Still Life

The guest in the next room practising scream therapy at someone named Ron slowly stirred him from his semi comatose state. If the walls had been any thinner he surely would have been in the same room as them. How he would hate to be Ron. Poor bastard.

Very slowly he opened his eyes. The light hurt. There must be a window open somewhere because the Hong Kong fog had invaded the room and made everything hazy so he could not see properly. As he began to focus on the room around him the fog cleared. Blurred vision. It was not the weather. It was him.

A clock on the nightstand. 7.20 a.m. Okay, so it’s not too late in the day.

Someone must have attacked him while he was sleeping, knocked him unconscious and poured shit in his mouth. It tasted awful.

As hangovers go, this one felt pretty bad.

It wasn't a feeling of pain, more a deep emotional scarring. Everything felt suspended in time. He was sure the pain would creep in through the haze soon.

Nausea, headaches, shaking hands. All these could be dealt with by the usual plop-plop-fizz and a quick trip to the Union Bar and Grill at IFC at lunch time. What he was more concerned with was the wiping of his memory from the night before.

Memory is a funny thing. It holds back information. It protects us from the horrors of reality. It allows us only an edited version of events. Yet the mind knows. It has to, in order to know what to hold back. And that's what troubled him.

He went through the events leading up to his system shut-down.

Firstly there were the congratulations in the office on winning the new contract. Then there was a pub after work for a few too many celebration drinks. He knew they would go for dinner so he called his helper and asked her to take special care of his daughter.

Then a taxi with some colleagues to Wanchai and listening to the band in the Amazonia. Loud but good. Those Filipinos sure knew how to play. Then he recalled a girl. What was her name? Lisa? Then dancing. He never did that.

They did a bar crawl and ended up in the Red Bar downstairs. A few glasses of red wine followed by being shown to a table, and then served with a starter followed by more glasses of wine. Then - nothing.

No wait, he thought, there’s more.

Dinner was okay. More red wine. Lisa had joined them. Then the others had left. Lisa had stayed. He knew that she was a hooker, a Hong Kong mattress for hire. Okay, he recalled thinking, maybe this time.

He had checked into a room. The Chinese hotel receptionist was less than impressed. Typical Western guy who had obviously been drinking together with a Filipino hooker in tow. This was a quality hotel but she couldn’t refuse so she had handed over the key and send them up with the porter. What was the room number? Who cares? Somewhere on the fifteenth floor.

Lisa was petite; twenty eight years old, great looks. Short, low cut black dress. Nice girl. Great chest. How did they defy gravity?

She had gone through the usual moves to get him interested but he had just asked her to sit down and relax. In his state he doubted whether he would have been able to perform anyway. He wasn’t drunk but he was on his way. He just wanted to talk. Besides, he wasn’t ready yet to be with someone after Mai. It was still too early. The pain was still too raw, like poking an open wound with a stick. He just wanted some company. Lisa didn’t mind. It would be an easy night for her. After all, he had paid her well.

He had ordered some drinks on room service. What were they again? Doesn’t matter. They were doing the job.

Lisa had asked him what was wrong. She had learnt earlier at dinner about his company winning the new contract. He was supposed to be so happy yet he looked so sad.

He didn’t know why he had opened up to her. Maybe it was because she didn’t know him. Maybe it was because she was warm and friendly. Whatever, it didn’t matter. It had come spilling out of him.

He told her about Mai.

He told her how he had been living and working in Hong Kong at the time he met Mai. Originally from Sydney, an architect, he was well respected at his craft. Young, early-30s, good-looking, good social life, great future prospects. He had it all going for him. Nice bachelor apartment, great lifestyle, sure there was no girlfriend at the time but that would change one day.

He told Lisa how he had met Mai when mutual friends had met for dinner in Tsim Sha Tsui to welcome Chinese New Year and watch the fireworks on Victoria Harbour. Chinese, born in Hong Kong, English speaking, slightly younger than him, medical degree and practising as a doctor, Mai wasn’t bad on the eye either. He had immediately been smitten with her. After a lot of indecision on his part because he wasn’t sure whether she would say yes or not, he had finally asked his friends for her cell phone number and had called her to ask her to meet him for a drink. To his surprise and after some initial hesitation on her behalf she had agreed. Their friendship had developed into a deeper relationship and they had both decided to see where things would lead.

It was only a few months later when they were married and receptions were held in both Sydney and Hong Kong. They had moved out of their single accommodations and into an apartment together in Pok Fu Lam.

He remembered aloud how their first two years together had been bliss. She had filled his life with joy. They had solidified the foundation of their relationship, learnt how to compromise on cultural issues, to laugh at themselves individually and at each other, learnt how to share thoughts and feelings with each other as well as to blend as a couple.

Then the unresolvable had entered their lives.

It wasn’t that Mai had fallen pregnant, that was fantastic news. That was what they had been hoping for. That was going to be a miracle in their lives. The perfect blend.

It was the news that Mai was diagnosed with leukaemia that caused the complication.

Mai had been five months pregnant when the leukaemia had been detected. The medical team had done all they could and the specialist had had to give them a choice to make. Either Mai or the baby. Only one could survive. If Mai continued to take her medicine the baby would miscarry. If Mai didn’t take her medicine, her life would be at peril.

Lisa listened intently as he told her how they had wrestled with their own consciences at what to do and they had cried together in despair. He didn’t want to lose Mai, his wife, the love of his life. It was Mai who made the final decision. The baby would live. Mai reasoned that her situation was terminal at best and that she wanted him and the unborn baby to have a life together after she was gone.

The pregnancy had continued without medication for Mai. She had survived long enough to welcome her little daughter Samantha are into the world and hold her in her arms. He had cried with her. Tears of joy along with tears of sorrow. Mai had died one week later.

That had been one year ago last week. 53 weeks, longer than a year, a lot shorter than a lifetime. It had been on his mind every day, not just for the past week but for everyday since she had gone. Even when he had visited her shrine at Bo Fook Shan it had not helped. He missed Mai so much.

There was an emptiness that nothing seemed to fill.

After Mai had died his head had been a mixture of anger and self-pity. Those feelings had slowly evaporated.

It was all the other memories that kept tormenting him. The unfulfilled plans.

The shared places they had been together still froze his heart: Temple Street Crabs outdoor seafood restaurant in Jordan where they had talked, laughed and even argued; the dining room table at their apartment across which they had faced each other to make sense of their worries and talked about future hopes; even the Wellcome supermarket where they had routinely lingered once a week to refuel their happy lives, smug with the expectation of a lifetime together. They had taken these places for granted, never thinking of tragedy or loss.

For them, misfortune occurred elsewhere and in other people lives, with their sympathies honestly given but couched behind selfish relief. And then Mai was gone and he was alone with Samantha.

He told Lisa how, at first, friends had shown support and love. Eventually he was left to his own devices. His initial meetings with friends and colleagues would elicit friendly nods and smiles but as he passed, those smiles would turn to frowns and heads would slowly shake. Everyone was so sad for him. They felt pity for him. But he was lost to them and to himself. For a time it was if he was in a trance. He inhabited a dream-world where the past and future had evaporated into an endless state of cold endurance within the present. He had simply gone through the motions of living. He had to.

Lisa heard how he had contemplated taking his own life early in his grief so he could join Mai but he decided that would be unfair to his little daughter. For her sake he must endure the pain of living.

In his mind he could always see Mai and feel her, her smile and her soft black hair, and Mai scolded him for clinging on to what was not real. Even when he was in the street he could see her face in the expressions of passers-by. Mai was everywhere.

No wonder he was screwed up.

But Mai was gone. No matter how much he hoped and wished, she would not be coming back.

When he had finished talking he remembered looking up and seeing that Lisa had been crying. She had said some things. What were they again? Can’t remember. Brain fade due to too much alcohol.

The last thing he could remember was telling Lisa she could go. She had understood. She had given him a kiss on the cheek, smiled and told him he was a nice guy and then left.

He couldn’t remember much after that. He could tell he was still dressed in his business clothes, tie done up nearly strangling him, shoes on, that much was obvious. He must have passed out while sitting on the end of the bed and just laid there like a corpse until 10 minutes ago when Ron’s wife had started telling Ron how much she loved him. Not very much apparently.

He lay afraid to move and stared at the ceiling. Why are all hotel room ceilings always painted white he pondered. Why couldn’t they paint them some other colour? What’s wrong with light blue for example? At least people could pretend it was the sky.

Three light fittings, one smoke detector, one sprinkler fitting, and one air conditioning register. The total number of services hanging from the ceiling.

He lay very still. His mind wandered.

One year after her death and he was still numb and indifferent to life and to those around him. He didn’t want to become close to anyone again, to risk the pain of hurting or losing someone else who mattered to him. From time to time he would have nights like last night, numb the pain for a while and maintain his emotional isolation.

He grieved in public yet only wept in private; Selfish ego would not permit his heart to lay itself bare. That was private. Untouchable. Not for public view.

At least he had her memory. He had had his special love in his life and nobody could touch that. Nobody would ever take that away. If he just got up from this bed and kept moving perhaps he could leave the pain behind him so it couldn’t catch up with him.

He cried. He was alone. For the first time he didn't cry for himself; He cried for Mai and Samantha and that they would never know each other.

He opened his eyes. His vision blurred with the tears. The smoke detector came back into view.

What was the time now? he thought. He turned his head.

8.00 a.m. Time to go.

Not yet.

Breath in, breath out.

I will leave in a moment, he thought.

More from last night came back into his memory. What was it that Lisa had said just before she had left? That’s right; she had asked him what Mai would have thought about his behaviour and his attempts to blot out his pain. She had wondered whether Mai would want him to accept what had happened and get on with his life and honour her.

Acceptance is the key, Lisa had said. Acceptance is the key. What does that mean?

Honour her? What did she mean by that?

What would Mai have said about his behaviour last night? He pondered.

Perhaps she would understand that getting drunk last night was just his feeble attempt at forgetting, at least for just a little while. She would understand that the forgetting wouldn’t last long. It never did.

No, Mai would not say that. Lisa was right. He knew that Mai would tell him to stop trying to blot her out, to smile when he thought of her rather than feeling sad and sorry for himself. She would tell him to accept what had happened and get on with his life. Mai would also tell him to honour her and her memory by being happy, living fully, and being a proper father to their daughter.

That’s hard my love, he thought. Its easier to keep trying to forget. Or is it? Trying to forget is such hard work.

Acceptance is the key.

A long sigh.

A pause.

A heartbeat.

This has to stop. I need to accept what has happened and get on with my life.

A deep breath in.

A longer pause

Another heartbeat.

Okay my darling. If that’s what you want. That’s what I’ll do. As long as there is still life in me that’s what I’ll do.

A long slow breath out.

Movement.

He struggled up off the bed. Stood up gingerly while the room spun then slowly settled. He would shower later he reasoned as he just wanted to get away from there. He needed to get outside and get some fresh air rather than keep breathing in the dry stuff coming from the air-conditioning system.

He straightened his clothes, adjusted his tie, smoothed his hair with the flat of his hand. The bottled water on the table made him feel semi human again. Passable.

He opened the door. A short balding guy in spectacles dressed in a yellow polo shirt and grey shorts over black walk socks and runners came walking by. A much larger woman in permed red hair and a floral dress who was clutching a black carry bag was with him. Her face was all screwed up as if she had just eaten a lemon. The guy must be Ron he thought. He really is a poor bastard.

The door to room 1510 closed quietly behind him as he left. He wasn’t going to work. He was going to spend the day with his daughter, to start getting on with his life and to remember his wife with a smile.

Fragile

The bright white sign with big black lettering said the lifts were temporarily out of order and would return to service shortly.

Paul Carrick stood in front of the stainless steel elevator doors and looked down at the sign. It was the size of his black briefcase. He scratched his head for a moment and ruffled his grey flecked, mousy brown hair. Then he turned and looked wearily to his right, to the bright mid-blue, heavy steel door marked, ‘Stairs.’

‘That’s why all the porters are super busy,’ he whispered, glancing behind him at the hotel lobby. Paintings with floral etching for borders, carpeted floors and beige coloured wallpaper. Somewhere above a gentle breeze from the air-conditioning system caressed his forehead. He smoothed down his striped tie and adjusted his navy suit jacket before moving towards the stair door. This was not exactly what he wanted after returning from a quick business trip to Singapore

‘Oh well. The exercise will do me good.’ He had a quiet, smooth, calm voice when he spoke to himself.

He picked up his suit bag and loped towards the stairwell. His American accent was still noticeable, but nine years of travelling back and forth to Hong Kong had smoothed it out considerably and didn’t sound as if he had just arrived in this busy metropolis.

At the other end of the lobby, the outside door opened. The doorman was letting someone inside. He felt the hot wind like a hot poker in his face. The air smelled of the pollution. He turned to look.

It was someone he had met a hotel cocktail party a few nights previously. ‘Well, hello Miss Wong,’ he said, smiling. ‘Let me help you.’

He put his briefcase and suit bag down awkwardly, and half-jogged the length of the brief lobby to the front door. The attractive, young looking Chinese woman, another guest at Hotel China, was weighed down with large bags identifying where she had shopped, Tiffany, Gucci, Lane Crawford. It had been an expensive day.

All of the porters were busy helping other guests with their luggage so it looked as if she, like him, had decided not to wait but to carry her own stuff to her room.

‘Let me help,’ he said. ‘I can take these for you. They're bulky and you look like you are struggling.’

‘Yes,’ she laughed. “Thank you. Many things. Too many things. I should not buy all this stuff. Just trying to distract myself.’

Paul smiled at her pleasant accent.

‘Come, come in. It's cooler back here. You should have told me you were going shopping.’ He said in an effort to be helpful, ‘I would come and help. It's too hot to carry all these bags alone.’ His voice was loud, confident.

‘Yes. Too hot.’ She brushed the hair out of her eyes that had blown by the wind outside while carrying her bags.

She was not much shorter than Paul, he noticed, and her face was one of those perfect quietly beautiful Asian faces often seen in magazines and catalogues. He wondered if she knew just how beautiful and attractive she looked. If she did she kept it well hidden.

‘And I must be getting old,’ she joked.

‘That's not true.’ They walked towards the stairwell. ‘You must be much younger than me, yes? I'm fifty this year.’

Her eyes made her seem to be smiling.

‘Forty-one.’ She said quietly

‘Ah, see? You are much younger than me. The lifts are not working. Can I take your bags?’

She paused, deep in thought. Her hair had been put up at the back in a pony tail. She was dressed in a light, loose white top that was opaque and cut to accentuate her nice slim figure. She wore plain blue jeans that looked anything but plain on her. Her feet, taking short, determined steps in open toed yellow sandals, were small. It occurred to Paul that her female ancestors may have had their feet bound as young girls and the physical legacy had been passed down to her. She stopped for a moment.

‘I have more, outside. A big box.’ she said, turning around and shaking her head in quiet frustration. ‘The porters are too busy with other guests’ luggage. The doorman is looking after it while he helps others. He wanted to help but I told him I would manage with these bags first and then come back later for the box.’

‘A good day?’ enquired Paul.

‘Too much,’ she whispered, and tapped her forehead with the flat of her palm.

They both laughed quietly in companionship.

‘I will come back,’ Paul interrupted. ‘Come, I will walk with you up the stairs and we can talk along the way. I’ll do what a man is designed for,’ he smiled ‘to be a pack horse and carry the bags after a lady has been shopping.’ They laughed again.

She thanked him and the pair began their climb to the sixth floor.

The stairwell was off white with metallic railings. Everything was newly painted and still smelled that way. The floor was sleek and slippery due to lack of use since the repainting so they needed to be careful. Every sound reverberated off the concrete floor and walls, their shuffling steps, the harsh noise of the plastic and paper bags, the brush of their sleeves, Paul’s briefcase, and their voices, mostly his.

‘In truth, I don't mind walking upstairs. I used to run for aerobic exercise. And I was a football player. American Grid Iron. Very good, too, as a young man. You know American football?’

‘Hmmmmm. Yes, yes. A little.’ She nodded, thoughtfully.

He picked up the bags again, balanced the load, and they continued upstairs.

‘Do you have children?’ she spoke haltingly.

‘Yes,’ he said, with a sense of pride, even though he hadn't seen his children or grandchildren for a few months. ‘I have a son and a daughter, Jesse and Leah. They visit me sometimes. They have children too. And you? What is your first name, Miss Wong? You can call me Paul.’

‘Kitty,’ she said. ‘I have one.’

She held up her open hand, displaying her long slender fingers.

‘One here, in Hong Kong.’ She waved her hand sideways. ‘The rest of my family live everywhere.’

‘How long have you stayed here in the hotel?’

‘Two weeks. I will be here one week longer. My son lives close to here with his new wife,’ Kitty stopped to pronounce the name correctly. ‘Jardine’s Lookout. They want me to stay with them but I want them to have their independence. And I also like mine.’ She smiled.

She took a deep breath and waited as some porters passed them heading down the stairs.. Paul saw how easy the stairs were for her. She was quite fit.

‘No lifts. I hope they fix them soon.’ Kitty said softly while making small talk. ‘What if someone slips and falls as they climb the stairs?’

‘Yes, it could be very dangerous. I wouldn’t like anything bad to happen to you or me for that matter.’ He joked.

While he spoke, Kitty would nod and say, ‘Yes.’ He enjoyed talking with her, and told her.

They reached their floor and stopped a moment to rest. Paul patted his solid but taut waist. ‘Good exercise.’

He had always been a solid looking guy probably due to his Irish heritage. He had once joked that his ancestors must have been potato farmers and that’s why he had a muscular build and big strong hands. Coming in and around 176 centimetres he wasn’t exactly short and looked good in his suits as well as casual clothes.

Pleasant looking, quietly handsome but not a standout he was popular amongst his colleagues and friends because of his pleasant character. His hair had started to get some flecks of grey in at around age 30 but had not continued and his hair remained his natural colour.

Often getting comments about his youthful looks he would often joke and reply that alcohol was a good preservative although in reality he rarely drank and didn’t smoke.

The hallways on every floor of the hotel were wide and well lit, with low white ceilings. Every floor followed a similar layout, and every room or suite looked basically the same. Walls were tastefully papered and commercial carpets that Paul would have described as “autumn tones”. Most rooms had large windows to let in natural light. Good for a short or extended stay.

Being in Wanchai the hotel afforded a busy continuing nightlife for those who liked that kind of entertainment. Restaurants, bars, music, girls, sex workers, it had it all.

For Paul though it had been the hotel that had been recommended to him when he originally started coming to Hong Kong. The location was convenient to transport, was close to his company’s branch office and he enjoyed walking to work through parts of old Hong Kong.

The hotel even had the Red Bar downstairs where Paul would occasionally meet a friend or go for a coffee if he felt like getting out of his suite but not going too far. The bar was a nice place even if some of the local working girls also used it as a place to proposition prospective clients or meet them there for dinner.

‘Here you are.’ He announced when they reached the door to number 6015. ‘Now, you say there is something else downstairs? I will go and get it.’

Kitty made a slight expression of protest, but Paul insisted.

She put her hand on his arm before he left. ‘Thankyou. You are so nice,’ she said. ‘Please be careful.’

He looked at her, puffed out his chest a little, and laughed out loud.

‘Don’t worry. I am a strong gweilo, remember?’

The walk down seemed to take just as much effort as the walk up. Different muscle groups in my legs, he thought, how quickly he lost his base fitness. How he loved to walk often when back in Chicago, his home for many years. He remembered the long walks alone along the banks of Lake Michigan and around Grant Park. He remembered how he often used to walk along the waterfront from Navy Pier past the marina to the Shedd Aquarium and back several times on a weekend, through its crowds: the tourists, people on rollerblades, cyclists, street performers, prostitutes, sidewalk vendors, occasional drunks, and women in expensive clothes who looked like they belonged in a nightclub rather than at the lake.

He remembered how he and some of the other members of his boyhood college sports club had travelled into the Italian precinct one summer evening in the 1970s after a few too many beers. It was there at Maggiano’s Little Italy restaurant on North Clarke Street that he had first seen the raven haired beauty Bianca working as a waitress. He had fallen in love with her at first glance and, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of his buddies, had returned the next night alone and asked her to come out with him at some time when she was not working. She had agreed and they had married 18 months later.

Their marriage had been one of those close, extremely loving unions only read about in magazines. Their love for each other had produced two wonderful children in quick succession and they had been a close-knit unit right up until the time of Bianca’s death in a car accident at age 36. After the initial grieving Paul had set himself to the task of bringing up his children alone and had done a great job even if he personally didn’t think so.

Deep down he still missed his wife dearly and he had wondered if he would ever meet someone once again that he could give his love to. When his children had both reached their early 20s and become independent, they had been the ones to release him from the nest, not the other way round. They had known of his emptiness ever since their mother had died and, while they had also felt their individual black holes in their own respective worlds, they had given Paul the blessing to go out and find a new partner. After all, they had told him a long time ago, the love you had for our mother can never be taken away from you but you have so much love to give it really is selfish to keep it all to yourself. He had valued and appreciated their frankness but he was yet to allow himself the luxury.

After his children had left the family home in Naperville, a leafy and relaxed community outside Chicago he had sold the house and moved to an apartment on South Michigan Avenue not far from the stately Convention Hotel overlooking Grant Park and the lake. It was lonely but at least it saved him the hour train trip to work and back each day.

He had then been offered a directorship in the company he had been with for many years. It also meant travelling periodically to the branch office in Hong Kong and that had been fine with him.

That was nine years ago and his life had been stable but quiet ever since.

He stopped inside the lobby near the exit door to look for the parcel that Kitty had left there. It was a hot, extremely humid day. The air was thick with pollution and sat still in the street. He pushed the door open, and stepped into the furnace. He saw a big cardboard box, over knee-height, near the doorman should have been. Instead the doorman was helping to do porter duties as many guests had arrived and their luggage needed to be brought inside.

He bent to pick it up, and found that it was quite heavy.

‘My stars! What’s in this?’

He picked it up and struggled through the door and to the stairs. The size of the box made it difficult to look over the top or to look around the side. This time the trip up the stairs took longer than before as he had to negotiate each turn in the staircase with the huge box.

‘She's really nice pal, that one,’ he whispered to himself. ‘I wonder what she thinks of me.’

Every so often, he rested the box on the stair railing to give himself a break. The weight was really nothing; it was really just the awkward angle that he had to hold the big box at that strained his arms. He wondered how he had ended up doing this. Stop kidding yourself, he chastised himself. You like her, just accept it, he laughed to himself.

‘Hell. I'm too old to get involved with someone again.’ He said out loud as he struggled his way distractedly up a few more stairs. ‘I'm just a goody-two-shoe.’ He laughed ‘I've always tried to be too much of a gentleman.’

Suddenly, his foot slipped on the shiny, newly painted floor. Without even realizing it, he had lost his grip on the box and it hit the stairs and rolled end over end to the landing below. Something made a breaking sound as it had hit. Glass, he thought.

‘Shit!’ His voice echoed around him, up and down the walls in the empty, hollow stairwell. ‘You idiot! Now what have you done?’

It was difficult to think. How could he have been so careless? What would he say to Kitty? He could forget any romantic thoughts that he might have had towards her now that he shown her how stupid and clumsy he was.

He picked up the damaged box and continued on to the sixth floor, no need for special care any more.

He stood outside Kitty's door for a few moments, holding the box before him before pushing the doorbell. When she opened the door, she was smiling happily, but then looked concerned at his expression.

‘I'm really very sorry,’ he said, entering her suite. He stood, sheepishly, in the middle of the lounge area. ‘It was just as you said. Someone could have slipped and it was me who did exactly that. I'm so very sorry. I think I've broken what is in here.’

He shook the box.

‘Are they glasses?’

Paul set the box down. Kitty tore off the strip of masking tape along the seam sealing the box and opened the top.

‘A porcelain vase. I bought it at that new department store in Queens Road, Central this afternoon. I don’t know what the name is. I saw it in the window and thought it would look nice on a window ledge at my sons place,’ she said.

She picked out some of the pieces. It was smashed, completely broken, unrepairable. It would have been beautiful too, Paul thought. Bright white, with some nice painting done by hand on the front depicting birds in a scene and with some Chinese characters on the back. Very elegant.

Kitty said something to herself quietly.

‘I'm sorry; I didn’t hear you.’ Paul was ashamed of what he had done. He feared that he had offended her.

Kitty closed her eyes before she spoke.

‘Oh, I said, never mind.’

‘No, please’, Paul pleaded. ‘Please let me pay you for the damage. It’s the least I can do.’

‘Its okay,’ said Kitty, eyes still closed. ‘It was an accident’.

‘Please,’ Paul’s voice sounded strained. ‘I really want to make it up to you’.

‘No, really, it was just an accident. Don’t worry about it.’ replied Kitty calmly looking at him. ‘Would you like some tea?’

Her eyes seemed larger to him than earlier. They were open wider and he could see her black pupils looking straight at him. It seemed like she had decided that the matter was over. Finished. He felt really bad. He looked around for something to distract him, something he could talk about.

‘The view from your room is very nice,’ Paul said quietly, embarrassed, looking away from her. ‘Where do you normally live?’

There was no answer. He turned and saw that she was looking straight at him but her thoughts seemed to be a million miles away.

…and then, after a moment’s hesitation

‘Oh, sorry, I was born in Malaysia. Lived there most of my life. All of my family are from there but now they live all over the place.’ She stood up.

‘My husband was born in Hong Kong.’ Kitty continued. ‘My family and my husband’s family own a lot of property in Malaysia and Hong Kong and are well-off. My husband died of heart disease seven years ago. I couldn’t stay living in our big house with all the memories. I live in an apartment in Kuala Lumpur now. I don't miss anything.’

‘I must go.’ Paul was embarrassed and felt awkward. ‘I'm very sorry about your vase. I’ve been a real idiot.’

‘Paul. Paul please….’ He heard Kitty’s voice behind him as he made his exit quickly before Kitty could say anything more. He hurried along the hallway and entered 6022, his temporary home further along the hall.

He sat on his leather sofa.

‘What an idiot you have been.’ He said to himself. ‘Firstly, you run into someone who has actually taken your interest and next you go and break their new purchase and then, if that’s not enough, you embarrass yourself by not insisting on replacing it and asking stupid questions.’

Without a thought he got up from the sofa and walked out of his suite, the door closing automatically behind him. Back down the stairs again and out the front door to the hotel.

‘Good evening Mr Carrick,’ said Rajah the doorman as he carried a large suitcase for an arriving guest. ‘Would sir like a taxi?’

‘Yes please.’ Paul replied. Rajah stopped and signalled for one of the taxis in a queue to move forward and opened the door for Paul to get in.

‘Queens Road please. Stop outside H&M.’ He said to the taxi driver.

The red, four cylinder Toyota took off through the busy streets of Wan Chai. People and traffic everywhere. Paul struggled with the seat belt. The wearing of a seat belt was compulsory by law but they never seemed to buckle up. Why have a stupid law that people can’t obey, he thought. Once again he just held the seat belt over his shoulder to make it look like he was wearing it. Problem solved provided they didn’t hit anything, By the way the driver was speeding through the traffic in the side streets however, it appeared he was on a kamikaze mission and they might not make it. Soon they were in the mid-afternoon crawl and he felt much safer. Soon Paul found himself arriving at his destination in Central.

It was just a short walk from there across the road to the new Chinese department store where he knew Kitty had bought the beautiful porcelain vase. He made his way inside and soon found the section of the department store that sold the vases. He scrutinised every vase until he found one that was quite close in appearance to the one that he had broken.

Calling to the shop assistant, he asked the price.

‘Four thousand, two hundred Hong Kong dollars.’ replied the Chinese shop assistant in English.

‘That’s quite expensive,’ he sighed ‘Oh well, I’ll take it.’

‘That’s amazing,’ beamed the surprised shop assistant ‘We haven’t sold a single vase in the month since we opened and now we have sold two in the same day.’

‘Yeah, really amazing,’ mumbled Paul smiling wryly as the shop assistant wrote out the docket.

After he had paid for his new purchase the shop assistant wrapped up the vase in layer upon layer of bubble wrap at Paul’s insistence before placing it in a cardboard box. He then went back out to Queens Road and hailed another taxi.

‘Hotel China, Wan Chai,’ said Paul as he manoeuvred the box onto the seat next to him.

The trip back was better. The seat belt in this taxi didn’t want to buckle up either but at least the driver drove at a speed that seemed safer than Paul’s previous trip.

Arriving back at the hotel Rajah the doorman assisted him from the taxi and opened the front door to the hotel allowing him to enter. It looked like things were getting back to normal again. The backlog of guests had diminished and porters were doing routine duties.

‘Good evening Mr Carrick,’ he smiled politely as he turned to attend to some other guest that had just arrived.

Making his way through the lobby he arrived at the stairs only to find that the lifts were working again. ‘Just my luck,’ he mused.

He took it to the sixth floor and proceeded straight to 6015.

He tapped on Kitty's door and waited. A few seconds later the door opened.

‘I'm sorry I left in such a hurry earlier. I was embarrassed.’ He looked at the floor shifting from foot to foot. ‘I got you this. It’s to replace the one I broke earlier.’

Kitty was quiet for several moments and didn't seem to know how to respond. Paul felt his uneasiness eating away at himself again. Kitty then looked surprised as she realised what Paul was carrying.

‘Oh my. This isn't necessary. No,’ she said finally.

Paul insisted, as best he could.

‘Thank you,’ she said. Paul’s uneasiness must have shown on his face. Kitty opened the door wider. ‘Come in, please. Would you like some tea?’

‘Perhaps I had better just leave this with you and go,’ he said sheepishly.

Kitty looked at him, hesitated a moment. ‘Paul, may I tell you something?’

‘Yes. Please tell me.’

Kitty searched for the right words. ‘Paul, you are a nice man. Earlier when you met me in the lift lobby downstairs I was being cross at myself for going out and shopping trying to distract myself from the loneliness I have been feeling lately.’

She stopped briefly, then ‘You see, my husband was my first boyfriend and I have not been out with anyone since he died. Now that Simon has grown up and moved away with his wife my life feels a bit empty.’

‘I know what you mean,’ ventured Paul, glad she was telling him this.

‘And then,’ Kitty continued, ‘you helped me downstairs and I enjoyed our chatting very much as we came up. I felt very happy.’

‘Go on.’

‘When you caught me thinking before when you told me about the vase, I wasn’t thinking about the vase, I was thinking of how you were such a nice man.’ Kitty’s cheeks started to turn red, a seconds pause and then almost blurted out ‘….. and how I would love to have a nice man like you in my life again.’

Now it was Paul’s turn to look straight at Kitty and say nothing.

‘I really wish you would come in, put that box down and stay for some tea,’ Kitty whispered as she nervously studied the carpet at Paul’s feet.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

Paul paused briefly. He knew this had the potential to be a life changing moment for both of them. He wanted that life change. He was ready.

He moved past Kitty into her suite.

The door closed gently behind him.

Excerpt from my second novel - Heavens Above

(Here is an excerpt from my second novel titled "Heavens Above". Its currently in the draft stage, hopefully to be finished in September '07)

Prologue Part Two
Brunswick, Australia 1942

Alexis pulled her coat around her and trotted up the wide, flat steps leading to the Greek Community Centre of Brunswick. She pulled open the heavy door and let the wind slam it shut behind her. Then she stood for a moment in the entryway, allowing her body a moment to warm up. She took a deep breath and smiled at the familiar scents of musty books, potluck food and cologne that clung to the walls of the center.

The entryway was small and dark, with heavy wood paneling and a tall ceiling. Straight ahead was a hall with several glass-paned doors each opening into an office. At the end of the hallway was the large gathering room where most people who came to the center got together for various activities. Behind the “big room,” as most people called it, was a kitchen, where the ladies of the center spent long happy hours cooking Moussaka, Souvlakia, Spanakopita or Baklava and milk custard pie for various events.

Alexis stepped into the big room, and saw a group of people about her age at the far end of the room near the small Philco radio. Most days, Alexis knew she could find people here listening to news reports about the war, playing games and listening to the popular music and dancing. Today, several of her friends were sitting in wooden fold-up chairs, playing two up at the long table near the window. A small cardboard box placed on the table was the ring, and most players had a small pile of pennies and half pennies to toss into the middle of the box.

Alexis hurried to the table and sat in an empty chair next to Stella, her best friend.

“Playing?” Stella said by way of a greeting.

Alexis dug unto the pocket of her coat and took out her coin purse. She undid the clasp and dumped a small collection of coins onto the table. “Yes,” she said.

“We’re almost done this round,” Stella said. “You can jump in when we start the new game.”

Alexis was used to this and leaned back in her chair to let the sights and sounds wash over her. The card players were laughing and taking about a funny incident that happened at the Greek bakery where Stella and Chloe worked. Alexis surveyed the room to see who else was there. Over by the radio a few serious-looking men were gathered around the radio, no doubt looking to find the latest updates on the Royal Australian Navy’s participation in the war. Two of the men, Christos and Philip, Alexis had known since her primary school days. The third man was unfamiliar. Tall, light haired and light skinned, he didn’t seem to belong in the Greek center. Alexis found that she was staring, and flushed with embarrassment when the man looked up and eyed her as he talked with Christos.

Alexis hastily turned her head to find the game was ending and Chloe volunteered to be the new ringy, who would oversee the coin tosses into the ring. Several people scowled, as they had to place their losing bets into the kitty in the middle of the table, which Greg promptly swept a small pile of coins from with a smirk. Stella glanced at Alexis and caught her eyeing the mystery man again.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” She whispered.

Alexis found herself feeling extremely flushed. “What?” She asked, “Who?”

“Silly, you know exactly who,” Stella said. “He’s Philip’s English cousin. His name is Winston. Doesn’t that sound properly English? The girls are all crazy about him since he arrived.”

The cards were dealt, and Alexis took her hand and tried to ignore Winston, who did seem to have a fair amount of female attention. Instead of trying to ignore him, all the other girls were actively flirting with him. Alexis paid more attention to sneaking furtive glances at Winston than she did to the game and kept placing losing bets. After several rounds in which Alexis lost all her coins, she stood up to go to the kitchen and make some coffee for everyone. She was reaching on her tiptoes, trying to grab the mugs from the back of the cupboard, when a hand came in to view and easily took hold of the mug.

A deep voice said, “Here, let me help you, miss.”

Alexis turned with a gasp and found that she was staring up at a pair of piercing bright blue eyes. Her heart felt as if it was leaping in her chest, and she had a difficult time catching her breath.

Winston smiled. “Pardon me,” he said. “I did not mean to frighten you.” He stepped back and placed the mug on the counter. “My name is Winston Andrews. I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

He held out his right hand, and Alexis placed her shaking fingers into it. “Alexis,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat and tried again, attempting to make her voice sound more adult and sophisticated than she felt. “Alexis Diamantopoulos. Uh, it’s Greek. The name, I mean.” Once again her face flamed red, and she felt like a silly schoolgirl.

Winston nodded and smiled. “My cousin is Philip. His uncle married my mother’s sister. They’re all Greek, we’re all English.” He politely glanced down and Alexis looked down and realized she was still clutching his hand with her fingers. She snatched her hand away and said, “Pleased to meet you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must retreat to the washroom.”

Alexis fled past Winston and made a beeline for the door on the opposite end of the room marked ‘Ladies.’ Once inside, she leaned against the sink and allowed herself to feel extremely foolish. You’re a woman of 22, she scolded herself. Behaving like a lovesick child!

Alexis had had boyfriends in the past. In fact, she and Roy had broken up just a few moths ago after dating for over a year. Unfortunately, he joined the Royal Australian Navy to go fight the war and told Alexis he thought it would be better if she didn’t wait for him. She was upset, but recovered much more quickly than she anticipated. That was why she was so surprised about her reaction to Philip’s cousin. What is it about Winston Andrews that makes me feel so smitten? She asked herself.

Soon, she had other things to occupy her mind. Christos brought a war flyer to the center and passed it around to all the members who were congregated in the big room. Alexis read the flyer with great interest. In large type at the top of the flyer, it read, “The spearhead reaches south – Always south!” There was a map with a picture of Japan and several arrows pointing south to Australia. Off to the left was a picture of Prime Minister John Curtin, and a column of information about rules for Australians to obey. Alexis read several with a growing sense of trepidation. Help your local ARP wardens all you can. In an emergency, stay put and sit tight. Don’t waste money, food, and precious petrol.

“What can we do?” Alexis asked aloud as she passed the flyer to Stella. The room, a noisy buzz of voices, quieted as Win put up his hand, motioning everyone to let Alexis speak. “What does this mean for us here at the Greek Centre? There are so many of us. We must be able to organize some way to help the war effort.”

There was a brief silence, as many people cast their eyes down and became seemingly immersed in the floorboards.

A deep male voice spoke. “How many of you have a friend or relative in the war?” Win asked.

Almost all hands in the room went up, with people murmuring about their cousins, brothers and friends who were fighting the war.

“What would they want you to do?” Win asked. He glanced at Alexis, who gave him a small smile. Thank you, she mouthed.

“We could send care packages overseas,” Margaret suggested. “Make homemade treats and send them with a letter. It will help keep spirits up.”

“That’s a great idea,” said Alexis. “We can all get together here in the kitchen and spend a day baking, and then once everything is ready we can pack it and write the letters. How will we get a list of people to send it to?”

Theo said, “My uncle knows the local Air Raid Precautions Warden. I’ll ask him if he can talk to him and get us a list. Also, he might be able to suggest ways we can help.”

Alexis grabbed a pen from a nearby table and started writing down everyone’s suggestions. So far she had written Overseas packages, talk to ARP warden. “Anything else?” she asked.

“What about the hospital?” George asked. “Do they need volunteers for the soldiers who have been sent home?”

“It’s worth checking out,” said Win. “Would you be able to do that?”

George nodded. Alexis added Check with hospital to her list.

“Maybe we should look into having an air raid shelter here,” said. “According to this flyer from Prime Minister Curtin, the Japanese could target Australia. I know other towns nearby are building shelters and having air raid drills.”

Alexis added Air raid shelters to the list and asked Theo, “Could you tell your uncle to ask the warden about shelters?”

Theo nodded, “Will do.”

Soon, Alexis had a sizable list of tasks for the members of the Community Centre to carry out. They agreed to work on the list in the next few days and to meet again before the end of the week to discuss their findings and assign jobs.

Alexis took her list and carefully tacked it to the Centre’s bulletin board next to the kitchen. She felt an odd mixture of pride and foreboding as she thought about the events of the afternoon. Pride in having a hand at organizing the Centre’s members to participate in war efforts, and foreboding about the possibility of air strikes. Suddenly, the world felt a little less safe than it had that morning.

“Oh well,” she whispered. “At least now we’re taking some action rather than sitting around worrying about it.”

“Alexis?”

Alexis started and turned to find Win Andrews standing behind her. Great, she thought, now he has caught me talking to myself. That will help his impression of me.

“That was great how you started the conversation about what we could do to help the war efforts,” Win said. “My cousin is serving over in England, and I know how much the troops need the support from us at home. Thanks to you, the whole centre will be involved.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” Alexis said. “If I hadn’t spoken up, I’m sure someone else would have. It’s just that I’ve been feeling like I should help in some way, and didn’t really know how to do it. One of my housemates volunteers for the Red Cross, and the other sews for the war effort. I’ve felt rather useless so far. I should have known my chance would come here, at the Community Centre.”

Win was nodding thoughtfully. “This is an important place in your community, isn’t it? We have nothing like this back in the town in England where I live.”

“I’ve been coming here with my family since it opened,” Alexis said, slightly aware at her surprise that she was actually able to carry on a normal adult conversation with Win. “It’s like a second home to me. Sometimes more than my own.”

“I look forward to seeing how this all turns out,” said Win. “You can count on my help for anything that the centre needs done.”

“Thank you,” Alexis said as she ducked her head. She hoped Win didn’t notice how her cheeks flamed.

The next several weeks were a busy blur of activity. After the initial discussion, word spread and the whole Community Centre became involved in the war efforts. The Ladies Auxiliary began sewing for the war, several groups decided to volunteer for the Red Cross, Comforts Fund and the hospital. Alexis was in charge of organizing the care packages, and brought together women of all ages to cook treats to send. The war effort in Brunswick was kept alive by the community centre, and Alexis was proud of herself and her friends at the community centre for all they were doing.

Despite her busy schedule, Alexis continued to ask herself what her interest in Win Andrews was as she endured watching the other girls fall over themselves in order to get a moment’s attention from Win. To his credit, Win was polite and friendly, but didn’t seem to be particularly interested in any of the other girls. Alexis and Win spoke only in passing a few times, as Alexis alternated between infatuation and indifference. She didn’t want to risk making a fool out of herself as she had that first day, and took his lack of contact with her to mean that her first impression upon him had been lousy.

One dreary afternoon, as Alexis, Stella and a few other girls sat at the table assembling the care packages and writing letters, Stella said to Alexis in a low voice, “Aren’t you ever going to admit you’re sweet on Win?”

“What?” Alexis asked. “No. What are you talking about? I am no such thing!” She tried to sound indignant, but Stella was having none of it.

“Alexis, please, you’re like a dopey puppy dog,” she whispered. “You obviously have strong feelings for him.”

Alexis sighed. “I think he’s friendly and handsome—but so does everybody else. Plus, he thinks I’m loony because I’m afraid I made a terrible first impression.” She paused. “And a terrible second impression. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want a boyfriend, especially after Roy and I broke up.”

Stella glanced at Alexis for a few moments, a mischievous grin crossing her face. “I don’t believe a word you say,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.”

Alexis opened her mouth to defend herself, and then thought better of it and closed it again. Better to let Stella think what she wants rather than make a big deal out of it, she told herself.

Thankfully, Philip, who ran to the Philco and turned the volume up as a new song came on, diverted the conversation. “Has anybody heard this?” he asked. “It’s Jack Davey. It’s called ‘Our Air Raid Shelter.’ Listen.”

The people gathered in the room kept working and listened to the song, and some who had heard it before began humming or whistling.

“There’s no more room now in our air raid shelter,
There’s Aunt ’n Gran ’n Dad ’n Mum ’n me.
And when the sirens sound we all run helter-skelter,
Just Aunt ’n Gran ’n Dad ’n Mum ’n me.”

Short Story - A Frozen Heart

(Authors note - The following short story is reasonably graphic and barbaric. Those persons who may be emotionally affected or squeamish should skip this story and go on to the others after it)

The first time I experienced the death of loved ones was when I was a Captain in the US Cavalry stationed in the mid-west.

My troops and I had been given the responsibility of a routing some Blackhawk renegades who had been attacking wagon trains coming from the East during the past few weeks. The savages had also attacked some of the settlements along the way often killing innocent women and children in a most inhumane manner. Often they would shoot pregnant women in the stomach with their arrows and leave both baby and mother to die. Usually the arrows would instantly killed baby or the foetus. The mother however would often live until either she bled to death for the dead infant poisoned her from the inside. They would dispatch of the children by throwing them up in the air and letting the other warriors spear them with their lances. For the ones that missed the lance, their broken bodies would lay writhing in agony after they had returned to earth smashing their bodies as they hit the ground.

When they killed the men they would scalp them. Sometimes the men were not quite dead as the Indians took their rough and semi-blunt stone knives and, grabbing a handful of scalp in one hand and pulling hard, would start sawing away at the man's forehead until his skin started to come away from his skull. The process continued until the savage held the man's hair and scalp in his hand and the man lay bleeding and dying on the ground. The Indians believed the man's spirit was taken away from him when he lost his scalp.

I have seen many people killed by the Blackhawk in most gruesome of ways. I had yet to see just one of them show evidence of having been killed in a humane way. My resolve to rid the world of this scourge was foremost in my mind and my soul. I had felt nothing but a dull ache and a massive black hole in the middle of my body since my wife and child had also fallen victim to these monsters.

Kate and Jessica were coming west with one of the wagon trains to live with me at the fort. Most of the officer's wives and children had moved to the posts over the past months and their passage had always been safe and well guarded by the escorts provided by the soldiers. The route had been much farther south than the area of the Blackhawk attacks so we all felt secure in the belief that our loved ones would be safe.

On this particular day however, the Blackhawk had attacked by surprise and in that area where they had not been seen previously. They attacked the wagon train with the full savagery they were legendary for. The wagon train had pulled into a circle and the soldiers had stayed outside the circle of wagons to flank the Indians. The Indians had been smarter and had some small war parties already hidden amongst the rocks and the trees. The soldiers never stood a chance. They were mown down in a hail of arrows until they were all either dead or critically wounded. The savages had then moved in and scalped them in full view of the civilians in the wagon train. I can just imagine how both horrific and terrifying it would have been for the women and children to watch men dying in such a manner.

The Indians had then rode their horses around the circle of wagons and their archers took their deadly aim and picked off the defenders one by one until only the women and children were left. The savages had then breached the perimeter of the circle of wagons and raped the women in full view of their children. Even though the women were brutalised by these monsters they tried to bargain with their bodies while they begged for the Indians to spare the children. Their pleading had been futile. When the savages had had their way with the women, the riders on horseback snatched up the little children and threw them in the air as high as they could in full view of their mothers who watched their sons and daughters screaming until they screamed no more as they were either lanced or hit the ground. When all of the children were dead and lay mangled on the ground, the savages gutted the women and left them there in the dirt to bleed to death.

One of the women have had the good fortune to be able to crawl behind some barrels that had fallen off a wagon and the Indians had not seen her while they killed all of her companions.

Two days later, when the wagon train had not arrived at the fort, the commanding officer, General Fletcher had summoned me and told me of his concerns. He could have saved his words, as I could tell what he was thinking when I have looked in his eyes upon walking into his office. I had ridden out immediately with a patrol and have found the remains of the convoy shortly before nightfall.

When the woman had seen us approaching she had crawled out from behind some rocks where she was hiding and told us her gruesome story. Shortly after hearing the end of her story, I found my beloved Kate all broken and torn, her arms and legs and strange angles to her body, her skin bloody and ripped, so defiled that I had hardly recognised her. One of her arms was outstretched her fingers seemingly straining into the distance. When I followed the line in which her arm was pointing, I saw my baby Jessica on the ground. At first I thought that I was looking at a crumpled heap of clothing. I soon realised that this was the shape that Jessica's body had taken as it hit the ground and her life was robbed from her.

A messenger was sent back to the fort for help and, with tears in our eyes, we recovered the bodies and escorted them and the remains of the wagon train back to the fort the following day. No sign of a Blackhawk was seen in our journey although we knew their eyes were everywhere watching us. Once back in the safety of our compound, the bodies of the victims who were our loved ones that we would never speak to again, were lovingly attended to and placed in coffins. Church services were held where the great outpouring of grief provided some outlet for the sorrow and anger that was felt by everybody there. Their burial service was a very subdued affair and was restricted to the families and friends of the victims.

As the sun disappeared over the horizon and the day became night, blackness had eaten its way into my soul and taken possession of my whole being. Any fear that I had previously experienced had evaporated and replaced with a quiet determination. I promised that I would rid the land of the animals that taken away my Kate and my Jessica from me. As a soldier trained to set emotions aside and get the job done, they were the only to human beings that I had ever felt any love for. Now they had been stolen from me before their time.

I would make sure that the Blackhawk would come to shake with fear when they heard the name Captain Mason Jordan.

Short Story - Floating World

A face appeared before him in the darkness bringing light to where there had previously only been blackness. Her smile filled his whole being with a warm comfortable feeling. Her smile made him feel as if he were lying in a warm bed under the covers on a cold winter morning. The same cold he had felt only moments before she had appeared.

"Not yet." She said softly without moving her lips. "It is not yet your time." He did not know what her words meant, but her eyes gave him a comforting look. He relaxed his tense muscles as best he could, studying her a little closer.

"Do I know you?" He said in low whisper.

Her smile widened as she came closer. Her long silver hair disappeared into the darkness around them. Her white robe emanated an aura of light in the darkness, the only refuge from the cold, dark void he felt trapped in. He shivered as he remembered the feeling of despair and helplessness he had felt within it. He had tried to scream, but to his frustration had only heard deafening silence, until the light, and then she had appeared.

"Yes." She said. There was a touch of amusement in her voice as she drew closer.

"Who are you?"

"That is not what is important. What is your name?"

"Ben."

"Ben. That is a nice name. I always liked Ben." She said in a whisper. "Tell me Ben, what are your earliest memories?"

As she spoke the words, he felt pieces of memories, long ago forgotten, become woven together in an intricate pattern. Suddenly, the memory came to him. The smells, sounds, and sights all too real.

"I am sitting in a stroller." He said "It is a bright sunny day, there are no clouds in the sky. My mother and my sister are there. We are at an oval pond that has a pathway around the edge. There are some reeds here and there swaying gently in the breeze, their green fronds topped with white flowers. Black swans swim gracefully on the lake, looking regal, their black feathers contrasting with their orange beaks. Some ducks are there fighting over the bread my mother has brought and gives to my sister and I to feed them. I am scared of the ducks because I am very small and I cannot throw the bread very far or very well. The ducks come close and I do not like it. They smell. I need not worry however as my mother is looking after me." And then, as abruptly as it began, it was over. After a long moment, an eternity it seemed, Ben was able to speak. "I don't understand. What is happening to me?"

"What is your last memory?" She said before he could ask any more questions. She repeated her question when he hesitated. "Ben, I would like to know about your last memory?"

Like his first memories, he felt his last memory come together in a subtle harmony. But while the last vision had affected his emotions a little, this one hit him with a force that made him cry in pain.

"My mate and I went down to the Menaga Café at Kuta on Bali. Our wives were still back at the hotel and said for us to go ahead and they would join us later. My mate and I had only just got there and got settled when I saw an Indonesian guy come in with a backpack. He yelled something and then reached to his backpack. There was a blinding light, then nothing, the world went black."

He looked at her paralyzed in the realization of where he was. He was dead. It all came to him at once, the silence, the darkness, and the cold - death. He looked up to her, his mature manly expression replaced by a mask of horror.

"I am dead." It was all he could say in a voice too small. The strong, confident man that had stood before her had turned into that of a small trembling child. "I am dead." He repeated softly.

"Who do you love?" She asked softly.

"Kelly, my wife" Ben replied.

"Do you want to leave her behind?" Her soft grey eyes held a love that was reflected in her smile.

He stared at her a long moment before answering, memories of his childhood sweetheart Kelly who he had married just four months ago and his love for her warming his heart.

"No".

"She is waiting for you." Her soft voice was comforting to him. "It is not yet your time. Go back to her"

"But how?" He said. "How can I go back if I am already dead?"

"Decide." She said with a smile and a small laugh. "Now, close your eyes and decide what you want to do. Come to heaven with me now or go back to Kelly until it is really your time" Her words came from far away, not the short distance that had been between them.

He did as he was told. He made a decision that he wanted to be alive, to be with Kelly. She had been the lone candle that lit up his world up until now. In the darkness he could see a tiny light as if from a candle a long way off. The candle seemed to get closer and brighter and bigger.

Ben reached for the light. It grew stronger.

"Sir………… Sir….can you hear me?" Ben was confused now for it was a male voice he was now listening too. "Sir… can you open your eyes?

Ben opened his eyes slowly and looked up at the Indonesian policeman. There was dust and debris all around. "What happened?" Ben struggled to speak.

"There was a terrorist attack. A suicide bomber" replied the policeman. "Many people have died but you are not one of them".

Ben started to cry. He felt like the luckiest man alive

Short Story - The Reunion

Luke turned to Kelly with a determined look. He could see that her soft blue eyes were full of tears. She had looked after herself over the years and was still quite capable of turning a head or two as she walked down the main street. Five foot four, with a shock of red hair, Kelly was distinctively from an Irish background.

"Now that I have found you after all these years, I am not going to let you go" he said softly.

"Not this time, not again".

Kelly looked at Luke. She had to admire how he had turned out after not seeing him for the past 4 years. At just under six feet tall he was slim and reasonably tanned and toned for his age. His dark hair was short and gave him a southern European look. Not bad for an Englishman.

She had been so happy and yet so shocked when Luke had contacted her a few days before and had asked to meet her. She had wondered what had happened to him those many years ago when he had suddenly disappeared. She had truly believed that they were in love and that they would have a future together. Then suddenly one night Luke had disappeared out of her life.

She had been shocked to learn that he had been pressganged into a ships crew that night after leaving a tavern and had been placed into service with her Majesty's government. Luke had sailed the world as a seaman travelling to lands as far away as the America's and the subcontinent. His vessel had put into the harbor at Dublin town the week before and Luke had spent all his time and efforts upon reaching dry land again in finding her.

"Luke" said Kelly quietly "You know that this cannot go anywhere. You know I am married."

"Yes, I know all that" pleaded Luke "but you can get a divorce and we can start over afresh somewhere else".

"Luke....... Darling. I love you, I have always loved you, always, but I just cannot walk out on Callum after all he has done for me, besides our 1700's society will not allow it nor will my church."

"But Kelly, my love, you know that during your marriage he has abused you, so much so that times you have attempted suicide. He only wants you because you are like a trinket for a prize. He does not love you at all. You are just a chattel to him. "

"Yes darling, but sometimes I believed that I deserved that treatment." Kelly looked at the ground and Luke could tell that she was beginning to cry again. He moved closer and put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. He had been without his soulmate for far too long to let her go again.

"My love, nobody deserves to be treated that way. He treats you like a prisoner and a slave. If I had my way I would do him in."

"Yes my darling, but there is also the other problem of the hatred between the English and the Irish. How do we overcome that? The political situation has become worse since we were together previously. People will simply not accept an Englishman and an Irish woman together anymore "

Luke placed his hand under Kelly's chin and lifted it gently until her gaze met his. Right in front of him was the woman that he loved and would gladly die for.

"I will find a way. Don't you worry, I will find a way" he whispered determinedly as his lips met hers and he kissed her.

Short Story - And Then An Old Mother Cries

Where am I?

Is it cold? I am cold.

Why am I am lying on my back? The ceiling is stark white. What is this other thing on the periphery of my vision? It looks like some type of machine.

It feels like I am in a bed. It doesn't feel like mine.

I try to sit up. My body will not respond. I can't move. Why?

A young woman is bending over me. I don't know her. She has long raven hair tied back in a ponytail. Who is she? She moves away. Where did she go? Who is she?

There are noises. I hear them. They sound electronic. Beeps. Blips. Mechanical sounds. What are those noises?

The raven-haired woman comes back and looks at me. She smiles. "Hello. You are awake. That’s good," She says. She smiles. Who is she? She is wearing a white uniform. She takes my hand. She looks at something. Holds my wrist with her fingers. What is she doing?

Where am I?

What is happening here?

I look around. There are lights above me. What are those lights over my head? On the ceiling? They don't look familiar.

There are voices. Two of them. One old, one young. I cannot make out what they are saying. Is that Muriel? Yes, its Muriel. I know my wife's voice anywhere. She is here. She must be speaking to that young woman in the white.

I try to speak. "Hello" I say. Why don’t they pay attention to me? I speak again "Please, help me" but they don’t listen. I plead this time. "Please, help me" Why doesn't my voice make any sound? I don't think my mouth can move. What's wrong with me?

Why doesn’t my mouth work? Why can't I speak?

Why can't I breathe? Help me.

Help me. Please. Help me.

Why is the light fading?

What is that pinpoint of light in the distance?

Nothing

Silence

Blackness

And then an old mother cries

Excerpt from "Trouble"

Ben opened his eyes looked up. Stark white walls looked back at him.

He was in a room about five metres wide and four metres deep. All of the walls were painted white. He could see that the walls were made at masonry or brickwork of some sort. The walls were smooth and there was nothing hanging on them.

Only one door led into or out of the room. Ben could see that the door were solid metal and had no handle on the inside. He knew would be difficult to try to get out through that door.

Looking straight ahead he could see a window in the far wall. It was a big window yet he could not see what was on the other side. There appeared to be a mirror finish to the glazing so that perhaps someone could see into the room but he certainly could not see out.

Ben looked up the ceiling. The ceiling too was stark white. The light fittings had been recessed into the ceiling and Ben could see that all of the fittings were smooth and had no edges to them.

Even the smoke sensor was recessed. The ceiling looked as if it had been constructed to ensure that nobody could hang anything from that part of the room.

The floor too was stark. Unlike the ceiling and the walls, the floor was a grey colour and was smooth like the walls.

Ben looked down in front of himself at the table at which he was sitting. Solid metal, he thought. He examined the table. There were no joins, it was all one piece. Even the legs of the table seemed to have been set into the floor so that there was no opportunity of being able to move the table. There will four chairs at the table and he could see that these too were solid metal was no joining parts and that these too was set into the floor. I wonder if they have done this so that nobody can throw the chairs or the table, he thought.

Looking at himself, Ben could see that he was dressed in white overalls. No pockets and no belt. Very simple and plain. Functional and efficient. Looking down he could see that his feet were bare.

Why do I have handcuffs on my wrists he thought.

Giving himself a moment and then taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and set out loud to himself "I think I'm in big trouble".