VICTORY

The castle dominated the horizon, grey granite walls rearing from a high hill.  The Queen thought of her home with its crumbling walls and fields of blighted crops and of the long journey she’d made with her army.  She would take this perfect fortress and bring her people here.  She’d heard talk of a King who was rarely seen.  She would take him too.

Her General reined his horse in next to hers; “Victory will come at great cost.”
“So be it.”

The men within the castle fought fearlessly, their arrows finding their mark.  The numbers of the Queen’s army diminished, but she held on.  Once inside she would replenish her losses with the King’s survivors.  Once she saw him, atop the walls of his castle, gazing down through a telescope.  She had drawn back her bow and sent a missile whizzing past his head.  He had not been back since.

After a year the defences were breached, the Queen’s army tore down the drawbridge and swarmed inside.  There was no-one in the courtyard and nobody up on the walls.  When the Queen and her General entered the throne room, it was empty.  The Queen sat on the King’s throne; “Find him,” she ordered angrily.  A King who hid from confrontation was not a worthy prize.

Footsteps clattered as the Queens’ army went from room to room, they found no-one.

“They couldn’t have got out, there are no tunnels and we had the place surrounded ... They’ve disappeared like ...” the General voiced the fears of his men, “ghosts.  A ghost King, a ghost army.”
“There must be a sealed room within, something you missed.  Find it.”

The search went on.  The Queen became angrier; the King was cheating her out of victory.  The castle that had seemed so impressive was claustrophobic and contained no treasure.  The fireplaces looked like they hadn’t been lit in months, the upholstery of the throne was fading, the banqueting table was dusty and there was no food in the great kitchens.  The Queen had no choice but to give the order to leave.  “When we clear the walls, burn this place to the ground,” she said flatly, mounting her horse.

The drawbridge was closed, the General ordered that it be opened, but nothing happened.
“It’s blocked from the outside!” the voices of the men sounded panicked.
“Ram it!” ordered the General.
The Queen watched as the battering ram hit the drawbridge hard.  It remained in place.
“It’s as if it is untouched,” murmured the General.
The Queen dismounted and went back into the castle, she climbed the tower to the very top and looked out across the hill, there was no-one for miles.  She watched as her army tried canon fire.  From her vantage point she saw something strange, the canon ball was stopped by some invisible force before hitting the drawbridge.  It fell uselessly to the ground.
Night fell; the frightened men camped in the cold of the courtyard.
“There are no rations left.” the General said before taking his place with them.  The Queen spent the night alone in a silent tower bedchamber, tormented by mystery and hunger.

Days passed, the attempts to escape became desperate.  Men were ordered to climb out.  The starving Queen watched their efforts from the tower top.  When they reached the highest point of the battlements it was as if they were pushed.  They fell onto the rocks below and lay motionless. 

This fruitless victory had taken over two thirds of the Queen’s men.  She had been away from home for so long and had thought the worst thing would be to go back with nothing.  Now it seemed she would not being going back at all.  She was trapped in a castle without treasure or food.  The King had won.  She watched what was left of her army turn in on itself.  Soon they would come for her.

THE REALITY FAIRY

Amelia was having a wonderful time at Fairy Land.  The music played a perpetual song about magic and friendly dragons.  She’d had her photograph taken with Princess Jasmine and was wearing her Rapunzel dress.  One moment, she was following Mummy and Daddy, the next she’d lost sight of them.

Amelia found herself alone in the park.  Her first instinct was to cry, but she remembered that she needed to approach a Fairy Land Friend, recognisable by their red jumpers and show them her armband.  There were no red jumpers, just a sea of pink as girls her age queued for rides.  Amelia wandered until she saw cheerful looking yellow booth, she was sure there would be a Fairy Land Friend in there. 

The smell inside was malty and stale.  A tired looking man in a red jumper sat behind the desk with a small brown drink and a crystal ball.

“I’ve lost Mummy and Daddy,” Amelia told him.
“Not yet,” he replied, “not until you’re in your forties.  Give me your armband and sit down.”
Amelia obeyed.  He snipped the armband off and dialled the number on it, putting the receiver down after a brief conversation.   “They went down to the security gate, they’ll be some time.  What’s your name?”
“Amelia.”
“What would you like to be when you grow up?”
“A princess.”
The man sighed deeply and consulted the crystal ball; “You’re going to get an office job and make money for people richer than you while being paid very little yourself, despite having a university education.”
“I’m going to marry a prince,” argued Amelia.
“You move in with Darryl from Mansfield who already has two children by two mothers.  All the money you earn goes towards his kids and alcohol habit because he can’t be arsed to get a job.  You’re pregnant and feel you have to stay.  Then he leaves you with his screaming brat of a child and no support.  You struggle for years bringing this kid up and then you find love.”
Amelia’s look of confusion became one of relief; “A prince?”
“Sean from Milton Keynes.  The rush of passion you both feel is unrivalled in those first days.  Then you buy a big house to live in happily ever after.  Interest rates go up and you struggle to afford it.  The good times disappear.  You work all hours and hardly see each other or your child.  Do you have an idea what a passion killer a mortgage is?”
“What’s a mortgage?  What about magic?”
“Have your parents been filling your head with fairy stories?  It’s all a lie.  They should be reading you stories about negative equity, interest rates, untrustworthy men and dead end office jobs.  That’ll prepare you much better for your future,” he lowered his voice, “Sean can’t take the daily grind.  He has an affair ...”
Amelia started to cry.
At that point Mummy and Daddy arrived and she ran to them.
“Hi,” the man said, “I’m John, the Reality Fairy.”
“Everything’s all right now,” Mummy cuddled Amelia and looked at John; “thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Reality fairy?” Daddy enquired.
“It’s law now that all these parks have them.  Setting proper expectations for a life in a modern world,” John answered.

“I want to go home!” cried Amelia, once outside.

Mummy and Daddy looked at each other, they’d paid a lot of money - the admission fee, the parking, the over-priced food ...
Amelia put her hands on her ears; “Don’t like the music.”
It was the same loop - friendly dragons, magic, handsome princes ...

Mummy and Daddy took Amelia home.  There was garden waste to burn, Daddy made a bonfire, then went indoors to help Mummy.   A short time later the smell of burning plastic wafted through the kitchen window.  Mummy and Daddy hurried outside, just in time to see Amelia throwing the last of her Disney dresses onto the fire.

DISCONNECT

I’m where I should be, at the family party, pouring champagne for everyone when it happens.  I start to lose interest.  In panic I try desperately to involve myself in a conversation about the premier league with my brother, but he smiles indulgently, like his younger sister couldn’t possibly know a thing about football.  I then try and talk finance with my father, but he reminds me I have no savings to invest.  Careless of me.

My mother directs me to fill more glasses.  I look at all the faces and hear the same conversations spilling out of mouths.  The warmth is sucked from the room and the music dies in my ears.  I can feel the weight of the bottle in my hand, but that is all.  I put it down on the table because I’m afraid I’m going to drop it.  Desperately I try to make eye contact but everyone is in deep conversation – my parents, my brother, their friends and the man who got through to me for a season.  I feel nothing, no love, no sense of belonging and I want to scream for help.  I am receding.  I try to cling to the sound of the little girl playing in the garden, but it won’t save me.  If I feel no love for a child, then there is no hope for me.

The scene begins to roll back, the cream wall paper is replaced by a deep black night.  The people, table and chairs disappear and the carpet is replaced by a sea of litter.  I am alone in a midnight junk yard, standing amongst the grey rubble of my life, illuminated by floodlights.  Broken dolls, thrown away clothes, bottles, ancient furniture.  The scene is all too familiar to me.  A hand touches my shoulder, I spin round and he is there, face all confusion; “What is this place?”

I’m galvanised into action, no-one has come with me before and it’s dangerous here; “Quick!  We must find it before it’s too late!”
“What?” he asks.
“You’ll know it when you see it!”
I begin my search desperately through the crap built up over years.  It has to be buried here somewhere.  He asks me no more questions, but begins to hunt too, wrenching aside a rocking horse and feeling underneath.  We hear the sound in the background, the growing sound of engines, of junk being ground down under wheels.
“They’re coming!  Oh God!” I cry because they normally give me more time.  I can see them in the distance, great engines, ploughing everything inwards in front of them, crushing everything else.
He doesn’t panic like I do, he simply reassures me that we’re going to find it, that it’s definitely here.  I wonder how he can know.  I tear up a girls world doll head, nothing under it, I look inside an old cupboard, it’s empty.  The juggernauts are getting closer.  We can hear nothing now but the sound of bending metal, crunching glass and machinery as loud as freight trains in the night.
“Got it!” he yells and hands it to me, just as they close in.

I pick up the champagne bottle from the table and continue my rounds, I can feel my heart beating in my chest, feel its warmth at the sound of the child’s play and the voice of my mother.  I reach him and hold his shaking hand steady as I refill his glass, my eyes meet his; “That was close,” I murmur.

THE SHOP BY THE SEA

Torrential rain drove James and Amy into the little seaside shop.  It looked harmless enough from outside with plastic buckets gathering rainwater and inflatable rings and dinghies hanging from the awning.  Inside, the place was crammed with wares.

“Buy this for me!” cried Amy picking up an ‘I Luv You’ teddy bear.
James laughed; “Certainly not, it’s dirty!”
“Ugh!” Amy put it back.
An old man wearing stripy flares, a pink shirt and sleeveless patterned jumper looked up; “Be careful.  You’re disrespecting the stock.”
James and Amy looked at each other with mock straight faces; “Oooh!”
“There’s more up there,” whispered Amy.

 

Upstairs, out of earshot they found themselves alone.  On one side they were surrounded by clothes, on the other there were shelves filled with dining room accessories.

“Who’d wear these?” Amy squealed, holding up a pair of white knee high boots.
Chris picked up a yellow sleeveless jumper; “The owner was wearing one like this with flares!”
“Like these!” Amy showed him a pair of man’s white flares and they dissolved into giggles.
They left the clothes and explored the shelves of tupperware, plastic tartan table cloths, brown cloth napkins and plastic cutlery.  Behind the shelves was a table set for six.  On it was a recipe book, above it a glitter ball.  At the end of the table, a female mannequin stared at them creepily, her hair a huge nest of curls.  “Nice!” sneered James.
“A prawn cocktail!” Amy gestured to the recipe on the front of the book, “height of sophistication!”
“Green ice cream sundae glasses!” sniggered James; “can’t believe they’re two quid each.  Who would buy them?”
That moment a rumble tore through the shop causing the table to shake and the glasses on the shelves to clink together.
“Army manoeuvres,” James explained.  “You could throw a dinner party in those white boots.  Prawn cocktail to start, for dessert the keys go into the bowl!”
“Seriously,” Amy said, “I can’t believe anyone would pay money for this junk!”
As she spoke, the mannequin slipped from its position and slumped on the table, head down, arms outstretched.
Amy and James stared for a moment, then turned to go.
“Funny.  I thought this was the way,” he said, as a shelf of items blocked his path.
“James!  That mannequin, she was face down a minute ago!” Amy pointed, the mannequin was facing them now, head on its side.
“It fell like that,” James replied without conviction.
They walked to the end of the shelves, but there was no gap around it to the next aisle.
“James, this place is freaking me out!”
They turned and blocking their way were the pair of white boots.
James and Amy, clutched at each other, frozen with fear.  They watched the boots walk towards them, step by step as the mannequin at the table wept tears.
A bright yellow cardigan fell onto James’ shoulders and the pair of white flares hit the floor at his feet.  The boots were next to Amy now; she thought perhaps they weren’t so bad.  They might look nice with her black mini skirt.  She kicked off her sandals and put them on.

Half an hour later, Mr Jones the owner of the shop came upstairs.  Three mannequins sat around the table, the woman with the big hair, the man in the white flares and yellow cardigan and the girl in a black mini skirt and high white boots.

“Oh,” he said, “how lovely.  Still three empty chairs though.”