okay! I'm not a bloody child.” Albert snapped.

“I never said you were.” Annie mumbled in response.

“Ah, I've got it!” Slowly and unsteadily, Albert stood up and tottered over to Gilly.  As the little girl unwrapped her present, Albert looked up at his granddaughter.  She really did look like Val.  The same rich brunette hair, the same eyes that shone with happiness, the same naturally pretty face that never required an ounce of makeup.

“Oooh, a beanie baby,” Gilly exclaimed, “it's the Rooster!” Her heart-shaped face beamed with excitement.

“I know you're collecting the Zodiac line.  I hope this helps.”

“Thanks, great-granddad.” Gilly hugged Albert tightly.

“Easy, Gilly.  I'm getting old.”

“That's one reason I wanted to talk to you.  Ben told me what had happened.”

Albert's lip started to quiver and his eyes had become wet.  He had become so overly-emotional in his old age.  He hated that.

“And I do wish you had let me invite him round today.”

“Annie,  you know I love Ben, if he were my own and I'm not just saying that because he's your husband, but he'd be fawning all over me and you know how I hate that.”

Annie smiled sadly.  “Gilly, why don't you play with your Rooster? I'll get your great-granddad a cup of tea.”

“I can get my own tea!” Albert protested.

“Go on then, granddad.”

Albert struggled to his feet and limped over to the kitchen.  He picked up the kettle and he tipped it towards a cup that he thought looked clean enough.

“Granddad, is that water boiled?” Annie asked.

“Silly me.” Albert put the kettle back on its stand and flicked a switch.

“Granddad, are you sure there's actually any water in there?” Annie signalled to the water level indicator that barely registered anything.

“I'm getting forgetful in my old age.” Albert picked up the cup and kettle and slowly moved towards the sink.  And then the cup hit the ground.  The impact obliterated it.  Albert sighed and began to kneel down to collect the fragments.  Halfway down, he collapsed and fell onto the floor.  Annie knelt down and put her arm around the old man.

“Thanks Annie,” Albert said, trying to keep the tears out of his wrinkles, “I'm just getting feeble.”

“I know you don't want to hear it, but it's in your best interests to go to the Willow Tree.”

“There you go again with your nursing home business.”

“It's not a nursing home.  It's a retirement community.  You can socialise with people your own age.”

“Yeah, we can play bridge and shout BINGO,” Albert snapped, “sorry Annie, I didn't mean that.”

“You did, but it doesn't matter.  Look granddad, I'm not going to patronise you by saying that I know how you feel, because I don't, nor do I have any right telling you what to do, but-”

“I know, I know, you think the Willow Tree is the best option for me.”

“I do.”

“Maybe you're right.  Help your granddad to his feet.”

“How about that cup of tea now?”
****

The teabags had decayed and discoloured, as the darkness had sneaked up on the day.

“Wow granddad, it's almost 6.  Gilly and I had best get going.”

“Oh stay for dinner please.” Albert begged.

“I guess we could get something delivered,” Annie suggested, “I can call Ben and I'm sure he can find something at home.”

“No, I was thinking of making Corn Fritters.  I know it isn't much, but Gilly likes it.”

Annie agreed and called Ben quickly, whilst Albert made the food.   After the two had finished their respective tasks, they all sat down at the dinner table.

“Ben told me he's coming round here on Saturday.”

“Yeah, he's going to help me pack everything up.”

“Do you want me and Gilly to help you?”

“Yeah Val, that would be great.”

“I don't understand how this infernal thing works!” Albert yelled in frustration.

“Why are you playing with a shitting rubik's cube? Your bloody daughter is giving birth.” Valerie snapped.

“I always forget how angelic your language is.” Albert countered.

“Don't try to sweet-talk me, mister,” Valerie warned, “not when Danielle is giving birth.”

Faintly, the pair heard screams and grunts coming from the delivery room.

“How long do you think she'll be?” Albert asked,  only slightly trying to disguise his anxiousness.  He had arrived at the hospital in a 3 piece suit, that had been quickly reduced to an open-necked shirt and formal trousers, as the minutes had ticked by.

“You can't predict these things, Alb.  You know how long I took giving birth to Danni.”

“Yeah I do.” Albert muttered.  He sat back in his seat and stretched out his legs.

“Is that why you brought the rubik's cube?” Valerie exclaimed.

“I've already done two sides of it.”

Valerie sighed and hit Albert around the head.

“Val, we've been married for twenty-five years and you haven't stopped hitting me for a single year of them.”

“You haven't stopped acting like an idiot for one of them.” Valerie retorted, before bursting out laughing.

“What's so funny?” 

“Danni is about to become a mother and here we are squabbling like we're children.”

Albert's and Valerie's laughter echoed around the halls and it was only when a nurse came that the pair quietened down.  

“Danielle's ready to see you now.” Albert and Valerie followed the nurse into the delivery room.  There they saw their daughter holding a minutes old baby in her arms.

“Come in.” She beckoned weakly.

“Aww, Danni,” Valerie beamed, “can I-”

Danielle transferred the baby into her mother's arms.

“It's a healthy and happy baby girl.” The doctor said.

“What are you going to call her?”

“Is great-granddad asleep?” Gilly asked.

“I don't know.  Granddad? Granddad?” Annie prodded Albert who awoke with a great snort.

“I wasn't sleeping.” Albert exclaimed.

“Of course you weren't,” Annie agreed, “before you weren't sleeping, you called me Val.  I'm Annie, remember?”

Albert rubbed his eye.  “Sorry Val, I didn't mean to call you that.”

Annie sighed.  “Right, we should get going now.  It's almost Gilly's bedtime.”

“I'm 8 years old.  I don't need a bedtime.”

“Gilly!” Annie snapped.

“It's okay, Annie.  It's almost my bedtime too.  I'll take you to the door.”

As one the family stood up and Annie and Gilly walked ahead, whilst Albert struggled to keep up.

“We'll see you on Thursday with Ben and we'll help you pack everything up.”

“I'll see you then.” Albert hugged Annie and watched the two walk away from his house.  He closed the door and shook his head despairingly, as he felt his eyes begin to water.  Albert blew his nose into his spotted handkerchief and let the tears roll down his face.  Droplet by droplet took their turns to hide in the old man's creases and wrinkles.  He sat down in his chairlift and let it carry him up to bed.
****
Albert woke up before his alarm clock went off.  He always did.  He didn't know why he still set it.  Valerie had always slept like an elephant and could never wake up without an alarm clock.  Maybe that was why he did it.  Albert got out of bed and went through his morning routine.  Half an hour later, he was leaving his house to do his weekly food shop.  He knew he could have asked Ben to do this, but he had his reasons.
****
Twenty minutes later, Albert hobbled into his local supermarket.  He took out his shopping list and looked at the first item: cream style sweetcorn.  That was at the other end of the store.  Albert sighed and started shuffling over there.  Before he knew it, he was in front of the cosmetics stand.  Valerie had passed away seven years ago, but Albert could still remember what lipstick, eyeliner and blusher she wore, not that she ever needed it.  Maybe that was why Albert didn't want Ben to do the shopping for him.  No matter how hard he tried, he could never stay away from the make-up section.  He always called himself an old, sentimental fool who couldn't let things go, but that never stopped him from returning here.

“Can I help you, sir?” A shop assistant asked.

Albert looked at her and cursed silently, as he felt himself beginning to well up.  “You're alright, love.” He croaked out, before limping away to buy cream style sweetcorn.

After Albert had finished his shopping, he sat down on a bench.

Albert's phone started ringing furiously and he rummaged through his pockets to find it.

“How do you answer this damned thing?” He asked, before figuring out how.

“Hey granddad.  I've got a problem.”

“What is it, Annie?” Albert could detect the concern in her voice.

“Gilly's starting nursery tomorrow and she's supposed to bring a soft toy with her, but we can't find anything suitable and Gilly's really upset and I just feel terrible.”

“We can't have that now, can we? Tell you what, I'll go out now and buy something and bring it you tomorrow.  Tell you what, I'll go one further and take Gilly to the nursery myself.”

“You're a lifesaver, granddad, thank you.”

“Don't mention it sweetheart.  I'll see you tomorrow.”

Early on the next morning, Albert stopped at his granddaughter's house and picked up Gilly.  He could tell that she was excited, as she was leading him to nursery, rather than the other way round.

“Slow down, Gilly.  I'm just an old man.”

“No, you're not.  My great-granddad could never be old.”

A short while later, they reached the nursery and Albert took out the toy he had bought.

“This is Manes. He's a lion cub and he's part of a group of toys called Beanie Babies.  He's only young, so I want you to look after him.”

“Aww, he's so fluffy.” Gilly gave her great-granddad a quick hug before running into the nursery.

“Knock 'em dead little lady.” Albert called out, before blinking away a tear.

“Hey mister, are you dead?”

Albert jolted awake.  “What did you say? He said, to a pair of curious eyes looking up at him.

“I said, hey mister, are you dead?”

“No, I'm not dead.  Not yet at least.”

“Chardonnay! Leave that old man alone.” A coarse voice scratched out and Chardonnay ran back to her mum.

“I'm not old,” Albert retorted, “and who names their child after a type of wine?”
****
Thursday was a grey and drizzly day.  Albert had been up for a couple of hours and was now sitting on the sofa to kill some time.  The third bellow of the doorbell woke him up.  Albert turned off the TV and hobbled to the door and found Ben, Annie and Gilly standing behind it, with the little girl clutching onto the Rooster Beanie Baby.  He gave his grand and great-granddaughter quick hugs and was about to do the same to Ben, when he saw the young nurse stick his hand out.

“Good to see you again, Mr Wetherby.” Ben said.

“I'm not going to tell you about calling me granddad again, Ben.” Albert warned, before hugging his grandson in law.

“You might have to, Mr. Wetherby.” Ben replied, after breaking free of the hug.

“Come to the attic and we'll get started.” Albert rushed as fast he could to the chairlift and pushed the 'up' button.  The rest of the family overtook him and waited at the top of the stairs.

Albert tried his best to stand with apparent confidence and tried to keep himself steady, as he walked to the attic door.  He pulled the draw string and climbed up the stairs that fell to the floor.  His family followed him.

“So, where should we start?” Annie asked.

“I guess we create three piles? One, with everything Mr. Wetherby definitely wants to take with him, one where he isn't so sure and one with everything he doesn't want.”

“Good plan, Ben.  You're a smart lad.  Let's get to work.”

Over the next few hours, the family of four sorted through the random assortment of items that Albert kept in the attic.  As the day hobbled into evening, three very definite piles began to emerge, which were slowly transformed into two.

“I guess we're done.” Annie said.

“Guess so.” Albert agreed.

“I'm afraid we have to go now, Mr. Wetherby, but we'll take everything you want to the Willow Tree tomorrow and we'll come round on Saturday and take you there.”
****
Saturday morning arrived and, as usual, Albert was awake before his alarm clock went off and, as usual, he fell asleep in front of the TV whilst waiting for his family to arrive and as usual, he was woken by the bellowing of the doorbell.  He opened the door and saw his family standing behind it.

“Hey granddad,” Annie greeted him, “all of your things are already in the Willow Tree. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be!” Albert said and allowed his family to lead him to his grandson in law's car.  Ben got into the front seat and drove off.
****
Ben stopped the car and rushed to the side of the car to help Albert out.  For once, the old man decided not to complain about this.  He also didn't complain when Ben and Annie helped him to the front door, with Gilly clutching onto one of his gnarled hands, the other holding her Rooster Beanie baby.  Annie walked up to the reception desk.

“I'm the granddaughter of Albert Wetherby.  He'll be checking in today.” Annie told the receptionist.

“Oh yes, right this way, Mr. Wetherby.  I'll take you to your room.”

Albert followed the receptionist down a corridor to a door, which had his name printed on it in a bronze, italicised, swirly writing.  The receptionist opened the door and Albert took his first step inside.

“I'll leave you to get settled.” The receptionist returned to his desk.

“What do you think, Mr. Wetherby?” Ben asked, after a few moment's pause.

Without a word, Albert struggled over to the bed and reached into the carrier bag, he had been carrying with him, since he had left the house.  He took out three items and placed them in turn on the bedside table: Manes, a Rubik's cube and Valerie's wedding veil.

“Do you like it granddad?”

Albert sat down on the bed.  A single tear rolled down his face and settled in one of his wrinkles.

*Author's Notes*

Uhhh inspiration for this story? Well, I got the main idea after listening to John Denver's cover of Paul McCartney's song 'Junk.' I started thinking of all of the things we leave behind and how we attach value to particular items.  And, I also wanted to explore the device of flashbacks more.

H

There was a scattering of broken glass across the bedroom floor.  Aiden shivered, as a cruel Autumn wind howled through what was left of the window.  He had been sleeping rough, until he had found this house and had decided to temporarily squat in it.  Nobody knew he was here; Aidan had ran away from home without telling anyone.  He had heard about this house from others in the street; since it had been abandoned, it had served a fair few of illegal tenants.  Aiden could see everything they had left behind: bin liners with massive gashes in them, a fork with two prongs and a complete sense of isolation.  A raucous cough descended from the sky, which was Aiden's cue to leave the chilly bedroom and find somewhere warmer.  He picked up his pocketwatch that  he had carefully wrapped in an odd newspaper page.  Wrapping his thin jacket around him, he left the bedroom and walked down the hallway to the bathroom.  He had squatted in this house for a few days and had a decent idea of its layout.  It might have been his imagination, but Aiden felt the fierce wind grate against the back of his neck.
****
The house was outside of police territory and was a haven for vagrants and deviants.  It was just by luck that Aiden had found it empty; he knew it would not stay like that for long.  People typically stayed in places such as these for about a week.  On the streets, it was safer to stay on the move. Aiden had started shivering, like there was an army of ants writhing through his bloodstream and crawling over his body.  Droplets of salty water began to ooze out of his pores.  He was staggering to the bathroom now; the sooner he reached it the better.  How long had it been since he had had a fix? Aiden could feel the wind pushing him down the hallway.  As he reached the doorway, he could have sworn that the wind shoved him into the bathroom.  He disregarded the notion, as he walked towards the dirty medicine cabinet.  The handle was hanging precariously from the cabinet, which meant that Aiden had to gently pull on the edge of the cabinet door, to open it.  The teenager reached into it and pulled out a shoe box.  He removed the lid and the tension floated out of his body.  He reached into the box and pulled out a needle, before rolling up his sleeve and untying the shoelace, which marked where his previous scars were, that would grant the needle easier access.

"Time to shoot.  Bang bang!" Aiden joked, as the needle took its plunge.
****
Any notion of the storm outside had melted away, as Aiden felt himself drift into his own private void.  A world without sound, without touch, without colour.  A world full of warmth and comfort.  Aiden called out, not to attract anyone's attention, but because he liked the sound of gravel in his voice.  The teenager felt himself touch down onto the surface of his void, or was it the ceiling.  He stretched his legs out and began to take his first steps.  It was as if Aiden was weighed down by lead.  Every step was heavy and wooden; there was a stomp, a stop, and then a shout.  A stomp, a stop, and then a shout.  A stomp, a stop, and then a shout.  Aiden was getting heavier; something above him, or was it below was pushing down.  He desperately tried to think back, but he couldn't remember how much heroin he had injected.  He knew that he must have o'ded.  Aiden could feel his body drooping downwards, or was it upwards? White tendrils were wrapping themselves around the junkie's legs and began to pull and tug.
****
Aiden had slept through the worst of the storm and now a grey, overcast light was shining through the grimy bathroom window.  He sat up and rubbed his neck.  Bizarrely a mirror was leaning on the skirting boards of the bathroom.  Aiden stared into his reflection: into the pale, drained face, the brown eyes with too many tinges of red, the brown freckles mingled with dirt and God knows what else.  Aiden yawned, without covering his mouth; what use were manners in these situations? He reached into the shoe box and took everything he had in the world: a little bit of money, a few spare needles, a smoking pipe, a lighter, some foil.  The heroin was already safely tucked up in the pocket of his ragged jeans.  Lastly, Aiden unwrapped his silver pocket watch and ran his fingers over the cracked screen.
****
According to the clock face it was midday, but it still looked like early morning to Aiden. The teenager ran his hand through his closely-cropped hair. His left arm was tightly clamped around the shoe box.  The heroin had left him a little sleepy, but he carried on staggering along the pavement.  Last night's storm left a damp mist lingering in the air, which gave Aiden trouble with walking.    His mouth was as dry as sand, but the only water he had was to dissolve his heroin.  Aiden knew where he was headed.  Basset’s car park was near to where the squatting house was.  The junkie was vaguely aware that the Needlepoint centre was close by to him, but he was so sleepy.    He briefly leant against the hallway of a boarded up shop and closed his eyes and slid to the ground.
****
"Aiden, wake up! Come on! Come on! You've been asleep long enough." A 20 year old man slapped Aiden's cheek twice before twitching three times and jumping up and spinning around.  Aiden opened his eyes and his dilated pupils adjusted to the evening light.

"How late is it?"

"It's late, man.  You've been out for hours." The twenty year old vigorously shook his head back and fourth before sitting down.  At the same time, Aiden sat up in shock and rooted for his shoe box.  He ripped off the lid and was visibly relieved, when he found that the contents hadn't been disturbed.  The 20 year old was now pushing his overgrown bush of brown curly hair to the side.  He had a big, stocky figure and was wearing a very thin red hoodie and black jeans.  He twitched twice, before speaking again.

"You think I mugged ya, didn't ya? Come on, Aiden.  I ain't like that."

"Yeah...sorry, Jumper." Aiden replied, sheepishly.  Just like Aiden, Jumper was also a junkie.  He was known for his hyperactive behaviour, which was only amplified by the heroin.  Jumper batted at his right ear, before snapping his head back to his friend.

"Dude, you look like shit."

Aiden smirked and spat out whatever saliva he had left.  "Do you think I care how I look?"

"S'pose not.  What ya doing all the way out here anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Aiden countered.

"I heard you was staying in the squatting house and I came to find ya.  You weren't there, so I went looking for ya and here you are."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"To see whether you got any H for me."

"No I don't.  The only H I have is for me alone.  You could have just mugged me.  Why didn't you?" Aiden asked, in disbelief.

"I told you dude.  I aint like that." Jumper stood up and paced around.

"If you want H, then you should go and see Strike."

"No can do.  I owe him money."

Aiden stood up in shock.  "You owe Strike money? How much?"

"£200."

"You owe him £200? How are you still alive?"

"No idea, but if Strike catches me, I'm dead.  So do you have any H for me?"

"I told you, Jumper, the only H I have is for me alone."

"Come on, Aiden  You must have some money for me!"

"It's my money!" Aiden snapped.

"Let me look in your shoe box.  You must have something.  Come on, man.  Come on." Jumper stamped his foot three times.

"You're not getting shit, mate." Aiden was now standing up and clutching the shoe box.  He had slowly edged his way to the entrance of the shop hallway.

"Give me that fucking box!" Jumper snapped and made a desperate grasp for it.

"Shit dude.  It's Strike!" Aiden pointed behind his friend and as Jumper turned around, Aiden punched him with all of his strength.  Without looking back, the eighteen year old began to run.
****
He could hear Jumper lumbering behind him; the punch had only briefly stunned him.The Needlepoint centre had been designed as a help point for any heroin addicts and this was where Aiden was running now.  He knew he would be safe from Jumper there.  As a precaution, he took his knife from out of the shoe box.  Aiden relaxed, as he reached the centre.  It had been a couple of hours, since he had last had a fix, but it had been much longer for Jumper and his withdrawal symptoms combined with his general unfitness, meant that he was now lying breathless at the entrance of the Needlepoint car park.  He was shivering and a cold sweat was coming over him.  A white van with big red letters reading Needlepoint drove past Jumper, to help other junkies in the city.

"Who's he?" One of the Needlepoint employees asked Aiden.

"He's my best mate." Aiden replied.

"Then, why are you running from him?"

Aiden looked at the female worker from head to toe; she was slight of build, with freckled skin, strawberry blonde hair and a nose carved out of stone.  Aiden guessed she was in her thirties.

"What do you care?"

"Well, this area is rife with heroin addicts; I guess you're just another couple of junkies.  I guess you stole some H from him or he's trying to steal some from you."

"Guess all you want, I aint telling you shit."

The woman didn't seem perturbed.  "Can you at least tell me your name?"

"It's Aiden, and you?"

"I'm Anna."

"Well, I'd best be taking off now."

Anna signalled to Jumper whose twitches were becoming more serious.  "What about your mate?"

"He'll be fine, once he's had a fix."

"I can't let you give him heroin." Anna protested.

"So you're just gonna make him go cold turkey?"

"We'll bring him in and look after him."

Aiden stood between Anna and the door.  "You bloody well won't.  If we want your help, we'll ask for it." Without another word, the eighteen year old left the centre.

"I just hope you don't leave it too late." Anna muttered.
****
As Aiden left the centre, he took out his pocket watch.  It was 6:30 pm.  Aiden walked towards his friend and as he approached him, he helped Jumper to his feet.

"Come on, mate.  Let's get out of here."

"What's going on?" Jumper asked, before twitching 3 times and rubbing his eye.

"You went ape shit, cos you aint had a fix in a while."

"Where we going now?"

"We can go down to Basset's." Next to Aiden, he suddenly heard a sobbing.

"Are you crying, Jumper?"

"Come on, dude.  Let's just get to the car park."
****
Basset's was indeed a car park, but it no longer hosted any cars.  It had once been attached to Basset's Arcade, which had long gone bust.  Since then, the Council had long forgotten about the car park and it was now a haven for vagrants and junkies.  Aiden and Jumper were sitting in a far corner, holding a lighter under a piece of foil, which had H sitting on top of it.  As the two boys inhaled the fumes through tubes, they were slowly becoming more relaxed and their speech was becoming more slurred.

"The fuck were you playing at before? Punching me and shit?" Jumper mumbled out.

"You were majorly jacked up.  You'd've hurt me in that state.  I had to run."

Jumper leaned forward to take another inhale and fell back coughing.  "There's something up with this H.  It's dodgy."

"We got it from Strike.  What'd you expect?"

"Oh God, Strike.  What the hell do I about him?"

"Oh shut it....about....your..........debt.  I just want.......to do," Aiden suddenly fell asleep, falling on top of his shoe box.  In the distance, a police car was racing through the city, followed by a white van with big red letters on the side.
****
Aiden woke up a few hours later.

"I'm glad you've been able to sleep." Jumper muttered.  The effect of the H had worn off now and Jumper was no longer slurring his words.

"You haven't slept?" Aiden asked.

"How can I sleep, when Strike is after me?" As Jumper said this, Aiden instinctively reached for his shoe box and rummaged through its contents.

"I haven't fucking mugged ya!"

"You almost mugged me back at Needlepoint." Aiden countered.

"I was jacked up then.  People do crazy shit when they're jacked."

Aiden was no longer listening.  He took his pocket watch out of the shoe box and checked the time: it was 8:00 PM now.

"Why do you still have that watch? We could sell it.  I can pay off Strike.  We can buy more H."

"Have you lost it, mate? This watch was my grandfather's.  I am not-" Aiden suddenly dropped off to sleep, leaving the pocket watch to fall out of his hand and onto the concrete ground.  Jumper's first instinct was to steal it and run, but he decided against it.  Instead, he walked out of Basset's to get some air.  All natural light had escaped from the area and had been replaced with the evening darkness.  Jumper shook his head a few times, before turning to his right.  In a service road leading into Basset's, a white van with big red letters was parked.  The letters read 'Needlepoint.' Jumper thought this to be odd, because Needlepoint vans didn't usually come out this far, but then he saw a man in his forties in a leather jacket leave the van.

"Oh fuck!" The junkie shouted, as he turned around and started running.

"Get back here Jumper!" An Australian voice shouted out.

The effects of the H hadn't completely worn off and Jumper could feel his body slowing down.  It wasn't long, before he had collapsed onto the cold ground and fell asleep.  The Australian man and two of his cronies caught up with the sleeping junkie, picked him up and carried him back to the Needlepoint van.  Once Jumper had been thrown in the back, the Australian man's two cronies got into the front seats.

"That's the problem with junkies.  They always sleep on the job." Strike joked, before slamming the doors shut.
****
Jumper woke up to find his hands tied behind him and  two bald man pushing down on his shoulders.  "Where am I?" To him, it looked like he was in some type of disused factory, but he wasn't sure.

"We're in my headquarters."

Jumper bent his head to the van with big red letters parked outside.  "Why do you have a Needlepoint van?"

Strike walked up to Jumper and crouched down.  At this level, the junkie could see his very rough stubble and fading brown hair with a few tinges of grey.  "You talk too much, but since you asked, we stole the van.  It's much easier to drive round the city, without raising suspicion."

"What do you want from me?"

Strike growled and kicked Jumper in the knee  "What did I say about talking too much? You owe me £200, now where is it?"

"I aint got it.  Your guys must know that. They must have searched me when I was asleep."

Strike turned to Victor, one of his henchmen.  "It's true, boss.  We searched him from head to toe.  He hasn't got anything on him."

"Did you search <i>everywhere</i>?"

"Trust me, boss.  We searched <i>everywhere.</i>

Strike signalled to his henchmen.  "Let him go."

Before Jumper could speak, the Australian had picked him up and was pushing him against the wall.

"Where's my MONEY?!"

"I aint got it."

"I gave you forty bags of H to sell and you smoked it all."

"I swear I didn't.  I never smoked nothing." Jumper protested.

"ARE YOU FUCKING LYING TO ME," Strike roared, before ramming his fist into the junkie's stomach, "now where is my money?"

"I'll...get....it....to you." Jumper had been winded by Strike's punch and could barely speak.

"I gave you 3 days to get my money.  Why shouldn't I just kill you now?" Strike was no longer shouting, but softly whispering.

"I swear, Strike.  I'll get...you the....money."

Strike signalled to Victor, before rubbing his stubbled chin.  "Get him to his feet and hold him."

"Strike, come on, man-" Before Jumper could finish, the Australian man had punched him across the face.

"Stop talking," Strike shouted, before punching Jumper again, "I want my fucking money!
You got that?"

Jumper nodded meekly.

"I want £200, plus £200 interest.  You understand?!"

"I got it."

"Just so you don't forget." Strike punched Jumper twice more around the face, before ordering Victor to let him go.  The junkie staggered forwards, before falling forwards.  The Australian shook his head, despairingly.

"What a fucking lightweight.  Victor, take him back to Basset's car park.  If he hasn't paid us in a few days, he's dead," Strike knelt down and whispered into Jumper's ear, "you hear that, you filth? You're fucking dead, if you don't pay me."
****
Aiden woke up to see his pocket watch lying on the floor.  It must have fallen out of his grasp and he wondered why Jumper hadn't stolen it.  Aiden stood up and walked out of the car park, where he saw his friend lying on the ground with dried blood on his face.  The eighteen year old walked up to him and tentatively prodded him with a foot.

"The fuck happened to you?"

"Strike happened.  He wants £400 in the next few days, or I'm a dead man."

"£400? I thought it was £200?"

"Well, £200 interest...."

"Why do you owe him that much anyway?"

"I smoked £200 of his H..." Jumper explained, sheepishly.

"Are you crazy? How can you be so fucking stupid?" Aiden exploded.

"When he gave me the H to sell, I had just finished smoking the last of my stash.  I was coming down with withdrawal symptoms and becoming all kinds of fucked up.  I couldn't resist."

"You stupid bastard....the fuck do we now? I have £15 on me....that's nowhere near enough and I doubt this watch will sell for much."

"Nah man.  We can't sell that.  It's your grandfather's."

"Do you think we can go to Needlepoint for help?" Aiden asked.

"Do you think we can trust them?"

"I don't know.  They should be on our side.  It is their jobs to make sure people like us stay alive.  I reckon they should be able to help us."

"No way, man.  If we tell them, they'll have to tell the police.  We could get done for possession.  That's 7 years in jail."

"7 years in jail would be better than whatever Strike will do to us."

"Hold on, mate.  I have to ask.  Why are you helping me? This aint your fight."

"When I'd fallen asleep earlier on, you had the perfect chance to steal my pocket watch, but you didn't.  You've had so many chances to mug me, but you haven't.  So, how much time do you think we have?"

"4 days, at the max." Jumper guessed.

"This is what we do, for the next three days, we do everything we can to get that £400.  In case, Strike is watching us, we don't make contact again until we meet at 7 PM in 3 days time at Bell Park.  Agreed?"

"Agreed."
****
For the next three days, the two junkies did everything they could to scrounge together £400.  They tried speaking to other distributors and dealers in the area, but everyone knew that Strike had put a hit on Jumper and they wanted to stay well clear of him.  Both Jumper and Aiden had long cut ties with their former lives and could no longer turn to their families or their old friends.  For a brief while, the two boys tried mugging any unfortunate people they came across, but they were in a dangerous area and people rarely carried round large amounts of cash.
****
When Bell Park had first opened, it had been a very popular attraction.  Families had flocked to it, in their masses, but the initial euphoria had soon worn off and everybody had forgotten about the park, which meant it had become rampant to the deviant in society.  Aiden had chosen to meet there, because it was only a few streets away from the Needlepoint centre.  Once he saw Jumper enter the park, he walked up to him.

"I didn't get nowhere near £400.  I swear, Aiden, it was so hard not to spend this money
on H.  I've been fighting withdrawal symptoms for ages."

"How much money did you get?"

"£20."

"I got £15.  So that plus the money I have and your money, is only £50.  Would that be
enough?"

"You know, Strike.  He's gonna want all of it," Jumper scrunched up his hair in frustration, before batting his left ear, "we're gonna have to go to Needlepoint.  We aint got no choice."

"This is what we're gonna do.  You wait at Basset's and I go to Needlepoint, alone.  They
might help us. They can send a van round to you, to pick you up."

"Why can't I come with you?" Jumper protested.

"If Strike is watching us, then we can't risk him following us.  Now go wait at Basset's and don't leave for any reason.  I'll be along soon.
****
Once Jumper had left Bell Park, Aiden started running to the Needlepoint centre.  As he ran, he took out his pocket watch and could see that it was 7:30 pm.  He just hoped he would be fast enough.  As the junkie burst through the doors of the centre, he ran up to the counter where a woman with strawberry blonde hair and freckled skin was sitting behind.

"Anna, I need your help." Aiden panted out.

"Oh, so now you want my help?" Anna retorted.

"Yeah.  Look, do you know Strike?"

Anna waved away the security guards that were coming to remove Aiden from the building.  "Yeah, I've heard of everyone's favourite drug lord.  What about him?"

"My mate owes him £400 and Strike is gonna kill him for it."

"Where's your mate, then? Why are you here and not him?"

"We couldn't risk Strike following us here."

"Alright, I'll pull some strings, call in a few favours."

Aiden's eyes lit up with delight.  "You're gonna help us?"

"Yes, but only because I don't wanna see two more junkies dead, when I knew I could've saved them.  You do realise I'm gonna have to tell the police about this?"

Aiden reluctantly nodded.  It was just the price that he and Jumper had to pay.  "What are we gonna do?"

"I might be able to take you and your mate into protective custody.  Where's your mate staying?"

"Basset's car park."

"One of my boys should know it.  Right, I want you to wait in the squatting house, yes I know about it, and I'll send a van to pick you and your mate up."

"Why can't I wait here?" Aiden protested.

"If Strike has followed you, then I can't risk putting everyone else here in danger.  Go to the house.  A van will be along soon."

The eighteen year old nodded and turned around.

"And, Aiden, be careful.  I heard that Strike stole a Needlepoint van.  Before you get in one of our vans, make sure it's one of us, driving it.
****
It took forty minutes for Aiden to reach the squatting house.  Now he was inside, he was waiting by the front window, clutching onto his knife.  It was half 8 now and a van hadn't arrived yet.

What the fuck was taking them so long?
****
At 8:40, two white vans with big red letters left the Needlepoint car park and took different routes to reach the rendezvous points.

At the same time, an Australian man drove a Needlepoint van away from a disused factory, in order to collect his debt.
****
Jumper's twitches were now rising out of control.  He was being overpowered by his withdrawal symptoms and had to keep pacing around the area.  He kept rubbing his eyes and shaking his head.  It had been well over an hour, since he had last spoken to Aiden.

What the fuck was taking him so long?

At that exact point, a white van with big red letters drove into the service road, which led to Basset's car park.  Jumper could see the van, but he couldn't see who was inside it.

"Who is it?" He called out.

A voice called back answering his question.  Jumper sighed and left the car park.  He walked up to the van and climbed into the front seat.  There was nowhere else he could go.

It doesn't matter what  happens now, it's over for me.   Jumper told himself, as the van drove away, followed by a blue light and the sound of sirens.

****
At the same time, as Jumper was being picked up, a van with big red letters drove into the courtyard of the squatting house.  Aiden could see the van, but he couldn't see who was inside of it.

"Who is it?" He called out.

A voice called back, answering his question.  Aiden sighed and put away his knife.  He picked up his shoe box and left the house, before walking up to the van and climbing into the front seat.  There was nowhere else he could go.

Whatever happens now it's game over.  Aiden told himself, as the van drove away, followed by a blue light and the sound of sirens.

*Author's Notes*

With thanks to my cousin Harry and my friend Zayd for helping me edit this.  This is probably my darkest story since Barbed Wire.  I originally started this in my writer's group, where we were exploring the theme of symbolism and I wrote this based on the emotion of loneliness.  I use aterisks to signify paragraph breaks.  The ending is a cliff-hangar.  You can decide what happens to Jumper and Aiden.

Drone

Children's laughter tinkled into Edward Bozleby's ear.  He knew that up above him in the woodland canopy there were mechanical drones searching for him.  That wasn't the only trouble he was in.  Despite the low humming of the drones, something made Edward freeze in his tracks.  Around him, the giggles of children were leaking out from the trees.  Edward had heard of these things, but he had never seen one.  These were fairies.  Not the happy, dancing fairies, which replaced your lost teeth with one pound coins, but demonic twisted creatures who epitomised evil.  Edward jumped, as he heard a beeping up above him. The drones, which were dripping with the government desire for omniscience, had caught up with him.  He started running again.  He was being chased by creatures, as old as the devil himself and technology, as modern as UAV spyplanes.  How had Edward become trapped in between these two clashing worlds?
****
Until a few days ago, Edward was the wealthy CEO of Black Hole Enterprises, which had provided software for the military.  That was before another weapons company Eclipse had hacked into it and had corrupted the software.  This had bankrupted Edward's company and had turned him into an outcast.  He knew that people loyal to him would be trying to clear his name, but for the moment, he was on his own.  Whoever Eclipse were, they were good.  Even though they had destroyed Edward's career in less than a week, they had made it look like a conspiracy, which had been going on for months.  For reasons unknown, Eclipse had only revealed themselves to Edward and they had used a couple of middle managers to scapegoat for the company's bankruptcy.  A thought flashed across Edward's mind: if he wasn't the one to blame for the downfall of his company, then why the hell was he the one on the run?
****
Edward decided to stop running and conserve his strength for a while, despite the penetrating cackle of the fairies in one ear and the repetitive beeping of the drones in the other.  The irony was that his company had designed the very entities that were chasing him.  The ministry of defence had commissioned his company to create these drones in order to collect surveillance upon any external threats.  So, because of this, Edward knew the strengths and weaknesses of every single drone.  He also knew that the spy-bots weren't in use yet.  Only a handful of them had been constructed and they all had their weaknesses, which had yet to be smoothed out.  The constant beeping was one of the biggest faults of the drones, especially when they were supposed to be creatures of stealth.  Something cold ran down the back of Edward's neck and for the briefest moment a hand brushed across his shoulder.  Edward resisted every urge to turn around and lash out at whatever he was touching him.  Instead he took a deep breath and spoke slowly.

"Who is that?"

"My name is Stella Ingriss."

Edward's relief was obvious.  "I thought you were a fairy."

Stella didn't look impressed.  "Do you really believe in them?"

Edward turned around and looked at the woman he was speaking to.  She was blonde and in her 30's.  Her face had retained a youthful vitality, but her eyes were watchful and cautious.

"Stella Ingriss, I know that name, Stella, Stella." A staccato clicking of his fingers accompanied Edward's thought process.

"I am...well I was a middle manager at Black Hole enterprises," Stella suddenly stamped her foot in frustration, "how have I only just realised? You're the CEO of Black Hole enterprises: Edward Bozleby."

"I was the CEO of Black Hole enterprises; that was until Eclipse happened."
"Who are Eclipse?" Stella asked.

"They're the reasons we're running through this woodland."

"You never said whether you believe in fairies or not."

Edward ran a hand over his balding head.  "I'm not sure what I believe any more...I mean just a week ago I was still the CEO of Black Hole.  I still had a full head of hair 15 years ago and I didn't need glasses, neither did I have this great swollen belly."

Stella could see the insecurity of the man and thought it would be best to change the subject.  "We had best start moving."

"Where are we supposed to go? We're trapped within this forest; if we leave then the drones will find us."

"That's the point.  If we stay within the forest, we can stay hidden.  The drones won't be able to spot us." Without another word, Stella decisively marched forwards.  Edward noticed that she was still dressed in formal clothing, but decided that now wasn't the time to discuss it.  For a brief while, the two walked in silence.  Edward was slightly intimidated by Stella's brisk manner.

Without stopping, Stella abruptly asked, "earlier on, why did you think I was a fairy?"

Edward shrugged, despite the fact that Stella wasn't looking.  "I felt someone's hand on my shoulder and I presumed it was a fairy.  I was relieved, when I found out that it was you."

This caused Stella to stop and turn around.  Confusion was etched across her face.  "I never put my hand on your shoulder.  I never touched you."

Edward's eyes flashed from side to side.  "Then, who did?"

A child laughed and then another joined in and then another and then another and another and another.  Not before long, there was a whole chorus of children giggling and smirking.

"What the hell is that?" Edward demanded.

"I'm not waiting to find out.  Let's get out of here." Without another word, Stella charged forward and the former CEO had little choice but to follow.

Behind them, a fluttering of wings sounded in conjunction to the laughing chorus.  Stella had a good ten years upon Edward and now the fat man was struggling to keep up.  Reluctantly, the blonde woman stopped behind a tree and waited for her former boss to catch up.  She tried to ignore the laughter and the fluttering of wings.  As Edward finally reached Stella, something flew past the two of them, slicing the air in half.

"We have to leave this woodland." Edward said, decisively.

"We can't.  Your bloody drones are still out there searching for us." Stella snapped.

"But if we stay in here, the fairies will catch us." Edward hissed.

"There's no such thing as fairies! They're just made-up stories Edward!" Stella snarled.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

"What the hell do you call that then?"

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

"Hold on, Stella.  What the hell are you doing here?"

"Now isn't the time Edward! We have to move!"

"We can talk now.  Why are you here?"

"Your bloody drones chased me into here!" Stella snapped.

"But, why this particular woodland? Why the same one as me?"

Panic and frustrated flooded Stella's eyes.  "We can talk about what happened after we have moved." The two humans started to run again.  The fairies were beginning to surround them, although they were moving so quickly they weren't visible to the naked eye.  All around them, the fluttering of wings, the laughter of children, the chanting of nursery rhymes were building up to deafening levels.  There was the snarling of teeth, the sun reflecting of the wings of the fairy, the slightest sight of a claw and the never-ending chanting.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

The chanting of the fairies reminded Edward of the nursery rhymes he had heard when he was a young boy. When he was a child, his parents had told him stories about the fairies, about how children will be snatched away without a trace, about how adults were driven to insanity by the child-like laughter.  Edward suddenly realised how ridiculous he was being, for thinking of such a trivial thing now.  He had to put all of his energy into running.

Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.  Down came the rain and washed the spider out.

Vaguely, Stella was aware that the fairies were now singing a new nursery rhyme.  Did she believe in fairies now? Something snapped between her feet, but she carried on running.  Something cut across Edward's cheek, but he carried on running.  Something metallic flew up above the pair, but they carried on running.

Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.  Down came the rain and washed the spider out.

The fairies were no longer chasing the pair, but flying alongside the both of them.  The woodland was their territory and they easily slipped in and out of the trees.  Leaves were afraid to settle on the tarnished floor.  There was a massive crashing, as two drones broke through the woodland canopy, but the chanting of the fairies was so loud that neither human heard it.

Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.  Down came the rain and washed the spider out.

The two drones were still chasing their prey, but they were struggling to keep up with the speed of the fairies.  The creatures were little more than blurs.  Tinges of green and brown were smashing through yellow sunlight, whilst solid black floated menacingly on.  More and more fairies joined the chase, vastly outnumbering the two spy bots.

Ringa ringa roses.  A pocket full of posies.

Edward was exhausted and he couldn't run any further.  "Stella!" He called out, breathlessly.

The blonde woman stopped and started to walk back to her former CEO.  She was absolutely exhausted, as well.  She could only speak in small pants.

"We can’t...stop....now.  We have....to...carry on...."

Edward pointed all around him.  "The fairies have stopped chasing us." He was right.  The fairies had now formed in a circle around them.

Ringa ringa roses.  A pocket full of posies.

Stella was slowly getting her breath back.  She could clearly see the fairies now and could no longer deny their existence.  They were vicious looking creatures with teeth like jagged shards of glass and ill-looking skin with green and brown patches.  They looked nothing like how they did in fairy-tales.  They were skinny beasts with thin skin.  Stella and Edward could see every single bone in their small bodies.  Only their wings, with their own iridescent, shimmery quality, looked anything remotely like the stories, these creatures were associated with.

Ringa ringa roses.  A pocket full of posies.

"Why do they keep singing these nursery rhymes?" Stella demanded.

"I heard that fairies were once children who had become tainted and twisted over time."

"But why have they stopped chasing us? Why are they surrounding us?"

"Maybe they were waiting for them." Edward pointed towards the two drones which had now caught up with their prey.  The CEO and his former employee were standing back to back and the drones were hovering on either side of them.  They were spherical machines, which were coloured an intense black with silver circuitry.  There was a certain coldness about them, which was found in the majority of machines.

"Can your drones hurt us?"

"No.  I never designed them to have weaponry.  They're just for surveillance."

There was a clunk and grinding of metal.  On either drone, a hypodermic syringe appeared out of a hidden compartment.

Edward loudly groaned.  "I'm guessing Eclipse have made a few improvements."

"Shutup Edward! Look at the fairies." Stella pointed to the creatures all around them.  The fairies had started flying in a circle, surrounding the two humans and the drones.  Loose mud was being drawn into the air, as the fairies continued to chant.

Ringa ringa roses.  A pocket full of posies.

The fairies were picking up speed and were almost a blur.

"STELLA! GET OUT OF THE CIRCLE AND STICK TO THE GROUND!" Edward had to shout to be heard.  The two humans ran in opposite directions and the fairies briefly parted to let them pass.  The fairies were flying faster and faster and the drones were becoming confused.  Little specks of dirt were invading their circuitry and clogging up their mechanics.  Edward and Stella watched in amazement at the dust storm, which the fairies were whipping up.  Particles of loose mud were being forced into a spiralling funnel, which shielded the drones from view.  The chanting of fairies sang in correlation with the grinding of the mud on the metallic body of the spy bots.  There was a sudden thump, as both drones crashed to the ground.  The fairies stopped flying and all dispersed, except for one.  Stella ran over to Edward and they waited for the fairy to approach them.

"I suppose we ought to thank you, for what you did to those drones."

"They were in our territory and they had to be dealt with." The fairy spoke in a childlike voice.  It was also telepathic.  As it spoke, its mouth refused to open.

"We're in your territory?" Stella tentatively quavered.  She knew she was taking a risk, by saying this, but it was one that had to be addressed.

"The drones were a threat to us.  You are not." The fairy was still hovering above the ground.  Edward didn't think it had set foot on it for many millennia.

Edward stepped forward this time and addressed the fairy.  "You're right.  We don't mean to hurt you.  Eclipse chased us in here.  We had nowhere else to go."

"Eclipse?" The fairy questioned.

"Have you heard of them?" Stella asked.

"You have to leave our woodland now." The fairy evaded the question.

"What? But Eclipse will still be chasing us.  We're safe in here." Stella protested.

"That is why you have to leave.  We can't risk any harm coming to us."

"Harm is exactly what's going to come to you.  Eclipse is going send more drones and much worse through this woodland to find us."

"We are in control of the four elements: water, the earth, the fire, the very air you breathe.  We can look after ourselves, but you have to leave now."

Edward smiled sadly.  "They're right.  We should go.  They did protect us from the drones after all."

Stella pointed to the mid-afternoon sun.  "Can we at least rest here for a while? We've been running for hours."

The fairy reluctantly nodded.  "You can stay here until dark."
****
The two humans had stayed in the woodland, until the middle of the night, at the grudging acceptance of the fairies.  Edward and Stella had wanted to make sure that nothing else was chasing them; during this time the sky had stayed free from any hostile invaders, but the pair knew that it was time to leave.  The fairy that had talked to them earlier had appeared to the two humans and had led them to the edge of the woodland.  It hadn't spoken to them for the entire trip.

"How do you know so much about these fairies, Edward? I barely believed in them."

"I remember, my parents telling me about them, when I was a boy.  They told me about this mystical woodland that I should stay away from.  Maybe Eclipse drove me into here on purpose."

"Who are Eclipse?" Stella asked.

Exasperatedly, Edward shook his head.  "It's difficult to explain.  My father had Black Hole before me and I knew that him and Eclipse had a strong rivalry.  I'm guessing he must have wronged them badly and now they're taking revenge."

"This is where we leave you now.  Good luck."

Behind the two humans, stood a line of fairies which began to quietly sing another nursery rhyme.  However, the coldness had left their voices and they sounded like a chorus of jovial children.  Edward and Stella walked out of the forest and into the starlit darkness.

Twinkle, twinkle little star.  How I wonder what you are.
Twinkle, twinkle little star.  How I wonder what you are.

*Author's Notes*

It's been a while since I've written a short story.  And this isn't one of my best...This was something I originally wrote for my writer's group.  It was more just a creative unleashing task, rather than anything else.  I was given the name Edward Bozleby, the location of a mystical woodland and I was told write about government drones as well.  The fairies are of my own creation, slightly influenced by folklore and the like.  I use asterisks to signify paragraph breaks.