A Word in the Breeze

The Strangers

Basil stood at the spaceship controls with a smirk on his face.

“Go on, tell me where we are!” Romana trilled. Her blond hair swirled round her as she looked from him to the console, which was covered in symbols she couldn't remotely understand.

Basil had been keeping this from her since he'd suggested the trip. Of course she'd wanted to come with him, because she loved new planets, but the suspense was keeping her on edge.

Hopefully this wouldn't be another moon covered in ice.

“Take a guess,” he said, turning round to face her. He had a wide mouth and curly hair, so in his smile, he looked nothing more than a frog with a wig. A friendly one, nonetheless.

“Well give me a clue!”

The frog wondered how to interest her best. He tried invoking her passion.  “It's a planet that has art makers.”

Romana beamed, as he knew she would.

“Oh, an advanced species, at last! Are they word spinners? Rhythm arrangers? Or is it motion catchers?”

“They have all three.”

She put a finger to her chin, making a show of thinking really hard.

“I think I know it,” she smiled.

“Are you sure?”

“Let's find out.”

They walked out of the pearly white console room, past a potted octopus, through a sliding door, and out onto a new world.

“Earth!” she gasped, stepping onto the soft green grass, gazing into the blue, blue sky. “It's beautiful! Better than the pictures.”

Basil stepped out after her, and the ship, which was silver and spherical, immediately vanished from view.

“I thought you meant Sirius-B, but this is so much better.”

“Sirius-B? They don't have half as many creatives there as here!”

“Yes, but they're much more famous for it,” she said reasonably.

“It's not the humans' fault they've not made contact yet...”

As they continued to chat, a young boy watched from behind a bush, a boy with hair the colour of honey. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

Before he could react, a harsh voice called out.

“Ralph! Got the ball yet?”

“Ye – Yeah! I've got it!” He said, moving towards the voice.

“Hurry, then, idiot!”

But before he left, he picked up two twigs and laid them in an X on the grass. Then he ran off to join his friends.

~

Helen was sick and tired of this.

She was on her way back from the store. The shopkeeper, Aziz, was a genial man. He'd made the mistake of asking her about the writing.

“Well?” he'd asked matter of fact-ly. “How's the book coming on? Be done any time soon?”

“It's coming slowly,” she'd mumbled. Her heart sighed. The book. Of course he had to ask about the book.

Everyone was asking about it, all the time. What about the book? Where was it? When would it be done?

And even worse was the advice. All the brilliant people who'd never read a book in their life trying to give her tips on how to write one.

“Write in the morning, that's what I'd do,” her aunt would say.

“Wake up at three in the morning. That's when the ideas come.”

“You should take clues from real life,” said an uncle. “Write about someone you know. Hey, maybe write about me!”

Sure, she thought to herself on such occasions. I'd love to write about self centered uncles and intrusive aunts.

She puffed and stewed as she quickened her pace.

It wasn't that she didn't have ideas, she complained to herself. There were just too many to choose from. Too much to decide.

It's hard enough without having to justify it to everyone. Why did her mother have to tell everyone everything?

Just as she was dwelling on confusing plot points and flat characters, she found her path blocked by a couple of strangers.

They were a peculiar lot. The woman was blonde and had a frightening smile. The man looked, well, a bit like Neil Gaiman. They looked pleasantly confused at the world in general, which truly irritated her in her state of hurry.

“Excuse me.”

He looked round at her and smiled.

“Oh, yes, I excuse you too. How very kind of you.” He took a little bow.

She couldn't tell if he was stupid or joking. As far as she was concerned, they were the same thing.

“I mean, can you move out of the way? I'm trying to walk.”

“Oh, aren't you succeeding? I have trouble walking sometimes,” said the woman kindly. “I find it helps to have perseverance and a positive attitude!”

Helen breathed out heavily from the nose. Scowling, she simply gripped the bag of bread more tightly and pushed right past them.

“Poor girl, she's an art maker,” she heard the man whisper to his companion.

“Yes, I can smell it on her,” was the reply.

But Helen ignored this and walked right on.