Little Miracles

 Little miracles happen around us all the time. For example, a few hundred metres above the surface of the ground, an unfortunate fish was being carried in the grip of a hungry seagull. This fish was in every respect an ordinary fish which had, in fish terms, lived a relatively good and honest life. Then out of nowhere it had been plucked from the comfort of its aquatic home and was rapidly ascending with every beat of the bird's wings.

 Somewhere in this fish's tiny mind, it realised it was incapable of respiring. Feeling life slip out of it with every limp flop of its tail, the fish wished that it could breath and be allowed to live. Then, by one of the many aforementioned daily little miracles, it was suddenly capable of breathing air. Happy and reinvigorated it began to move rapidly in the grip of the seagull. The bird, taken by surprise, let go of the fish, allowing it to fall blissful and free towards the city scape below.

 It flipped its tail and breathed in the air with its miraculous gills, if the fish had the capabilities to do so, it would have smiled. As it fell it realised the wealth of opportunities this little miracle had opened up to it, what would it do now it was not merely confined to water? It could flop and move upon the earth, feasting upon unsuspecting little insects. Perhaps it would find another product of a fish based miracle and they would mate. Perhaps their offspring would gradually evolve legs until fish-kind became the dominant species upon the Earth.

 Thinking such happy thoughts, the fish collided with the windscreen of a car owned by Owen Christopher Stonebridge. "Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the man as he stared at the twitching red fish like mess in front of him.

 "What is it now? Have you ran over the lord our saviour?" asked Sarah Olivia Stonebridge from the back seat of the car, more than mildly annoyed that her precious youth was to be wasted in the company of utterly dull furniture and an even more dull father.

 Owen furrowed his sand colored eyebrows, emphasising the already prominent wrinkles on his pale tired face. Switching on the wipers and watching the remains of the fish get spread evenly over his recently polished windscreen, he replied, "Sarah, we're only going to IKEA. I don't see why you're making such a fuss, its just ordinary furniture shopping."

"Exactly!" interjected Sarah, irritation burning in her clear blue eyes, "It is just ORDINARY furniture shopping!" the fifteen year old paused, collecting her thoughts and tucking a strand of her light brown hair behind a small pale ear, "I'd be happy to come along if this was extraordinary furniture shopping! If all the wardrobes were going to lead to Narnia, all the sofas were controlled by extra terrestrials and all the closets contained fearsome dragons! But no! This is just ordinary dull and dreadful furniture shopping!"

 It was perhaps the doing of some higher deity with a sense of humor that made her utter these words, or perhaps it was merely naturally occurring irony. Either way Sarah would reflect upon these exact words with a wry smile as her world unravelled around her in the coming days and weeks.

  Pax sat back, allowing himself to be swallowed in the cool embrace of the leather sofa. This was his favourite time, his work was done and he could relax in the comfort of his own home. In one slender, slightly clawed hand, he held a battered old copy of The Lord of the Rings. In his other hand was gripped a white porcelain mug full of tea. He opened the aged cover of the book and began to let sentences he'd already learned by heart, reflect on the surface of his retinas.

 He had just taken a sip from his Earl Grey and realised, with a deepening of his permanent frown, that it was only luke warm, when he felt unfamiliar eyes on him. A young boy, about eight years old guessed Pax, stood staring at him. In the little boy's wide green tinged eyes, Pax saw a reflection of himself and for a moment of unusual self doubt, asked himself what he had become. The moment passed and with the usual self assurance, Pax was able to curtly answer himself that he had become a scruffy young man with greasy dark hair, stained clothing, a permanent frown on his unhealthily thin face and was relatively happy with it.

 Pax briefly wondered what precisely the little boy was doing in his home but couldn't be bothered to think beyond "shopping" which was what all of the many many intruders into his home were here to do. It was just one of the draw backs of living in IKEA.

 The little boy began to open his mouth and seemed on the verge of speech when Pax interrupted by growling, "Go away you little squeaky irritating creature." When the irritating human, seven or eight years his junior, failed to go away, Pax repeated the order but with the added interjection of a variation of three different swear words.

 "Mummy said that's a rude word and you're not allowed to say that." squeeked the smug little boy, faithfully preaching the law of mummy to the blaspheming young man before him.

 "Oh, shut up and come back when you've hit puberty." sighed an exasperated Pax, pouring tea over the annoyingly self assured child.

"You wanker!" screeched the eight year old, tea dripping from his drenched ginger hair.