Discarded

They had the nerve to keep him out of the loop, thereby implying he wasn’t wanted anymore; after all he’d done for them!

Bastards.

Their house of cards would soon topple without him.

Photo shoot

Photo by John C.H Grabill

“This ok for ya?”

“Yeah that’s it, that’s great! Just stay still like that for me.”

“How much longer do I gotta stay like this?”

“Nearly there” said Jake as he poked his head out from underneath his photographer’s cowl, squinted at the man sat on the horse. “Alright, now look down at your nose at me, and frown a bit – that’s it! Look mean!” he said, then ducked under the cowl again.

Eli put on his best scowl. “Say, you done taken pitchers of any of ma friends?”

“Like who?”

“Clayton McGraw, or Lantry Dawson?”

“Sure, in fact I think I shot one of ‘em just last week”

Eli wrinkled up his nose and squinted at the camera. “Shot?”

“Here we go!”

Flash, bang – the horse reared and Eli fell to the ground.

Jake ducked out from under the cowl, looked over at Eli’s still body as the horse bolted.

Frowning slightly, Jake walked over to where Eli lay face down in the dirt then stood looking down at him for a few moments, biting his bottom lip. Couching down next to him, Jake took a hold of Eli’s shoulder and turned him onto his back. Eli’s head lolled to one side, blood dribbling out of the corner of his cracked lips and blossoming through the breast of his shirt.

“Yup, I shot that bastard alright; just like I’ll shoot the rest of your gang for what you did to my mother and father when you raided our ranch last year.”

Study

Sandra looked around the tiny study, glancing over the paltry collection of cheap literature and wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“Is there something wrong?” Charles asked.

“Seriously? Is this the extent of your research?”

Charles laughed. “Hell no, the library’s through the back of the house, but I always bring people here first.”

“Oh I see, to show them that you’re an ordinary guy, down to earth, so that they trust you?” she enquired, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s right.” he replied, a twinkle in his eye. “You catch on quickly.”

“No shit. Ok, so what now?”

“Well, now you accept the absurd amount of money I’m throwing at you and we head to the library so I can show you my research.”

She couldn’t help but smile, if a little wryly. “Ok, so let’s go.”

Raising an eyebrow and smiling, he got up out of his desk chair and walked out of the study.

Dreaming of the sea

Photo source

Jack listened as the words of the person he was listening to became a blur and the background of the room came into focus; rich décor and elaborately carved mahogany furniture coming into sharp relief before his eyes.

He was hit by a sudden feeling of clarity, an absolute knowledge as parts of the room fell away to reveal windswept fields of tall grass; he was dreaming.

With a laugh he ran out of the door of the room, immediately emerging into bright sunlight as a wave of heat washed over his body, his feet splashing into warm, salty smelling water.  He looked around, startled by how real all of it seemed – the nearby village at the foot of the gently rolling hills, the sound of the sea and gulls overhead as the door-frame shifted into the form of a large mirror and fell backwards into the water behind him.

Orphelia

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Orphelia was Cratchett’s first love, his only real love; Winifred knew this, which is why she’d left him months ago.  “There’s only room for one woman in your life, and it isn’t me.  I hope you’re both happy together!” she’d said, as she stormed out with her portmanteau, slamming the front door behind her.

It was of no consequence, the only thing that mattered was Orphelia; he needed to care for her, be there for her every day, tending to her every need and idiosyncrasy now more than ever, now that she was approaching the threshold of her true potential.

Being very careful, deliberate, he placed a tiny cog between its siblings within the elaborate brass framework of her forearm with his tweezers, then dropped a needle-thin rivet into the hole at its centre, fixing it in place.

“Soon my love” he thought as he stepped back and rubbed condensation from his magnification goggles with a rag from his overalls, “soon I’ll add the final component, and then I’ll make you sing!”

In his father’s footsteps

Photo credit: Rasi57

Edward was never popular with the other children; ‘Smelly Eddie’ they’d call him.  What did they know?  Maybe he did smell a bit, but it was just oil and grease!

Edward spent all his free time oiling cogs, axles and pistons, putting things together and tightening them, poring over schematics and notes left behind by his father.  He didn’t tell anybody about his father’s work, they’d just say he was mad.

They said enough already, since he’d left that night and never come back.  His own mother didn’t know what he was up to, just thought it was harmless tinkering, a boy’s whimsical desire to follow in his father’s footsteps.  She’d bring him a sandwich and some milk now and then, ask how he was, then leave him to it.

It wasn’t finished.  There were parts in the blueprints that were missing, they just weren’t there; Edward would need to find them or make them himself.  Easier to make them, once he learned how at school; there’d be less questions from grown-ups that way.

There was also old man Cratchett who had a workshop that Edward visited frequently, just so that he could watch how Cratchett worked in amongst the pipes, valves, gears and steam – filing and cutting and welding and adding to his own contraptions.  Maybe he could teach him what he needed to know, take him to the scrap yards for the materials he needed.

The hulk of the machine sat next to him in the cellar, gleaming in the dimness of the gas lamps – hard, solid, strong…silent, unmoving, dormant.  Edward looked over over at it from the workbench at which he was sitting, furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes narrowed.

Soon – soon he’d put this thing together and then he’d show them, show them all.  Then he’d go and find his father and show him.

Soon.

Told you so

Jose & Nena Andreu, ca 1906

“What can you do little girl?” asked Mr Doolan, a showbiz agent.

“Why, didn’t they tell you?  I can make anybody or anything appear right above my head.”

“Haw haw – really?  Ok then little girl, go ahead and make little Marty here appear above your head!”

Nena looked over at the boy, who was still stood grinning next to his father Leonard, squinted at him, screwing up her face and pursing her lips.

“Think you can do it?” Mr Doolan asked.

She shot him a look. “Gimmie a minute, I gotta concentrate.”

Mr Doolan chuckled, rubbed at his goatee with one hand.  Nena turned her gaze back at the boy, then put her hands on her hips and closed her eyes.  Mr Doolan turned to his companion and smirked.

“Wonder how long this’ll take.”

“Yeah, right!” Leonard chortled.

When Mr Doolan turned to look down at Marty, he was gone.  Eyes wide, he looked up at Nena, and saw her with her hands still on her hips, eyes still closed, but now with Marty stood upside down on her head, seemingly asleep, with his arms and legs splayed out.

The jaws of both men dropped as they stared vacantly at the spectacle.

“Well I’ll be damned…” exclaimed Mr Doolan.