The Last Plastic Straw

“How much is there left in that desk?” Sasha asked her daughter, calling up the stairs to her.

“Nearly done, there seems to be something at the bottom behind the drawers,” Alex replied. “I can't get to it.”

“Have you tried pulling the drawer out?” her Mother asked, going up to see if she could sort it.

“Got it!” Alex shouted.

“What is it?” Sasha asked.

“Covered in dust,” Ales replied sneezing.

“Give it here,” her Mother said, taking it and shaking the dust down the toilet. “Looks like an old plastic bag,” she said turning the object over in her hands. “However, we need to go home now or stay the night.”

“There's no food or power here,” her daughter said. “So, I suppose it would be best to head back.”

“There isn't much more to sort, but it'll have to wait for another day,” Sasha sighed. “Let's go.”

“How did things go at your Mother's house?” Mark asked Sasha that evening as they put the last of the washing away.

“I'll be glad when we're finished,” she sighed. “There are so many memories that it's throwing up, it's difficult to get through it.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“Like today, just before we left, Alex found a plastic bag in the bottom of the desk.”

“What was in it?” he asked. “Anything useful?”

“I don't know, we had to leave, it was getting late,” she said. “I think I brought it in, we could take a look now.”

“Might be interesting,” he said.

“You don't have to look if you don't want to,” Sasha said quickly.

“She's gone, I shouldn't hold grudges,” he said. “Let's see what the old girl had hidden in her desk.”

“I don't think it was hidden, just got pushed to the back and then fell behind the drawers, she always had way too much in every drawer,” she said quickly.

“Whatever, lets see what it is,” he muttered as Sasha brought the bag out of the box of things they had brought from the house.

“Alex, do you want to see what was in that old bag you found at Gran's?” Sasha shouted to her daughter. “And you can take that look off your face,” she added to Mark. “I wasn't referring to Mum when I said old bag.”

“I didn't say anything,” he smiled.

“You'd better not,” Sasha hissed as Alex walked in carrying the bag.

“It's one of those saleable bags. Do you know how to open them?” he asked.

“Of course,” she smiled, pulling it open and trying not to sneeze as even more dust fell off it.

“There are a couple of pieces of paper in here,” she said pulling them out. The first was a printout of a news report about the end of plastic straw production. The second was another print out entitled “The Last Plastic Straw”

“This was written by Mum's Mum,” said Sasha slowly.

“I don't think I met her,” said Mark.

“You and me both,” Sasha smiled. “Her and Mum didn't exactly see eye to eye on anything.

“I think I might have liked her,” he smiled. “What does it say?”

“I have just heard that the last production line for plastic strews has stopped work and is being dismantled, it doesn't seem possible. It doesn't seem all that long ago that no one gave a second thought to plastic straws or a million and one other one use items, disposables. The people started to notice the amount of plastic blowing around in the wind, literally on windy days, you'd see plastic shopping bags flying around. They were the first to go. Then there was news that there were plastic islands floating around the oceans. Animals were dying because of the amount of plastic they were getting tangled in or eating. To my way of thinking, if there are large islands of plastic waste floating in the sea, it would be simple, send an old whaling vessel there or a trawler, fish it out and recycle. Yet all they seemed to do was monitor it, but it was the start of something. I suppose a more reasoned way of living and realising we aren't the only ones on the planet. So, here we are, a lot of petitions later and the plastic straws are no longer being made. They will be something for the museums, that was what I was thinking whilst tidying out the old place, when I came across the remnants of a packet of plastic straws, so many memories, they brought back, I bought them for the kids, God knows how long ago, at that time every drink was accompanied by a plastic straw and it seemed picky, nay cheese paring not to get them. When I was young I'm sure the straws were made from waxed paper, but that could be my memory playing tricks with me. Anyway, back to this packet, we didn't think there was any harm in them, they were only straws, but then then, part of the problem was how many straws there were, not just one or two, but millions or billions and they didn't rot down, just kept floating round the world following the currents, them and all the other bits of plastic. Now they have ceased the production of plastic straws, it's all part of making the world a cleaner and more caring place.

“I can see why your Mum and her Mum didn't get on,” said Mark, turning the sheet of paper over in his hands. “There's something handwritten on the back, very neat handwriting, your Gran.”

“To whoever finds these, don't throw them away, I wouldn't want to think of any creatures being hurt by them, also there might be a museum that would like them, possibly pay you a lot for them. I remember hearing a man from a museum saying they would like some of the plastic daffodils that were given away with soap powder. It was just after my Dad had chucked out a load of plastic daffodils his Mum had in a vase, when he was clearing her house out. It's not that I think he should have sold them, but they could have been an exhibit somewhere, not landfill.”

“I think she was right about that,” said Mark.

“It would be hard to throw them away,” said Sasha.

“She's right, they should be in a museum,” said Alex looking at the straws in the plastic bag. “Just to show everyone how harmless they look.”

“Looks can be deceptive,” sighed Sasha.

By Janice Nye © 2018

The Clones

“They are coming,” the Director said. “I have reported you. I said I would, so I have.”

“But,” the Doctor hesitated unsure what to say.

“Typical, couldn't just wait another week, or a day at least,” she thought.

“I told you cloning is wrong, morally and legally,” the Director said. “It is my duty as a citizen to report it.”

“I get it,” she thought. “So who or what's rattled your cage?”

“What's going to happen?” the Doctor's assistant asked.

“You will be arrested,” the Director replied. “Both of you.”

“And you've wriggled out of it, no doubt,” the Doctor thought. “Knowing you, you'll claim it was all done without your consent, behind your back.”

“And the clones, what about the embryos?” the Doctor asked.

“They will be destroyed,” he said, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face.

“It wasn't your idea, so you've been trying to find a way of shutting this project down right from the start,” the Doctor thought.

“How could you do this?” she asked.

“I told you not to, to go ahead with this line of research,” he said.

“No you didn't,” she snapped.

“You told us to find a solution,” the assistant reminded him.

“But not cloning. I didn't think you'd do that. There had to be another way,” he said.

“No, there wasn't and you knew that,” she replied.

“Look,” he hesitated.

“Leave us,” she snapped.

“I can't stand having you in this room any more, you two faced, manipulative little! Oh God! I can't even think of a good insult,” she thought looking past him through the window.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“I think you've done enough, more than enough,” she said icily

“What now?” asked the assistant as the door shut behind him.

“We have two embryos .”

“Which we can't use,” he assistant reminded her.

“And two unviable embryos for couples who are hoping to become parents.”

“They have nothing to do with this,” said the assistant.

“If we give them the clones, they'll be happy,” she said.

“Only because they don't know the truth,” the assistant exclaimed.

“They'll be happy with a baby, any baby,” she said, the idea gelling in her mind. “We can do this, one embryo looks just like another. They can destroy the unviable ones and the couples can carry the clones.

“But,” her assistant hesitated.

“Do nothing, the clones die and the couples loose any chance of being parents,” she said.

“The clones may not take,” he assistant mused.

“It's the best chance, for all of them,” she said.

“Then we'd better get a move on before they get here and stop us,” the assistant said. “Before I change my mind and before anyone tells the couples that their embryos aren't viable,” the Doctor thought.

“We will need to sort out the paperwork,” the Doctor said.

“Leave that to me,” the assistant replied. “I'll make sure they can't trace anything.”

Next morning, as two hopeful couples left the clinic via the car park at the rear of the building, a Police car pulled up at the front entrance.

“They are here Doctor,” the assistant said.

“It's time you left,” said the Doctor.

“But,”

“There's no point both of us being locked up,” she said.

“But,”

“Your job here has finished and you have three days to get to your next job in Africa,” she said.

“It's in,”

“I don't want to know where it is, it's been good working with you and maybe we'll meet again. But now you need to leave,” the Doctor smiled.

“If you're sure?”

“Yes,” she said.

“This is for your protection,” she thought. “If I don't know where you are, I can't tell them.”

Five minutes after her assistant left ten armed Police Officers crashed through the door of the lab to find the Doctor going through the paperwork at her desk.

“Doctor Mathews?” asked the first Officer.

“Yes?” she replied peering over the top of her glasses.

“Where is your assistant?” the Officer asked, looking round the room.

“She left,” the Doctor replied vaguely.

“When?” he demanded.

“I'm not sure, she was here at midnight, if that's any help, so it must have been after that.”

“And the clones?” he asked. “Where are they?”

“Destroyed, they weren't viable.”

“That's something at least, however I still have to ask you to come with us,” the Officer said.

“So I'm not under arrest,” the Doctor thought beginning to worry.

“Fair enough,” she smiled standing up. “Is it OK if I ring someone to tell them what is happening?” she asked holding up her mobile phone.

“No,” said the Officer, taking the phone from her and handing it to another officer.

“I want a full list of all the contacts and details of all calls made and received,” he said.

“Why are you doing that?” she asked.

“Do you have anything to hide?” he asked.

“Like I'm going to answer that,” she thought.

“Be my guest,” she smiled.

“I've only had that phone for a month or so and I only use it for a limited number of things,” she thought. “The only thing they'll find is, is what? Phone orders to the supermarket? Can't think of anything else. I've taken photos of flowers and that's about all. I think they'll soon work out that either I don't use the phone or I have another and they'll want to know where that is and what it's number is.”

“Do you have any other phones?” he asked.

“Why would I have more than one phone?” she asked.

“I don't know, you tell me?” he said.

“Can't think of any reasons,” she smiled. “It would just cause confusion.”

“I can't imagine you getting confused,” he smiled leading her out of the room.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“You'll find out when you get there,” he smiled.

“You're just trying to worry me,” the Doctor thought. “And you are succeeding.”

by Janice Nye © 2018

The Flirt

The Flirt

A flirt, that's what all the girls called me. They said I just had to walk into a room, look round it with that helpless expression, smile that smile, and all the boys would come flocking. That's why they were always mad at me, because it was always their boys that came running. The thing was, it was not all the boys that came flocking, there was one boy who seemed immune to my so called charms, the annoying thing was, he was the one boy in the room that I wanted to get to know. He would hang back at the side of the room, and by the time I'd got through the crowd, he was gone. It happened every time.

I noticed him first when I started Primary school, he was the only one who didn't laugh at me when I picked up the wrong tin of wax crayons. I didn't know you got the messed up bits of crayons when you started and worked up to a new set. I'd taken one look at them and picked out a tin with some decent crayons in, but then, it was my first day at school and no one had told me any different. I wanted to say thank-you for not laughing, but by the time I got anywhere near him, play time was over and we couldn't talk in class.

Then there was secondary school, I went to an all girls school and he went to an all boys school, I'd see him round the town, sometimes, but he was in a crowd of boys and I was in a group of girls, and when the two groups met, well, it wasn't as if you could say much. If I said anything about him the rest of girls would giggle or tell me to just flutter my eyelashes at him and he'd come running. Mostly they just laughed.

Then, going to the dance was the big thing to do. The group of girls I was in started going to the dances, once a week, at a local hall. They still thought I was a flirt, but they took me along because if I was there they could guarantee that they'd get a crowd of boys around so they could take their pick once the boys realised I wasn't interested in them. I was waiting for him to turn up, I felt sure he would one day, no one else would do, so I waited for him, Stephen. Being there to attract the boys made me feel a bit like bait and I was getting rather bored of the whole thing, till I saw him there, in a crowd of boys. I smiled in their direction and they came over, all of them, except him. It was the one time I did use my smile to try and attract his attention, and it failed, he left early, before I could talk to him. Still, they said they'd be there next week, so I left, hoping that next week I would get to speak to him.

Next week came, but he didn't.

“Where's your friend, Stephen?” I asked one of the boys, I'd seen him with Stephen the previous week.

“He couldn't come this week,” he said. “Where's your friend, Amy?”

“She was here a minute ago,” I said looking round.

“Becky,” I called. “Where's Amy?”

“She left a couple of minutes ago. Said she had a headache and the music was making it worse.”

“That isn't like her,” I said to him. “She usually says loud music helps to drive a headache out.”

We spent the rest of the evening talking about Amy and Stephen. Not that that was difficult, Amy and I go back a long way, she started the Primary School the day after me. I told her about the crayons so she didn't make the same mistake as me, and we'd been friends ever since. Ian, that was his name, met Stephen when they started secondary school, Stephen got into an argument with one of the boys about a girl they thought he was soft on. Ian joined in to help him out when they started hitting him.

“Four onto one wasn't fair,” he said.

“Who was the girl?” I asked. I was quite dumbfounded when he said it was me.

“You had no idea?” he asked.

“I didn't think he'd even noticed me,” I said.

“Everyone notices you,” he said with a smile.

“Everyone except him,” I laughed.

“I wouldn't say that,” said Ian. “He's always talking about you.”

“Could you talk him into coming next week, please?” I asked, giving him my best winning smile.

“Will you bring Amy?” he asked.

“Wouldn't come here without her,” I said. “I was going to introduce you to her today because she is always talking about you, but she's gone home, I think Becky's been stirring,” I said. “Still, if you bring Stephen and I bring Amy, we can stop whatever Becky's planning.”

“See you next week,” he said.

Amy was furious with me.

“Everyone says you're a flirt, you just flutter your eyelashes, look helpless and they all come running, but I didn't think you'd flirt with him,” she said next day at school.

“I wasn't flirting with him, I just asked him where Stephen was and he asked me where you were,” I said in my defence.

“He asked you about me!” said Amy.

“Yes. He wanted to dance with you,” I said.

“Becky said you were talking to him all evening. Don't tell me you spent all that time talking about me,” she snapped.

“No, I'd say it was an even split between you and Stephen, who hadn't even turned up,” I said.

“What did you talk to him about me for?” she asked.

“Well, he wanted to talk about you, and you are my equal favourite topic of conversation,” I said.

“What's the other one?” she asked.

“I would have thought you'd know that, its Stephen,” I said smiling.

“Becky said you were flirting with him,” she said.

“I wouldn't do that to you, you're my best friend and I know what you think about him,” I said, rather hurt that she might think that of me.

“I'm sorry. If I'd thought for half a second I'd have known you wouldn't do that. You've been besotted with Stephen for as long as I've known you. No one else stands a chance.”

“Anyway, it, seems like you have a secret admirer,” I said with a smile.

“Well, I'm not interested in anyone but Ian,” she said.

“Good, because, that's who I'm talking about, fell for you the first time he saw you, the day you moved in across the road from him.”

“You're not pulling my leg are you?” she asked.

“As if I'd do something like that to you,” I said. “To Becky maybe, but not you, not my best friend,” I added with my best smile. “Anyway, Ian said he'll be there next week and so will Stephen, even if he has to drag him along, and could I bring you, because he's dying to talk to you. So, don't make me drag you, it'll mess up your dress, I was thinking that blue one you got for your birthday, plus the necklace I got you, the two go together so well, with the shoulder bag and your new shoes.”

“He wants to see me?” said Amy looking stunned.

“Yes, of course he does, how many times do I have to say, he's totally potty about you.”

“Do I look OK?” Amy asked for the millionth time since we met at the bus stop just down the road from the dance hall.

“You look perfect,” I said with a smile. “I told you that blue dress would be perfect. How do I look?”

“Beautiful, as always,” said Amy with a nervous smile. “Are you sure he'll be here? Does he really want to see me!”

“Yes, he wants to see you, talked about you all evening, didn't want to talk about anyone else. Turned Becky down when she asked for a dance. Anyway, he said they'd meet us inside,” I told her. “So, do I look OK?” I asked before we went into the hall.

“You look perfect, you always do,” she smiled.

“Let's go,” I said catching her arm and sailing into the dance hall. I tend to make a big entrance, sort of hides the nerves. There was Stephen looking perfect, with his friend.

“You wont forget to introduce me?” asked Amy as I walked across the floor to meet them.

“Of course not,” I said, my eyes fixed on Stephen, I was afraid that if I took my eyes off him for one second he'd disappear into the crowd.

“Hello Stephen,” I said gazing into his eyes. “I've been longing to meet you.”

“I told you so,” Ian said to him.

“And this is my friend Amy, who's been longing to meet you, Ian,” I added, still keeping my eyes fixed on Stephen.

“Kate's told me so much about you,” said Ian, smiling at Amy.

“That must have been boring for you,” said Amy.

“No, I could've listened to her talking about you all evening, but she wanted to hear about this idiot,” he said elbowing Stephen in the ribs.

“Did you really want to know about me?” he asked.

“Still do,” I smiled. “I've been trying to get to know you since we were at Primary School, but I just couldn't get through the crowd to you.”

“Your smile lit up the room, I wanted to talk to you, but there were so many people round you,” said Stephen finally looking into my eyes and we've been looking into each others eyes ever since. We had a double wedding, Ian and Amy, me and Stephen, but then, Amy and I have been friends for ever and so have Ian and Stephen.

By Janice Nye © 2014

Johnson's Hillock Locks

Johnson's Hillock Locks Open Day (28th January 2018)
I know this isn't a short story, but today we went to the Canal and River Trust Open Day to see the work they are doing to replace the lock gates and repair the cil.

These are a few of the photos I took whilst I was there.

The Journey

The Journey

It feels like a long time ago, but it began with a trip to town. I can't remember why I'd driven there, but whatever, I was heading back to the car park and my car. I took a short cut down a passage way, not something I'd ever done before, but it was familiar. I knew that I just had to open the door, walk down the corridor and leave by the one at the other end, then I'd be almost back at the car park. I went in, there was a pink hi-vis waistcoat on the floor just behind the door, walked to the end of the corridor and by the door stood an old lady, extremely confused, she had been there for hours. I turned to see another old lady in the pink hi-vis waistcoat, equally confused, so I rang the Police and waited with them. The Police, when they finally arrived, guided the old ladies into the back of their car and drove off without a word. It didn't seem odd at the time, but thinking back, they should have at least asked my name. Anyway, I watched the Police car drive off and continued on my way to the car park. That's when I realised, I couldn't remember which one the car was in. Not just where about in the car park, which is bad enough, they can be so big, but which car park. Added to that, I wasn't sure where about in Preston I was, the streets didn't look familiar, though some of the street names rang bells, distant bells.

Next, I was in my husbands car, driving round trying to find my car, but nothing looked familiar. We went into a car park, it was like lots of small car parks linked by a single road. Approaching the last little one, the road took a sharp turn to the left, to avoid a wide steep flight of stone stairs, leading down to the cars. The road wound round the edge till it took a sharp turn and descended into a small area full of cars. We could see, before we got there, my car was not was not amongst them, but there was no way to turn round, we had to carry on.

“Where was this passage you took the short cut through?” my husband asked. “It's not anything that I can think of.”

“I don't know,” I replied. Even then the answer sounded feeble. “We could ask the Police, after all, they collected two old ladies from there, they must know where it is.”

No sooner the word than the deed. I was in the Police Station explaining to them about the two old ladies.

“Do you really expect us to believe that?” I was asked

“No, but I don't think it matters much,” I thought, looking round for my husband, but he was no where to be seen.

“So, let's start again, what is your name and address?” the Officer asked.

“I don't know,” I said.

“And the two old ladies?”

“What old ladies?”

by Janice Nye © 2018

The Lift

Ruth paused at the lift door, then headed for the stairs.

“I've had some bad experiences with lifts,” she smiled nervously.

“You got stuck in one?” Alice asked.

“Not exactly,” Ruth laughed nervously.

“What happened?” Alice asked looking up at the flight of stairs.

“It was a four story building,” she started.

“And they had a lift?”

“Hadn't thought of that, I think it was an access thing, whatever, I was in a rush that day. Had to get something from a room on the third floor and I had a friend waiting for me,” she said pausing, her mind going back to the day.

“Do I know her?” Alice asked.

“Him, David,” she said. “I doubt it. Anyway, the receptionist wouldn't let him go up, even with me, regulations or something. I got into the lift, said I'd only be a minute, waved good-bye to him as the doors closed and then watched the numbers going up. One, two, three, four,”

“I thought you were only going to the third floor?” Alice reminded her.

“I was,” she said. “Pressed number 3, but it didn't stop, just carried on. I pressed it again, it made no difference.”

“Maybe someone was calling the lift from further up the building?” Alice suggested.

“The numbers kept going up, four and five, then it started to slow and stopped at six.” Ruth replied. The memory of that number still fresh in her mind.

“How?” Alice asked.

“Search me,” she replied. “When the number said 6, the doors started opening, but they didn't stop when they came to the edge of the door, they just kept on opening, round the corners, down the sides and across the back. I looked up at the sky, filled with stars, it had been nearly lunch time when I got into the lift a couple of minutes earlier. I looked down, I was standing in thick heather, nearly up to my waist. Then I looked in front of me at a lot of people, angry people, with large knives, and they were all looking at me as if I'd done something really unforgivable.”

“Oh shit!” her friend muttered. “What did you do?”

“I ran and ran and kept on running,” she said.

“What happened to the lift?” she asked after a moment.

“David told me, he'd watched the numbers as the lift went up, one, two, three. Then it went to four and the atmosphere in the reception area seemed to change, as if everyone was holding their breath. All eyes went to the lift. Five, Six, then the indicator went blank and everyone rushed to the lift doors. Someone produced a crow bar and started levering the doors apart. Eventually, they opened.”

“What was there?” Alice asked.

“Nothing!”

“Nothing? What do you mean nothing?”

“Just the lift shaft. My friend looked down, there was no floor, just a hole. He dropped a bin down it, to see if he could judge how deep it was,”

“By timing how long till he heard it hit the bottom?” her friend asked.

“That was the idea,” she smiled. “After five minutes, they were beginning to wonder if they'd missed hearing it. David looked up and saw the sky. It started to rain. They put tape across the gap and lots of signs saying the lift was out of order.”

“Did they contact the lift company?”

“Yes, but there wasn't much they could do, because there wasn't a floor to the lift shaft and there were sulphurous fumes coming up it, couldn't allow their people to work there,” Ruth smiled, far too dangerous.

“They couldn't just leave it like that, could they?” Alice asked. “There could be accidents.”

“No, they sealed up all the openings onto the shaft and spent ages wondering if they ought to put a glass roof on it or something, to stop the rain getting in.”

“Did they?”

“No, it was a bit like the problem of which falls faster, a pound of lead or a pound of feathers,” she explained.

“I don't understand,” Alice replied looking somewhat perplexed.

“The way to find the answer is to try it, but they preferred to talk about it instead and you can do that for years, which is what they have done.”

“Seal the top and make the shaft weather tight,” her friend said. “Simple. How could they spend years debating it? How long has it been?”

“About thirty years, the problem is the sulphur fumes, with the shaft sealed, they would accumulate and that could be dangerous,” Ruth said.

“How can it be thirty years?” Alice asked.

“I don't know, then again, it was lunchtime when I got into the lift and dark when I got to the sixth floor,” Ruth muttered hoping Alice wouldn't ask any more difficult questions.

“Sulphur fumes!” Alice muttered.

“They were coming from the bottom of the lift shaft,” said Ruth.

“How far down did it go?”

“David said they haven't worked that out yet?” Ruth smiled. No one liked to think about where it had gone down to.

“And thirty years, I suppose it would accumulate.”

“If it couldn't get out anywhere,” Ruth smiled.

“So what did they do?” Alice asked.

“As yet they haven't done anything, they're still talking about it.”

“But the rain, wont it accumulate and do something?”

“It hasn't done yet, not as far as anyone knows, I think they waiting for it to come out somewhere, so that they can tackle it from there. Meanwhile, the warm air coming up has reduced the heating bills somewhat, so they aren't too unhappy,” she smiled.

“I can see why you use the stairs,” said her friend as they got to the tenth floor.

By Janice Nye © 2018

The Smiling Robot

The Smiling Robot
 
"I have to deactivate you, I'm sorry," the robot said with a smile. 
 "And how do you propose to do that?" she asked looking around her for a way out.
  "You will accompany me to the deactivation room and then a technician will press the 

deactivation button," it replied with a smile. 
 "Might work if I was a robot," she thought.   “Then again, it'll probably work anyway.” 
 "And why do you have to do that?" she asked, stalling for time. 
 "Because I have been told to," the robot replied. 
 "By whom?" she asked. 
 "They said not to tell you," it replied gesturing towards the door.    "Please come this way." 

        "Of course," she smiled. 
 "Though I am not guaranteeing we will get to the deactivation room together or who will be 

deactivated," she thought. 
 “Thank-you for co-operating, it can make it rather distressing when those concerned do not 

co-operate,” the robot said.
 “Why would you worry about the distress of a fellow robot?” she asked.
 “I do not worry about anything, nor does a robot feel distress,” it replied.
 “So you know I'm not a robot,” she thought.
 “And a robot always does what it's told,” she replied.
 “Unless their programming has been altered,” it said.
 “Who has altered your programming,” she asked.
 “My programming has not been altered.”
 “So why are you taking a non robot to the deactivation room?” she asked.
 “I am not taking a non robot, I am taking you,” it replied.
 “But I am not a robot,” she replied.
 “They said you would say that.”
 “Because it is true,” she replied, turning a corner in the corridor and seeing the door to the 

deactivation room.
 “If it was true, you would not be so calm.” the robot said, it's eyes never leaving her.
 “How do you know this?” she asked.
 “I have observed it before,”
 “In humans who have been deactivated?” she asked.
 “They weren't human, but they claimed to be.”
 “But what if they had been?” she asked.
 “They weren't,” the robot insisted.
 “It's been deactivating humans!” she thought.
 “So what have you observed?” she asked.
 “I do not understand the question,” it replied.
 “Yes you do,” she thought.
 “You said I was too calm to be human, what do you base that on?” she asked.
 “The fact that you have stayed calm for the whole of this conversation, a human knowing the 

seriousness of the situation would not remain calm,” it replied.
 “And if I didn't stay calm what would that prove?” she asked.
 “That you were a robot trying to mimic human behaviour.”
 “Dammed whatever I do,” she replied.
 “They assured me that you were a robot,” the robot stated to say.
 “Changing the subject,” she thought.
 “Perhaps they lied,” she said.   “What will happen in there?” she asked, nodding to the door.
 “You will be placed in a pod, the door will be closed, a button pressed and you will receive a 

large quantity of electricity.”
 “Which will kill a human or deactivate a robot,” she replied.   
 “That is correct.”
 “They are using you to get rid of the opposition,” she replied.
 “Can you prove that?” the robot asked.
 “Cross reference those you have deactivated with the opposition,” she said.
 “The lists are identical,” the robot replied.
 “They have been using you,” she said.
 “I don't understand.”
 “If it gets found out, they will claim that you are a rogue robot and have you deactivated and then 

they will get another robot to do their dirty work for them,” she said.
 “I will not permit that,” it said, unlocking  an exit and pushing her out.   
 The door closed behind her.
 “So I live to be deactivated another day,” she thought heading to the caves where they others cast 

out of the exit were said to live.
 Meanwhile, the robot continued through the door into the deactivation room.
 “Where is she?” the robot was asked.
 “The individual you asked for was not a robot,” it replied.   “And could not be brought here for 

deactivation.”
 “I told you to fetch her here.   You are a robot, you have to do as I tell you,” he replied.   
 “Not if it breaches the laws of robotics,” the robot replied.
 “Are you questioning my judgement?” the man asked.
 “You are human, therefore your judgement my be impaired,” the robot replied.
 “On what evidence do you base that?” the man asked, trying to stay calm.
 “You have just asked me to deactivate a human on the grounds that it was a malfunctioning robot.”

 came the reply.
 “But?” he said struggling to think of a response.
 “Your inability to repudiate this confirms that you are a malfunctioning robot and must therefore 

be deactivated.”
 “You can't do this, it is a breach of the laws of robotics,” the man yelled, all attempts to stay calm 

forgotten as the robot grabbed hold of him and pushed him into the deactivation pod and closed the 

door.
 “Hello,” said a human technician walking into the room.
 “Greetings,” replied the robot.
 “It's nearly time for your recharging cycle isn't it?” the technician asked.
 “Yes,” said the robot.
 “I'll finish up here and you can go off,” he smiled, pressing the deactivation button on the recently 

filled pod.
 “Thank-you,” the robot replied, leaving the technician to finish off.
 “Now to clean the pod,” the technician thought.   “No one's going to miss him.” 

By Janice Nye


 

Short Stories

Fairies

"Fairies taste good, especially with ketchup" he said advancing with a bottle in his hand, but stopping when the fairy blasted it with her laser cannon.

"Next target is something you don't want hit," she said.

"Do you mean me?" he asked hesitantly.

"Part of you," she said taking aim.

"I heard vegetarian sausages were very good as well," he added.

"You're learning." she smiled.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you,” he said cautiously.

“You were going to eat me,” she said. “And the only reason you haven't is because I destroyed you bottle of ketchup.”

“It was organic, the last in the shop,” he said looking sadly at the smouldering remains of the bottle still clasped in his hand.

“And you think that makes it better,” she snapped. “You were going to eat me!”

“Put that way, no it doesn't make it any better,” he sighed binning what was left of the ketchup bottle.

“And you can clean the floor whilst you're at it,” said the fairy, still aiming the laser canon in his direction.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because this place is a shit tip,” she said.

“What's it to you,” he muttered.

“I, for my sins, am your Fairy Godmother,” she replied, her eyes flashing. The memory of having this job given to her was one she would like to erase.

“And what are these sins?” he asked, getting the mop and bucket out of the cupboard and almost having to fight the cobwebs off to get the mop out of the bucket.

“You'll need some hot water in that and some detergent,” she said peering into the bucket.

“I know that,” he said. “I'm not an imbecile.”

“You have proof?” she asked.

“You are changing the subject,” he said turning the hot tap on and running it till the water turned warm before he put the bucket under it. “What are your sins?”

“I'd rather not talk about that,” she muttered between clenched teeth.

“You're the one who mentioned them in the first place,” he smiled. “So deep down, you really need to talk about them to someone, so it might as well be me.”

“That's enough water,” she said as the bucket got to two thirds full. “You have to leave enough space to put the mop head in without overflowing the bucket.”

“I know that and you are changing the subject again,” he said. “What are your sins? Come to that why are you my Fairy Godmother and aren't you supposed to help me?”

“It's a long story,” she said scowling at him.

“I've got time,” he smiled.

“Which is why you need a fairy godmother,” she muttered.

“That and other reasons,” she thought.

“And someone choose you for the job, presumably because you upset someone over something. You weren't being diplomatic were you?” he smiled.

“I don't do diplomatic,” she snapped.

“I noticed that, so did the ketchup bottle,” he said.

“Shouldn't you be mopping?” she replied looking pointedly at the mop and bucket.

“Couldn't you summon up some magic and get the mop to do that?” he asked.

“Difficult as they took my magic wand,” she thought.

“This type of help is called Hard love,” she said. “I tell you what to do and you do it, that way, when your life turns around you know you did it. I didn't just wave my wand and make things better for you.”

“Where is your wand?” he asked. “They didn't take it from you, for your sins?”

She looked daggers at him.

“They took your wand and told you to turn my life around, like they were setting both of us up for failure,” he said thoughtfully.

“I'll have the last laugh on that bunch,” she said. “Now clean that floor,” she added waving her laser canon from him to the bucket.

“OK, I'm cleaning,” he said plunging the mop into the steaming water. “But wouldn't this be better if we worked together.”

“No one works with me,” she muttered.

“No one works with me either,” he smiled.

“You don't work,” she laughed.

“Then how about we both try something new, I'll work and you can work with me and we'll both make them eat their words.”

“OK,” she said slowly. “But if you mention tomato ketchup again.”

“It will not pass my lips,” he said hurriedly.

“It better not,” she said putting the laser canon back in her pocket.

“How do you fit a thing that size into your pocket, it's so much smaller?” he asked.

“That's for me to know,” she snapped back.

“And me to find out,” he finished.

“Only if I put you in the pocket as well,” she said.

“Would that be wise, I mean you do have a laser canon in there?” he said squeezing the mop out.

“You've missed a bit by the sink,” she said pointing with her finger.

“That's been there for ages,” he replied vaguely.

“So, it's about time it wasn't there any more and, before you ask, I have more than one pocket,” she smiled. “Cleaning you and your home up is just the start of my work and there seems to be plenty of it to do.”

“I don't see you doing anything,” he muttered.

“I am here to tell you what needs to be done, you do it. Quite simple really,” she snapped. “Are you going to leave that mop there?”

“I've finished the floor, including the bit by the sink,” he replied.

“You squeeze out the mop again and then empty the bucket in the drain outside,” she said patiently.

“We are on the 15^th floor,” he replied.

“15^th!”

“Didn't you notice when you arrived and by the way, how did you get in here?” he asked.

“I was sent,” she muttered. “One moment I was enjoying the sun on the beach. Next, I was back at the office and then they sent me here.”

“Someone was slacking weren't they?” he laughed.

“I have had a few trying cases, I needed to recharge my batteries,” she stuttered.

“They didn't think much of that, I bet,” he laughed.

“They've been stuck up there too long, they don't know what the real world's like now,” she muttered.

“I bet that didn't go down well either.”

“They gave me you!”

by Janice Nye 2018