Rest in Peace, by David Bingham

Snow drifted into the trench Colonel Kurtz had ordered his men to excavate. He’d been puzzled by the elongated mound his occupying troops had found in the parkland near the centre of the city,

   ‘Colonel, they knew, with winter coming, they couldn’t hold out against us.’

   The colonel looked down at the creatures which had fought so bravely against him. ‘They’d been under siege for six months. I doubt if they’d have lasted for more than a couple of days anyway.’

   ‘But did they need to go this far?’

   ‘I don’t know, Major. But, in a way, I admire them. They’d rather kill themselves than be subservient.’

   ‘There’s no way we’d have done it!’

   ‘I’m not so sure. Back on earth there’s lots of examples of this kind of thing.’

   The colonel raised his hand and signalled the excavator operators to fill in the trench.

   ‘At least we can tell base the area’s safe for colonisation.’

   ‘No rush, Major; they’ll have to wait until spring before they send settlers here.’

   And in that season of fresh growth a new settlement was established which was intended to rise from the ruins of the old.

   While underneath the surface a species, waking from their winter hibernation, stretched their stiff limbs and began to move upwards from darkness into the light.

The Return, by Hannah

Swasticas on tombstones
Jackboots and a shaved head
Six million feathers
have been blown away
as have the memories of the dead
Demonstrations, manifestations
and cries of hate
freedom of peace for the world
Yet for some it has come too late.
Crosses and flowers
churches filled
joy and despair
of those who were coming
those who were leaving
and those who were never there.
Communism has fallen
Fascism holds
Democracy has risen
yet the dead still lie in their tombs.
The future has not forgiven
the past, the corpses and their wounds.
Auschwitz is covered by grass
the survivors have flown to Israel
and the coffin of racism is opened
nail by nail.

Aladdin Updated, by Peter Morford

Aladdin was feeling his age.  Not surprising really because he was crossing a parched desert which stretched for miles in every direction. He staggered step by painful step, hoping he was heading south where he thought there would be an oasis. His camel had died two – or was it three? days ago. He had drunk all his water and eaten all his figs. The merciless sun had burned his bald head and dazzled his myopic eyes. Still he plodded along, slipping in the loose sand of dunes, covering his face against the occasional dust blows.                                                                                 

            He fell heavily, face first, into the sand. He couldn’t breathe until he had pushed himself into a kneeling position. He scrabbled in the sand to push himself up.  There was something just below the surface which wasn’t sand.  He smiled for the first time that day. He recognised the shape and the texture.  It was his old lamp, lost with his good luck, many years before.   He rubbed it clean. There was a loud popping noise and a puff of smoke.

            “How can I serve you, O Master?” the genie said.

            Now Aladdin was an unselfish man.  He thought of the greater good of mankind.

            “I require three wishes,” he said.

           “That’s most irregular, O Master. I usually grant only one.  But as it’s been a long time… What is your command O Master?”

             “That all human diseases cease to be.”

         There was flash of blue lightning and a great crack of thunder.

            “It is done, O Master.”

             Aladdin felt the life returning to his limbs and he could see the distant mountains clearly. His newly-restored hair was sheltering him from the sun.

            “And your second wish, O Master?”

            “That all poverty be abolished.”

            Another flash and boom.

            “It is done, O Master”

            Aladdin felt the thickness of his wallet, now filled with hundred dollar bills, credit cards and tickets to the pantomime.

            “And your third and final wish, O Master?”

            “I want the weather to be under Man’s control, so that the deserts bloom.”

            Yet another flash and bang.

            “It is done O Master. Farewell.”

            The sky clouded over and he felt the first drops of rain.  And the second.  And the third until the downpour was a monsoon.  Green shoots miraculously appeared as water gushed down the dunes.  He was soon up to his ankles, his knees, his waist.  He climbed but the water rose faster.

Aladdin, RIP.

Witchcraft, by Kwaku Gyamfi

The problem with the outside world is that they do not understand our peculiar situation in Africa. I mean, witchcraft is very real. You need to see to understand. If you don’t understand something and you just label it as superstition it is very unfair. Yes, we believe in witchcraft but that does not mean we are dumb. Wisdom and believing in witchcraft are not mutually exclusive. I dare say we are wiser for believing in these forces of darkness because they keep us on our toes. We fast and pray to keep evil away. There are some things that are difficult for the human mind to understand. The other day I was returning from a party at dawn when I saw a man with the head of a bull. He had horns, muzzle, those cattle eyes, the entire package. I was scared to the bone. The animal-man creature was walking towards me. Boy, I almost shit on myself. You know I was from a party and as you would guess I was quite tipsy. Wee was not disallowed at the party and the smokers did not spare me from the assault of their puffs. But I was sturdy. I did not sway like the drunkard of my town does. That guy eh I am sure he gets drunk even on water. Dude is always drunk I don’t know how he does it. As I was saying earlier, the creature was coming towards me. I gathered courage and approached it. It was not that I wasn’t scared. Actually I was scared to the point that I could feel it in my fingertips, even the muscles of my stomach shook. Then I saw the creature stop. It stood straight. It did not move an inch. Boy, did I stop too. If you were there you would think I was a statue. All of a sudden, the creature was covered by a thick red cloud which was very visible in the morning night. I saw the creature going down. I don’t know how to describe what I saw. It was as if it was melting, like burnt candle wax receding to its base. The curious thing was that the apparent liquid form of the creature was blue with smoke of the same colour emanating from it. This smoke mixed with the cloud I told you about earlier to form different shades of magenta. I am not sure of what that colour is called these days. Besides, I am not good with colours. I am drifting. So I moved as silently as possible to stand beside a light pole that was nearby to guard myself against evil and watched what was going on. Then all of a sudden there was an explosion. A silent explosion of colours. Every colour of the rainbow dancing before my eyes. Every shade and hue of light perceptible to the eye. And there was nothing.

 P.S: If you think I believe in witchcraft then I must also believe there are tigers in Africa, and believe in the Sugar Candy Mountain too.

An Unwelcome Fellow Traveller, by Peter Shilston

"I really hate the sea", he was saying. At least, that's what I thought he was saying, because to be perfetly honest I had long since stopped paying attention to him. When you're on a long, slow railway journey you often get chatting to complete strangers, but on occasion it proves to be a bad mistake. This was one of those occasions. He'd wittered on for ages, all about himself, and most of what he'd said was of so little interest that it had entirely washed over me, leaving no trace on my memory. 
   So I replied, "Oh really?" in my most neutral voice, trying to indicate complete lack of interest without being seriously rude. I shuffled with some papers and pretended to be reading them, hoping he'd take the hint and shut up. But that was too much to hope for.
   "The thing is", he continued, "I once had the most dreadful experience at the seaside, and it's haunted me ever since".
   (No, I thought, please don't tell me about it!)
   "In fact, it was so dreadful that I can't bear to speak about it even now".
   (Thank God for that! I told myself)
   "Have you ever felt like that?" he asked, in a tone that implied  he didn't expect me to launch into a similar experience of my own. "It can be a great relief to unburden your soul to a stranger, but somehow you can't bring yourself to do it".
   Really, this was getting intolerable. But I found myself asking, "The seaside, you say? Anywhere I would know? here or abroad?"
   "Oh, I can't travel abroad. It would mean crossing the sea in an aeroplane. I'd know I was crossing it, even though I couldn't see it. No, it was here in England".
   The train slowed down and stopped at a small station. My companion picked up his only bag and rose to his feet.
   "Well", he said, "I'm off to the sea now. I'll just have to try and conquer my fears. Look, I'm most grateful to you for all your help and advice. I've enjoyed meeting you. Goodbye!" I muttered, quite truthfully, that I hadn't done anything to help him at all. And then he was gone. I slumped backin my seat, relieved to be free of him at last.
   It was only later that I realised we were nowhere near the coast, and travelling in the wrong direction to reach it. 

Remorse, by John Garland

"Right, let’s get started. I’m Bill, you’re Arthur, and we’re having this meeting because you tried to shoot me".

“I didn’t”, said Arthur. “It was an accident. I explained that at the trial, but they didn’t believe me”.

"No surprise surely, was it, sunshine? Because let’s face it, you’ve got form; plenty of form. And I was in my car at the traffic lights, and you were up on the balcony on the block of flats, and you fired your gun at me. And since I’d never seen you in my life before, I’d like to know why”.

“It wasn’t my gun. I’ve never had a gun. Someone left it there, and I picked it up to have a look at it, and it went off”

“Oh yeah? And you’re surprised the jury didn’t believe you? If it wasn’t your gun, who d’you think might have left it there?”

Silence.

“Can’t say, or won’t say?”

More silence.

"Look, this isn’t going well, is it? This is supposed to be some kind of pilot scheme of crooks talking with their victims. Supposed to do some good. Sounds like a load of trendy rubbish to me, but we’d better give it a go now we’re here. So I’ll have my say, then you can have yours: okay?

   "So there I was, sitting in my car at the traffic lights, with the window down because it was hot, when suddenly this bullet comes whistling right past my nose and smashes into the dashboard. Didn’t touch me, as it happens, but not a nice experience, though I’m not the sort of guy who scares easily. It was a new car, very smart, cost me a packet, and there was a lot of damage. You might say, well, the insurance company paid up and it all got put right; but it’s not the same again, is it? And then the time I had to waste, signing statements for the police, and giving evidence at your trial, not to mention this talk now. I’ve got a pretty important job, and I was working on a really big deal at the time, but I had to hand it over to someone else, and now he’ll get all the credit for it. Now even if what you say’s true, and it was an accident, it still caused me all this hassle, which I could have done without.

   "And then, what if the bullet had gone a few inches to the left? I’d have been dead, and what then? I don’t think Becky, that’s my wife, would ever have got over it, because, I’d have to say, she idolises me, and so do the kids. And then there’s my firm; they place a lot of reliance on me. And it would be a waste, because I’m going to achieve big things before I’m much older. And all that would have gone, snuffed out; even if your shot was an accident, which personally I don’t believe it was. A tragedy.

   "So, I’ve had my say. Now you can have yours. Are you sorry for what you’ve done?"

“Yes”, said Arthur, “Now I’ve heard you, I am sorry. I’m very sorry that I missed you”.

Through the Glass Darkly, by Nerina

Bored with the truth,
let emotions overtake
vain desires and ambitious hopes.

Desperation
hidden behind a meaningful facade
of disillusioned intention
and wilful expression.

Doused with numbing liquor
Subtle with false control.

Gone.
The moments of truth
no longer exist here.

Replace one thing with another
no lesser evil and
replace dreams with a supposed
acceptance and unity

with reality.