We, The People (Part 1) by Wolfie Rankin

9 12 2013

“We, The People” – Wolfie Rankin

The Doctor sighed and leaned against the inside door of the TARDIS, alone once again. His travel partner Hansel Stencil had fallen in love with a giant Tharg called Mangolin, and the two were engaged.

The Doctor really didn’t think Hansel had it in him, He’d known there had been a thing between them ever since, what was referred to as “the incident”.

He wiped a finger under his nose and pushed himself towards the console, and slumped over it.

The little lights twinkled in his eyes, like a child looking at lights on a Christmas tree, it was a sight that despite all of his years of looking at it, he’d never tire of.

He let out a long breath, and took his purple jacket off and hung it on his coat rack, He was exhausted.

He needed to go somewhere, somewhere nice, somewhere  he could sit and think for a while, perhaps read a book or two, He hadn’t done that in some time, He needed time and time needed him.

“What a corny line” He muttered under his breath.

“You’re not supposed to pass commentary on my writing, Doctor” I typed.

He let out a sudden puff of air, which may have passed for a laugh.

“Buttons, Switches, Knobs, Levers” He said as he ran his hand over all of them.

“It’s not so much about what is pressed, but how you press it, and that is how you “Fly” A TARDIS”

He almost casually flipped one tiny toggle switch and the entire TARDIS shuddered, then he pressed three buttons, spun around, grabbed hold of a lever, and pushed it down.

The TARDIS sprang to life, tiny lights like stars pulsed and flickered across the ceiling, while the column in the centre rose and fell, the machine breathing, conscious, alive.

The familiar sound signalling the TARDIS was leaving reverberated from every wall and…

“If you’re really going to follow me around, you could at least make yourself useful” said The Doctor, Clearly frustrated that he was not quite as alone as he would like… He made a flippant gesture with His hand and said “Make me a coffee”.

“You drink Coffee?” I typed, Questioning the man who…

“Yes, I do, or I did, I just started, again, I think” He pressed something and got a slight shock “ow”, He shook his hand in pain.

“You don’t have a coffee maker” I typed.

“That’s beside the point” he countered, displeased, burnt, frazzled.

He sucked his finger.

Three tiny stalks rose from a panel on the console, a balloon inflated on each with a squeak.

The Doctor leaned down to examine them, “That’s interesting” he thought aloud, “very interesting indeed”  as an arm reached out and pressed a toggle switch, and his foot pushed a pedal to the floor.

The TARDIS shuddered slightly, and the column in the middle of the console stopped.

He pressed a switch and the doors opened.

Warm daylight filled the inside of the TARDIS, and The Doctor walked outside, breathed deeply, and stretched.

The TARDIS had appeared in a field of what could have been wheat, which bent and twisted in the wind. Further out were manicured hills of green, and a few had trees on them.

He was about to take a step further out, when he looked down and saw a beetle with the shiny body of gold, sitting there amongst the grass, He bobbed down and noticed that there were quite a few beetles around, all with differently coloured bodies.

One with a red body buzzed around The Doctors jacket and settled upon his lapel.

The Doctor smiled “I shall name you Paul”.

He pulled out a whistle from his jacket pocket and blew it, on hearing this, the TARDIS opened a great blue and white awning around itself, with a muffled sort of floomph.

A beach chair was shoved out of the TARDIS door and came to an abrupt stop right next to The Doctor, on top of it were a pair of sunglasses, a book, and an after dinner mint.

“Thankyou Kindly” The Doctor said to the TARDIS, “This looks perfect”.
He put the sunglasses on and laid on the chair.

He looked at the cover of the book “Beastly Boys and Ghastly Girls by Roald Dahl, Excellent!”

As he read his book, Pauls friends examined the chair legs, which had been placed very carefully by the TARDIS so as not to harm the tiny folk in the grass.

The sun moved across the sky and both warm air and comfy chair let The Doctor drift to sleep, without a care.

“Hello” said a voice.

The Doctor woke and looked around, He spotted a tall man with fair skin, dressed in white, who was carrying a teapot.

“Hello” said The Doctor, to the unexpected arrival.

“My Name is Farrell, I spotted you here on your own and wondered if you would like some tea, and maybe a chat… or perhaps you’d rather sleep?”

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The history of the Werewolf

30 04 2013

I want to tell you about the history of the Werewolf,  I’m going to leave a lot out, but I hope you’ll get the basic idea, I hope it sets things straight.

We have a kind of diary, which was written by our people, spanning hundreds of generations. and in many different languages, some languages are so old that they’re difficult to translate, but we have tried none the less.

A long time ago Humans and Werewolves were friends, We were trusted, and we protected homes from thieves. While Humans assumed we stood silent guard like soldiers, we in fact were just doing what a Werewolf does, and if someone from Town met a Werewolf at night, it wasn’t that much of a concern, as they often knew each other anyway.

But Humans and Werewolves made up blood curdling stories which would pass off as truth and would keep would be thieves away, it generally worked, and there aren’t many instances in the book where someone suspect was apprehended, often they were drunk or had blundered in from elsewhere, and when it did happen, the intruder would generally wet themselves and be shown the way out of whatever town or village it might have been.

We did a reasonable job of keeping stock losses down, by chasing foxes, which was apparently a lot of fun judging by the drawings.

Werewolves also had another use, a healing ability, not just for ourselves, but for others… When you look at someone and then inside them, you see the golden lines, and the sprockets and gears, all the little wheels of life which make everything work. sometimes the sprockets fall out or the wires break, and when you can see them and move them with your mind, a body can be repaired.

We didn’t take life, unless we wanted to eat, and even then we didn’t take more than a Human would want for themselves, We loved life, our own lives and the lives of others.

We were loved, Life was good for both species, and in general, it was a happy time.

People back then often had no education, but the book seems to show that many people were intelligent even if they were often superstitious. They would often leave offerings for deities which didn’t exist, We never touched their offerings, to do so would have “proved” that some external force existed… but of course some of us were superstitious too, we were still people and still had our weaknesses.

So you may wonder, what went wrong? Why did such a beautiful relationship sour?

A different kind of person began turning up in places where we lived, armed with good books about bigger Gods which had made all of the World and all things in it, except for the likes of us, who were made by the forces of darkness, apparently.

For a long time, the people shunned the idea, but slowly began to wonder who was right, and who was wrong, The Children were easier to convert, and it was they who were preyed upon, and slowly people became afraid of us.

The older generations still knew us, and kept in contact, and although they wanted to tell the new generations that there was nothing wrong, they were afraid, because speaking out could mean death.

It was like a disease had caught hold and was killing everything good that we ever had.

And so those who remembered we were kind, came together one night, and met with our elders in one particular village one night, and they suggested we vanish from Human memory, how long would it take? one generation to forget everything? perhaps.

Anything remembering the werewolf which hadn’t been broken already, would be removed, broke or hidden away, and memory of the werewolves would not be passed onto the humans.

And then gradually, we too, pulled up our roots and moved along, not always finding one of our own kind to have children with, We fell in love with Humans, and they in turn with us, and we even forgot, after a while, who we were, and what we could do.

Only a few dedicated souls kept the diary, and kept writing the story which had to be told.

Now and then it passed into Human hands, and risked being lost or destroyed from time to time, such as in the great fire of London, and the Blitz which came later. It traveled all over Europe, to Africa, The Middle East and back again, and all it’s journeys recorded within.

But although we tried to hide, The Werewolf mythology remained, and not of the nice werewolf either, but of the blood crazed killer, which had only been amplified by those who had bought religion into those ancient homes of ours, but yes, it was partly our own fault.

Have you noticed a potential problem dear reader?

We had been inter-breeding with humans for centuries, for centuries, so much so, that now it’s rare to find a human without whatever makes us, us… a gene? no it’s not, we’ve looked.

So occasionally one of us “wakes up” and changes form, and the problem with the werewolf is that he or she becomes what he or she believes themselves to be, and the only books on the subject are about the horrible, murderous beasts of legend, so what do you suppose happens?

We dread news that a Werewolf has killed someone, and those of us who know our real history dedicate ourselves to watching for these poor souls who need protection, not a bullet in the head.

Yes sometimes one Werewolf bites a “Human” and then we have two to cope with, as the “Human” believes they’ve been bitten by a Werewolf, and it wakes them up too, at least if they have a Werewolf in their ancestry.

My friends meet in an old basement near Degraves street in Melbourne, and have created a “pub” there, which is very cosy on a winters night, That’s where the Loup-Garou Underground was founded, an operation to locate our kind before they cause or come to harm.

There so few of us, but we do our best using any mode of communication we can to follow a lead.

Since the Loup-Garou Underground Melbourne HQ was formed in 1976, Five others have been created on other points of the globe, and slowly our people are coming back.

In this age of enlightenment, we hope that one day we can accepted, and even loved by the Human community again.

I hope this brief explanation has helped me to explain who we are.

Love.

Wolfie!

(C) PWTS All Rights Reserved, 2013.





Behind the wall.

9 03 2013

It was hopefully the final night of being in hospital, it was hot in there and between the temperature of the room, the sickness and the runs, there was little room for sleep.

Laying next to me was a patient whose wife had seen him admitted, but had to go back to the country to keep everything running, neither he nor I had seen a family member or friend for days, and we were both slipping into a kind of madness.

Nothing works unless you ask for it days in advance, there’s no TV and there’s no Phone, if you bring in a Radio it might work.

This Man wanted to phone his wife and tried to ring her, only to discover it wouldn’t let him, so he beat the crap out of it with the handset. Now I’m not one for vandalism, but I understand why he did it.

Behind the wall, someone who worked at the hospital was reciting a story they’d written, and now and then they would ask one of the nurses to play one of the characters, none of them were actors, that was plain, they all sounded like they were reading words from a page.

But the strangest thing about it was the story was about Wolfie the Werewolf.

I remember hearing bits and pieces of the story, and the accompanying score, for there was music to go with it, in between random hospital noises.

I would have got out of bed and tapped him on the shoulder, and shown him my t-shirt with my avatar on it, if I wasn’t so sick.

There he was, telling the tale aloud, while the real Wolfie was having a hard night, only meters away.

Wolfie!

PS – His Wolfie died, I lived and went home to Katie.





The bad writers club

19 06 2012

People are worried, rightly so, about good journalism going out the window, in favour of gossip and celebrity nonsense or indigestible news stories which don’t sell papers… people dying of starvation, wars in far off lands or climate change.

I see public reaction when I browse the internet, nobody seems to want to listen to the bad stuff, but if Justin Bieber cuts his pinky, or a new version of a console game is released, that’s what is discussed by all and sundry on Social Networks.

When I post stories to Facebook and Google+, I mix in a bit of serious material with some humour, and lately I’ve been feeling really annoyed that the joke gets all the thumbs ups and plusses and comments, while the serious story is completely ignored.

I don’t think the writers are the problem, there will always be good writers, who are very keen on “just the facts”… but will they have an audience, will anyone respond to what is written?

Will real journalists eventually end up in some nook online, hidden away and read only by other writers, while the masses only ever talk abut the latest phone, car, movie, videogame etc?

Scratches his nails on the blackboard.

Wolfie!

 





The Rifters

21 02 2012

I have an idea for a sci-fi novel, but as usual with all these ideas for stories I get, it will never be written as I have the attention span of a gnat.

However I will put the idea out there, so perhaps the idea will find its way to the author it was intended for, who will love it and bring it to fruition.

The story is called “The Rifters” You’re psychic? Oh you read the title, yes I see that now.

It takes place in the here and now, 2012, and it happens to ordinary people.

People who died, years ago, start turning up… no, they’re not zombies, they’re completely normal people, Brothers, Sisters, Mums and Dads, who by no fault of their own, start re-appearing today.

Now there was an explanation, and revealing it won’t spoil the story, as the experience of the story is about how people cope with each other.

The explanation is that there was a split in time, or a rift… a fork in the road… people went in two directions, and we saw one direction… they lived with us, they grew old, and they died… or they had accidents, died in wars or of diseases when young.

But suddenly the part which split, has appeared here.

The split seemed to occur in the 80’s, and as far as they’re concerned, it’s still the 80’s… but family are older, technology has changed, money doesn’t go as far as it did.

How do people here cope with it?

Are we glad to see our long-lost loved ones? or are we suspicious that something horrible is happening? Perhaps it’s an invasion, perhaps they’re copies, perhaps none of it is real.

Ordinary people suddenly find themselves facing Riftism from some members of society, perhaps some of those have never experienced racism or sexism before, so it would come as quite a shock.

What would you do? Take your family back or view them with suspicion?

Wolfie!

“The Rifters” Concept (c) Wolfie Rankin, 2012.