Albert & Gabrielle

            ‘You Stink!’

            ‘What! Who said that?’ Albert had been sitting quietly on the park bench watching the world go by, eating spaghetti from a black and gold can.  It was excellent; cost him all of 59 cents. A mere hour of begging had gotten him a veritable feast, cheese and crackers for entree, Spaghetti, a block of chocolate and a two dollar bottle of red.

            ‘I did.’

            ‘Whose fucken I? I can’t see any fucken one! Oy! what you lot looking at fuck-off!’ The tourists who had been walking by, glancing sideways at Albert talking to himself, scattered.

            ‘I’m Gabrielle’

            ‘Gabrielle as in the angel?’

            ‘Nah, I’m no angel, believe me.  I’m just like you’

            ‘A vagrant?’

            ‘Vagrant, seriously, is that the term you use for yourself’

            ‘Yeah, why not, it’s what I Am. Now, where are you, you cheeky fucker.’ Albert sprang to his feet and turned as quickly as he could; nothing. He sprinted, or so he thought to the nearest tree, around it. Still nothing.

            ‘Where are you, you shit?’

            ‘Can you please stop swearing so much.’

            ‘I’ll fucken swear as much as I want.’

            ‘Well then, I’m done, goodbye’

            Albert stood dead still, listening. Listening for anything, for the wind, the crunch of a foot on the dry leaves, breathing, anything at all that would tell him he wasn’t alone.  He waited like that for a few minutes, standing, slowly scanning the park around him.

            After a time, he returned to his bench, quietly picked up his can of spaghetti, his bottle of red taking a swig, and resumed watching the world go by.

* * *

Albert woke with a start, the dull thud of his red wine head and sinus fading instantly into the background. He sat bolt upright. This was the part he hated; he hated sleeping rough. Not so much when he was in the outer burbs, but when you were in the city there was always trouble.

There was nothing, no one near him. In front of him, a fresh cake of soap, a white linen washer, a pure white bath towel and an envelope with Albert scrawled on the front in cursive writing.

Albert opened the envelope and a plastic card fell to the ground, with a yellow note stuck to it. ‘Room 103 The Westin. Have a shower’.

‘They won’t let me in there’ this was incredulous; whoever had stuck this in front of him was a fool.  Yeah sure they’d let him into a soup kitchen, or the Salvo’s if they had a spare bed, but not the bloody Westin, that was four and a half star.

‘Yes they will, let's go.’

‘Gabrielle?’

‘Yes, what do I call you?’

‘Albert’

‘Good to see you’re not swearing this time’

‘To stunned mate, too stunned’

‘Let’s go then’

Albert staggered to his feet, he quickly spread out the scrappy blanket he had been sleeping under and threw all of his worldly possessions into it, a spare jumper, a cloth bucket hat and the cheap, half-drunk bottle of Scotch he’d been using as his sleeping pill the night before.

He also threw in the cake of soap, washer and towel that Gabrielle had put in front of him; or so he thought. Pulling the corners of the blanket together he slung it over his shoulder and started walking in the direction of the Westin Hotel. ‘You still with me Gabs?’

‘Yes Albert’

‘So who are you?’

‘Like I said, I’m just like you. I’m homeless, just that I am invisibly homeless.’

‘Bullshit!’ Albert could not help but think there was some truth to this, here he was shambling down George street at God knows what time in the morning, with not a person in sight, with the exception of the street sweeper that was coming down the street in the opposite direction; and him talking to himself.

‘If yer invisible, why the hell are you talking to me, and not of sneaking around the place getting up to mischief’

‘Oh I’ve done that mate; invisibility corrupts the best of people. When it first happened to me, as a kid, I thought it was great.  That was until I could not convince anyone that I was still alive. My mother went insane thinking she was hearing the voice of her dead son.  I tried everything, eventually, they committed her to an asylum, I hung out with her for a while, but it was not good. So I left.’

‘Bullshit!’

‘Albert, please can you please stop saying that’

‘Righto then, how do you know you’re not dead, just you don’t realise it’

‘If I was dead, why would I be having a whole conversation with you? Ghosts aren’t sentient beings mate. They are stuck in one place and on a cycle, a bit like a scratched record. Like an event scratched into the thread of the world’

‘Shit that’s heavy Gabs, probably too bloody heavy for some floating see-through sheet, so yeah maybe you're not a ghost.  Maybe you’re something else, maybe you’re an alien.’

‘Nope Albert, like I said I am just like you, just invisible. Oh, here we are. Ok, the room you’ve got is on the first floor when we go in you go straight up the stairs and turn right; ok?’

‘Ok. You know they’ll kick me out’

‘No, you let me take care of that.’

Albert approached the door; it didn’t open. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment, wondering what to do next. Then he spotted it, the magnetic scanner for the swipe card, lit-up by a small red LED.  He quickly swiped the card, the LED went green and there was an audible clunk as the electric door lock released.

He pushed his way in, and for the first time, he felt something move with him, a physical presence, or what he thought was a physical presence, like someone pushing past him, just that it had been so long since someone had been that close to him he could not be sure.

As instructed he went up the stairs in front of him, not looking in either direction, expecting someone to yell out at any moment, to stop him. He expected to hear footsteps running towards him, to grab him and evict him from the building. Nothing.

He mounted the stairs, trying to keep calm, trying to look as though he belonged there, as much as a scraggly, smelly homeless guy could. It had been weeks since he had truly been inside a building, the last time around was at the station on Erskine Street.

He got to the top of the stairs, the bile rising in his through, anxiety, fear he would get caught, and evicted, humiliated and thrown back onto the street to be ignored and a shadow. Why was he doing this, was he really doing this, Gabrielle could simply be part of his psychosis, part of his stupid thinking that put him on the street in the first place.

He turned right. Still no shouting, no footsteps. Spotting the first sight 101 to 115 with an arrow pointing the direction he should go.  101, 102; in front of the door he inserted the card, it didn’t work. He took a deep breath, reversed the card, it didn’t work, his panic was rising it was going to overwhelm him. Third time lucky, he hoped.

The small red LED on the door changed to green; he grabbed at the handle, turned it and pushed in, the door shutting loudly behind him. No what? Where was Gabrielle, what was he to do? Have a shower!

* * *

Albert walked out of the bathroom, back into the large room, with a double bed. The large plate glass window had sheer linen curtains on it that screened him from the outside world, as he was only on the first level the view was not anything spectacular, as he had confirmed when he first came in.

Looking about he realised his clothes were gone and in their place laid on the bed was a charcoal suit and blue business shirt, a pair of shiny black shoes on the floor with a pair of socks laid across the top of the shoes.  Next to the suit on the bed was a brown leather duffle bag.

‘Oy, where are my clothes?’

‘Do you always talk to yourself, Albert?’

‘No just when you are about, now were are my clothes, my belongings there was some important stuff in the pockets’

‘I know, don’t worry, you’ll find your photo in the breast pocket of the suit’

‘Good!’

Albert picked up the coat hanger that the suit was still hung on, and scrambled to the inside pockets, yes the photo was there, he removed it, not looking at it, walked the suit over to the wardrobe and hung it in there.  Back to the bed and dropped the duffle bag at the foot of the bed, then he lay down clenching the photo between him and the bed and shut his eyes.

After a few minutes, he heard the door to his room open and shut. He figured it was Gabrielle leaving, rolling onto his back he lifted the photo so he could see it, there in front of him were his girls. He hadn’t seen them in years, not since he chose to become invisible to them. To leave them alone as he thought they would be better off without him.

He looked and thought about them for a long time, he so missed them, he struggled with the guilt of how he had let them down so much and tried to remind himself and tell himself that they were better off without him.  No matter how often he tried to this he could never fully convince himself. After a while his eyelids got heavy and he fell into a deep sleep, sleeping soundly and safely like he had not for a long time.

* * *

He stirred; the room was dark and silent except for the hum of the air conditioner. He had not noticed it earlier when he arrived, but now in the middle of the night when it was the loudest thing in the room he noticed it. Where was he? how long had he been asleep?

The Westin, room 103. He was clean, warm and comfortable, safe. He fell back into his sleep, this time dreaming of his girls, wanting to be there with them again, hoping they were ok.

* * *

The smell of bacon and eggs woke him, that’s what he felt. The reality as he thought about it; was that he was rested. It had nothing to do with the food. Still, he got out of bed, pulled the robe from the wardrobe and sat down to a full breakfast, coffee, orange juice and coffee.

‘You here Gabs?’

Nothing, silence, he was alone. At that moment the TV turned on; it was his wake-up call. The text on the screen read ‘Good morning Mr Jenkins your checkout time is 10am thank you for staying at the Westin’ to the sound of 90’s hits playing in the background.

Looking around Albert spotted the alarm clock on the bedside, 9am. Good he had an hour to think about his exit, he was unsure as to how he was to check out, he knew he had no money.  He figured he would simply walk out, the same as how he had come in.

* * *

Standing in front of the mirror, showered, clean shaven, hair pulled back and tied with a hair elastic he found in the courtesy toiletries; blue shirt, charcoal suit, black shoes, he looked like a successful businessman. Picking up the leather duffle bag, he paused to build up courage for the fast exit.

As he stood preparing a white envelope was slid under the door.  He bent and picked it up. Opening the envelope he found cash, an Opal card and a letter.

‘Albert,

            Go home; there are enough invisible people in this world. Your family wants you and need you. They are expecting you.

                                    Gabrielle.’

Inspired by Kozycan

Shane Kozycan is a spoken word poet I quite like, with that in mind read the below poem out loud.  As per usual this is a 'One Draft' - Cheers

Silence. Alone time.
It's always scary.
So scary in fact people incessantly search for distractions.
No longer can people stand in a queue and simply wait.
They have to pull their phone from their pocket and swipe.
Swipe left, up down right, touch and double tap.

To be still would be to think.
To contemplate, their lives, the things that have happened.
Their last conversation.
To be silent, and think would be to explore themselves and the environment they are within.
Who they are.

We don't do that anymore.
Not many, only some.
We strive, not that it's hard for a constant distraction.
It's everywhere.
Moving pictures, flashing signs, conversations, phone calls. tweets and more.

It's incessant and endless and it's not good for us.
Slowing and stopping, and being in yourself can only be good.
We need to learn this for ourselves.
first for ourselves and then for others.

If you see someone sitting quietly.
Let them.
For they are trying to be with themselves.
to ponder who they are and what they are in the world.
They are looking for a wellbeing that many of us neglect.

I know.
Because I did this, and I even do it now.
I avoid myself through a continuity of activity and distraction.
and I know.
It's not good for me.

I need to pause.
To ponder who I am.
So I can be that person.
A person who is whole and confidant of myself.
So I can be whole and confidant for others.

That is what I will do now.
From this time forward.
I will not look for distractions.
I will look for who I am.
So I can be more for others.

Thug, Lift & Twitch

    ‘Shut it!’ Hissed Twitcher.

    Lifter having been the first into the room, who as per usual had entered and immediately stood to the side of the opened door; all the better to backstab if he had the need. He’d been doing this or something like it since he was a child living the life of a cutpurse in the streets of Hathaldron.  As a lithe halfling, he most definitely did not have the bulk or strength of Thug the fighter, so this was simply how he did things.

    Thug had come in last, following up the back as per their standard practice; Lifter searching forward, Twitcher the Wizard in the middle as he was useless in a fight, useless in that he couldn’t punch a bail of hay without drawing blood. Also, he had to be able to wave his hands around to cast spells, finally Thug at the rear to protect them from attacks from behind.

Standard practice in that they had been in this damn citadel for days.  They’d learned the hard way to move through the citadel with caution.  On the first day, Thug was thumping along at the front, being as noisy as ever, clanking and creaking in the hodge-podge outfit he called armor, iron greaves, hardened leather breastplate, dragon bone helmet, metal plated leather gloves and bracers.

Stomping and then not, he’d disappeared, one-moment Thug was there, the next he was gone, Lifter had run forward with the torch and almost fell into the 10-foot deep pit trap that thug had walked into.  It was then that they realised they needed to switch around.

‘OK, this looks like as good as any a place to rest’ Said Thug as he started to remove what he had to, to be able to sit or lay comfortably. First, he lent his short sword against the wall, grasped the ax handle over his right shoulder and removed it from its hooks, leaned the three-foot long battle-ax against the wall, pulled his baselard from his belt, threw his gloves to the floor and placed his helmet on them.

Lifter, simply sat on the spot, his soft leather armor allowing him to sit straight into a cross-legged, comfortable seat; not having to steady himself against the wall although he did sit with the wall at his back out of habit, nothing would do to him as he had done to so many others in the past.

‘There’s nowhere clean to sit?’ Twitcher in his purple robes stood looking about for something, anything to sit on. The room they were in was Spartan. There was a broken bench for sitting, two large heavy oaken doors on opposite sides of the room. There was a tapestry rod on each of the doorless walls. The evidence of the actual tapestries being all but gone.

‘This must have been an anteroom of some sort’ stated Lifter ignoring his preen-a-donna friend.

‘Why do you think that?’ mumbled Thug through a mouthful of hardtack.

‘Just look at the place. The door we came through has nothing but a latch, that one, it has a keyhole and the doorknob in the center, that’s going to be complex; seat, tapestries it’s all got the feel of an anteroom’

‘Well thank god we’ve got you.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Problem is I’ve broken three lock-picks already.’

The two of them sat, quietly eating their hardtack, washing it down with water; watching Twitcher fuss about trying to find a seat.  ‘Hey Twitch, are you sure there’s treasure in here? We’ve found nothing but threadbare tapestry rods.’ Observed Lifter.

‘Yes, it’s in the Ruby Tower like I said’ he sat gingerly on the angled end of the broken bench.

‘Were running out of food. You said to pack light, it’ll be a quick three days, you said. We’re on our third day.’ stated Thug as he stood, tying the large pouch containing enough hard tack for one day at best closed on his hip.

‘We are nearly there, I swear’

‘How do you know? You don’t seem to know much else about this place’ Lifter to had also finished eating and had moved to the door with the key lock and was inspecting the challenge in front of him.  Running his hands over the door, around the frame, no signs of traps ‘SHHH! I hear something’.

Lifter, lent his ear to the door; gesturing for Thug to approach. Thug stopped what was he doing, grabbed his long baselard and stepped as quietly as quietly as he could.

Lifter whispering ‘There is definitely something moving on the other side, doors locked though. I’ll pick the lock, then when you’re ready I’ll open the door and you throw a torch through’

‘How do we know that whatever is on the other side isn’t already waiting, it will have seen the light from our torch under the door.’

‘You’re assuming it’s intelligent, surely it would have already attacked if that was the case, we’ve been here for a good ten minutes, and we’ve not really been quiet’

‘Okay.’

Lifter looked back at Twitcher; he was onto it, Lifter could see that Twitch had already stood and taken the first steps in forming the fireball spell.  Kneeling Lifter pulled his last Lockpick from his thieves pouch on his belt. Leaning to look into or through the lock.

It didn’t go right through, it was a one sided lock not dissimilar to a cell door.  Suddenly his left eye stung like he had sand or class in it.  His vision in his left eye fading immediately, his right eye following fast. Then his brain was on fire.  Pushing the ball of each hand forcefully into his eyes, not making a noise.  A moment later he fell unconscious to the floor.

Thug and Twitcher both looked at each other, they could not work out what had happened, they heard nothing, Lifter made no noise, yet he was unconscious on the floor.

Twitcher was the first to realise what had happened ‘Damn, he’s taken a dart to the eye, running to where his friend lay, kneeling Twitcher put his cheek over Lifter’s mouth. ‘I can feel his breath, he’s alive!’

Dice (2)

Hector stood his hair matted, damp; shirt soaked sticking to his back and chest. He’d been chopping the wood for the fire in the inn all afternoon. Pausing to study the stack of wood, contemplating had he cut enough when he heard a faint yell, a scream.

From where he stood behind the inn he was able to see down the road that came from Shentonville. He was certain that the sound he had heard came from that direction. Squinting through the evening haze he could not see anything, nor could he hear anymore yelling or screaming.

Then just as he was about to turn to pick-up some wood he heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbled road. Looking again he could make out a small brown pony cantering down the road, brown travellers cloak billowing from the neck of the rider slumped over it’s back.

Not 20 feet behind it came a squat little humanoid, wearing tattered clothes and wielding a simple club that was nothing more than a stick with a solid knot at one end.

Without thinking, Hector picked up the axe he had wedged in the block of wood, leaped over the wooden rails of the inn’s stable yard and started running towards the pony barreling down the road.

As he got closer he could make out the little humanoid a little better, it was all of 3 ½ feet tall, green brown leathery skin with a flat face, a snout and a row of sharp pointy teeth protruding from its mouth that was agape yelling at the pony in front of it.

Neither the Pony, it’s rider or the creature spotted Hector running down the hill to intercept them. As he got closer he slowed his sprint just enough to raise the axe above his head and heave it at the humanoid. He watched with despair as he realised he had not been close enough.

All his years of throwing axes at trees practicing for just such a moment as this he realised the trajectory of the axe was not high enough and it most definitely was not going to hit the creature in the chest as he hoped.

‘Oh Well.’ He thought as he picked up the pace again pulling his knife from his belt just in time to see the axe he had thrown smash into the creatures left ankle causing it to spin in the air mid-stride and slam face first into the ground with a loud resounding ‘GRUNT!’

Sheathing his knife he ran picking up the axe where it had fallen and stopped to look at the miserable creature that was now sitting on the ground holding its shattered ankle. As Hector moved towards it slowly, cautiously it made a vain attempt to swing its club.

Hector stood back and looked at the small pitiful creature, it looked even tinier on the ground than it had been in full flight, and it stunk, it smelt of urine and sweat as though it had never showered in its whole miserable life.

As he watched the creature started dragging itself back down the road from where it had come, always watching Hector, whimpering to itself as it slowly crawled away.

He did nothing but watch it for a good ten minutes, whimpering and sliding further and further away.  When it was 300 yards down the road Hector turned back towards the Inn.  Out the front he could see Lufa the innkeeper holding the reigns of the little pony, the brown cloak slouched down over the ponies neck.

‘Here Hector, what’s all this about’ yelled Lufa as he got a little closer.  

‘I don’t know. Is that fellow alright? Maybe he can tell us’

‘Here give me a hand to get him inside. Sonia!’ a moment later Lufa’s daughter came to the Inn door.

‘Yes Father’

‘Give us a hand here. Hector, take the pony round back, give it a brush down, check-it for injuries. When you’re done come inside. Don’t forget the wood’

‘Ok’ Hector took the reigns from Lufa and lead the horse to the rear of the inn.  Never one to complain at the best of times, he most definitely did not begrudge Lufa for being so direct now.

His mind was still buzzing from what had just happened. He had never seen such a creature before, he wondered what it was.  Nor had he ever thrown his axe in battle; that’s if he could call it a battle, not much of a battle really.

Tying the pony up he turned his attention to the task at hand; loosening the pony’s girth he noted a well-crafted saddle, an expensive horse blanket and a bridle to match.  Whoever the rider they were not short of a coin.

Before he could lift the saddle from the ponies back he loosened the straps holding the hardened leather saddle bags noting that these too were very well crafted, these things alone would be worth more than anything Hector had seen before.

After he had slung the saddle, blanket, and bags over the yard railing he turned his attention to the little pony.  From what he could tell it had been running for a while as it’s sweat had tried leaving large white powdery stains around where the saddle blanket and girth straps had been against its body.

Beyond this though, the pony, now calm after it’s ordeal looked none the worse for wear.  Hector pulled down one of Lufa’s best horse combs and gave the little pony a good brush down, made sure the trough was full of fresh water and threw some fresh hay on the ground for the pony to eat.

Hector grabbed all of the gear, figuring it would not last long if he left it out on the yard fence and took it to the Tack room.  Slinging the saddlebags over his shoulder he returned to the wood heap filled his arms with wood and made his way into the inn.

Dice (1)

‘What’s this Dad?’

Michaels father looked up from his Newspaper ‘what’s what? Show me’

He passed the soft leather pouch he had found to his father.  Watching as his father took it, holding it in his open hand as though he was trying to recall his thoughts or memories. There was something, a glint in his father's eye, it was as if the small pouch had some weight associated with it that exceeded the few grams in his hand.

‘Wow! Look at this, no one has been into this since I tied it years ago’

‘What do you mean? How do you know? Show me.’

‘See here, I tied it with a thief knot.’

His father tugged at the loose knot, it came apart easily.

‘That’s not much of a knot dad’

‘Yeah I know, it’s called a thieves knot, because sailors used it so they could tell if someone had been in their ditty bag’

‘How? What? What’s a ditty bag, how’d they know? Wow! What are they?’ Michaels' voice trailed off as more than half a dozen crystal colored shapes fell from the pouch into his father's outstretched hand.

‘Polyhedral Die’

‘Poly what?’

‘Dice. Look here’s a four-sided, an eight, two ten sides, a twelve, twenty and 30 sided’

‘Wow! This is massive’ Michael lifted the biggest, bright red dice from his father’s hand.

‘That one is called a triacontahedron; It’s 30 sided’ 

‘What are these used for?’ taking another die from his father's hand, holding it up to the light.

‘Well Michael, hold a tic’ Disappearing into his office Michael could hear his father rifling through the bookshelf. He’d seen him do it dozens of times, grabbing three of four books at a time, pulling them forward tilting them so he could see what was behind it. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. ‘Here we go.’

Michaels father returned to the lounge room and passed him a red box with ‘Dungeons & Dragons’ emblazoned across the top with a picture of a man fighting a Dragon on its lid.

‘This will tell you about the dice’

‘Thanks, dad’ Michael was absorbed, studying the box.

Fantasy role-playing game

Set 1: Basic rules

‘Hey, you’ll need these.’ Michael turned just as his father tossed the pouch of dice into his chest. ‘Make sure you look after it all’.

‘Ok’ again he turned and started to slowly navigate his way through the lounge room, oblivious to everything around him. Subconsciously stepping around the coffee table, kneeling on the couch, spinning and falling back into the couch.

Seated comfortably he held the lid of the box and shook it, the bottom falling away landing in his lap. Putting the lid aside he lifted a sheet of yellowed paper out of the box, covered in writing, diagrams and a pencil drawing of a bearded dwarf. ‘Bobmadik’.

Putting the page aside, he returned to the box lifting out a red book with the same picture on it as the box, just this time it said Players Manual. Michael opened the first page. ‘As you whirl around, your sword ready, the huge, red, fire-breathing dragon swoops toward you with a ROAR!’

‘Michael! Come-on.’ He looked up from the book, it was early evening, someone had turned on the lounge light at some point, he hadn’t noticed. He’d read the whole of the ‘Players Manual’ now he was ready to give the game ago. 

‘Dinner! Michael get your head out of that book and come and help me’

‘Yes Mum, coming.’