The Best of Isaac Asimov review

This is by no means the first Asimov book I’ve read. I was given his Complete Robot Collection and the Foundation trilogy for my 18^th birthday and that was enough for me to absolutely fall in love with his style of writing, not to mention the wide variety of science fiction ideas that still fit into one consistent future narrative (with a few exceptions). Having said that, most of the stories in this particular collection touch the main part of his future narrative only tangentially.

Marooned Off Vesta: His first published story, written when he was 18, deals with three survivors of a spaceship hit by an asteroid and caught in orbit around an inhabited asteroid, Vesta. One thing I love about Asimov’s short stories is the way he allows his characters to come to life through their dialogue, with minimal physical description. Whilst reading, I did guess the resolution – how they reach Vesta – but that didn’t detract from the suspense of the second half of the story in which they execute their plan.

Nightfall: It is perhaps appropriate that my first time reading this one is in the run up to the 21^st December 2012. A society living on a planet with six suns, with an absolute fear of darkness, no concept of stars and, hence, no concept of the sheer scale of the universe. It describes the society’s preparation for an approaching apocalypse, weaving together spiritual interpretation and scientific prediction. It is hard not to scoff at their theories, from our perspective. It makes one think about the connection between the environment, the planet, we’re used to and the way that affects how we see the universe.

The C-Chute is more a study of human nature and our motivations, set in a science fiction style hostage situation. It is also a demonstration of Asimov’s “tell a gripping yarn, then sucker punch the reader with the final line” technique, which is awesome.

The Martian Way was written during the McCarthy Era (I had to look it up) and is one of the few stories here where the context does help you to get to the heart of the story. I think this is possibly my favourite story in the collection, taking the mick out of politicians and campaigners who jump on a bandwagon without really thinking about an issue. The main characters are also infused with that pioneering spirit with regards to space exploration that our society has lost in the past 50 years.

The Deep looks at the human race, in particular our social bonds, from the perspective of an alien species. It suffers from a rather unsympathetic main character, I think. It’s not bad; it’s just hard to relate to.

The Fun They Had is a short sketch, written for children, that perfectly encapsulates the sentiment of “the grass is always greener on the other side.”

The Last Question: First, a bit of advice, if you read this story in an anthology, do not read the foreword. I was influenced slightly by Asimov’s description of it – he built it up and so I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. Having said that, it’s an interesting idea for the future of humans and computing, and one of his more structured stories. Despite myself, I was grinning at the end (getting a few funny looks from the people opposite me on the bus!)

The Dead Past: a story covering the dangers of, not time travel itself, but being able to view the past and why, sometimes, we should trust the authorities when they keep the general public in the dark about something. I particularly liked the view of a future scientific community where everyone has to be extremely specialised to push at the frontiers of knowledge. Well, perhaps “found it interesting” is more accurate than saying “I liked it”, I think there’s a certain creativity in scientific innovation that requires overlap between fields.

The Dying Night: a reunion of university classmates results in a death and the loss of an important scientific breakthrough. The group wish to solve it discreetly and so consult a reclusive private detective who merely needs to hear the story before deducing the culprit. It’s Asimov writing a Sherlock Holmes/Poirot story in a science fiction setting. It’s very enjoyable, although one perhaps needs a little astronomical knowledge to solve the mystery before the reveal. Or I need to pay more attention when reading a murder mystery, that’s possible too…

Anniversary: written in 1959 for the 20^th anniversary of Marooned Off Vesta and set on the 20^th anniversary of the crash, revisiting the trio from the original story. It feels indulgent at first, but that’s not a bad thing. In fact, indulgence or living off a past triumph becomes the driving force of the story. The story is deeper than it appears at first. One could argue that it predicts the fate of astronauts like Buzz Aldrin – those that do have a significant place in history, but not one that immediately occurs to a member of the general public.

The Billiard Ball: a story of theoretical scientist vs. wealthy (practical) engineer and all the jealously, resentment and competitiveness that comes hand in hand with that.

Mirror Image: this was the only story I had already read (it’s in the Robot Collection). Again, it’s Asimov marrying mystery and science fiction, this time using his three laws of robotics (and human nature, of course) to solve a plagiarism case between two mathematicians. In this anthology it is published with a new opening page which I cannot make head nor tail of! I have no idea how it relates to this story. But if you ignore that, it’s a great story.

In conclusion, if I wasn’t already in love with Asimov’s writings…

I’d be interested to know how familiar you guys are with Asimov’s books – let me know in the comments or via Twitter. Also, if you’d be interested in me writing more reviews of this type, do let me know – feedback is always appreciated.

A Conventional Love Story

Excerpt from a philosophical text:

“Love exists in three forms – Familial, Platonic and (that most coveted quantity) True.

Familial Love is felt for parents, siblings (both blood and non-blood), children and child-partners as well as other, more distant, relatives. Platonic Love is felt for friends. These two forms are closely related, they are the bond we share with those who shape our lives in our early years and then into adulthood. Both are mere shadows compared to True Love.

True Love has inspired a million stories and is what drives the majority of the human race. It can only exist between two adult men or two adult women, it is the bond we share with our life-partner.

There are some who posit that True Love can exist between any two (non-blood related) adults. This is nonsense – the biological chemistry of men and women differs too much for such a state to exist.”

*********************

Alex and Sam grow up on the same street. They play together in school, best friends ever since nursery when they run into each other in the playground, smile bashfully and shake hands to introduce themselves. They spend Saturdays at one of their houses, falling asleep in front of movies so that, more often than not, their parents can’t bear to wake them and send one home. As a consequence half of Alex’s stuff is at Sam’s house and vice versa.

There’s a few months when they start secondary school, are put in different classes and feel that this should mean they grow apart.

This ends when Alex stops a bully trying to knock Sam’s glasses off. The two boys smile at each other and shake hands before walking off arm in arm.

When they enter puberty they giggle about the Sex Ed lessons and watch in disinterest as their peers become obsessed with crushes and dating. They already have each other to hold hands and watch movies with, why would they want to do that with anyone else?

They’re fifteen and lying side by side on Sam’s bed, studying in comfortable silence when Alex leans over to kiss the other boy’s cheek. He immediately blushes as Sam shoots a quizzical look at him before smiling and kissing Alex properly.

They tell their families a few days later. The news is met with knowing nods and no one’s surprise.

Their weekends of studying and watching movies are supplemented by proper dates but not much else changes. After all, they’ve been in love ever since they were kids, they just hadn’t realised.

To everyone’s surprise they go to different universities, an hour away from each other, Sam studying Maths and Alex studying the sciences. They stay together via Skype and visiting each other every Sunday. They break up for two weeks in their second year when Sam gets jealous of Alex’s roommate flirting with him and Alex playing along because Sam has been distracted by work. Sam drives to Alex’s mid-week with flowers and a promise ring when missing him becomes too much. The separation takes away their complacency and serves to confirm that they wouldn’t want to spend the rest of their lives with anyone else.

They graduate and move into a tiny flat near their families. It’s not easy. Obviously. Alex doesn’t earn much as a teacher yet and Sam still works too hard. Alex provides distractions for Sam when he spends too much time working, much the same as he did during school. Most of all, they’ve got each other and their plans for the future; someone to come home to, something to work for.

Less than a year later, on the anniversary of their first date, they go out for dinner. Halfway through Alex fumbles in his pocket and draws out a ring box. Before he can get the question out, Sam starts laughing. At Alex’s bemused, and slightly hurt, expression he just draws out a ring box from his own pocket and holds it out.

They get married six months later, surrounded by family and close friends. Sam’s best friend and university roommate proposes to her girlfriend at the reception and during the preparations for that wedding they discuss the future and children, laying the foundation for the four of them moving in together and their future family.

When their siblings come out as a Het couple Sam, always fiercely protective of his little sister, accepts them immediately. Alex struggles to reconcile his love for his brother and the public image of Hets. Sam convinces him to go for dinner at their house and when he sees the two of them together, comforting and steadying each other and so blatantly in love, he offers his congratulations and support wholeheartedly. In the years to come he volunteers to teach Sex Ed at his school so he can include the Het information where most teachers wouldn’t bother.

The years pass by – a kaleidoscope of family holidays, birthdays and festival days, weekend walks and picnics, milestones and the quirks of their daily routines. Their kids grow up and move out one by one.

When they retire the four of them move to a smaller house, near to their eldest and their first grandchildren. They still go out on dates, they still curl up together in front of movies, they spend evenings sitting next to each other reading and listening to music. Just the same as when they were teenagers.

When Alex dies, aged 85, it’s in a hospital bed after a short illness. The day’s visitors have left, Sam remains seated next to him. Their fingers are interlocked as they sit in comfortable silence, occasionally reminiscing on their life together. Alex drifts off to sleep with “I love you” on his lips as Sam watches. When he stops breathing Sam kisses his cheek and doesn’t let go of his hand until the nurse comes in.

He doesn’t cry until he gets home and the absence of Alex hits him. He wanders round the house for a few hours, remembering, thinking, before drying his eyes and greeting their family.

Despite their preparation and Sam surrounding himself with their family he never quite gets used to Alex’s absence before his death four years later. They’d spent the vast majority of their lives together, grown up and changed as one. He could barely remember a time without Alex’s comforting presence and not having that any more stung. But he could look at his children – markers of their shared time – and feel proud and contented.

And when he closed his eyes in his own hospital bed he saw the curly haired boy in the playground and half-felt the firm grip of Alex’s right hand in his own.

Never Let Go

Walking down a corridor,
Feeling so small
Then eating lunch with your friends
And knowing that you belonged.
Thinking you'll always feel this way,
These days will last forever.

The time where it didn't matter
If you had no plan for the future.
You couldn't see past the end of the year anyway.
Never let go
Of the feeling of security.

Those precious moments
In our formative years.
Where,
Unbeknownst to us innocents,
The paths of our lives were drawn.

I don't want to ever let go.
I don't want to forget how I was.
Not fully -
Store those memories away.
For now.

Life's Work

“Sammy!” Karen called out to her dog as he raced around her on the field. She glanced down as she walked, changing the music on her MP3.

There was a sudden rush of wind in her ears and a flare of light that made her squint. She looked up again and realised that the scene in front of her had changed slightly. The light was different and she could have sworn the trees ahead had been in blossom earlier. Turning around to look at her house in the distance she saw that it appeared run-down and… older.

“Sammy, come here boy!” There was no response. Karen yanked her earphones out and fumbled for her mobile – she needed her parents’ help here, “Darn, I’ve really got to stop leaving it at home!”

She heard a low chuckle from behind her and spun around instinctively. A smartly dressed man was stood there, holding an open notebook.

“Can I help you, sir?” She was instantly on guard – something weird was going on.

“Karen Elizabeth Winters,” A statement, not a question. “You have a collage of notable scientists on your wall, you’re reading The Crysalids and you keep your diary in your sock drawer. This is currently the year 2042 and you need to come with me.”

“…And that’s enough to make her trust me?”

“It’s enough to make her come with you,” The woman looked up from where she was writing in the notebook and smiled. “Paul, there’s no need to be so nervous – I know we haven’t tested it but the Time Machine will work with no side effects. It evidently does otherwise I wouldn’t be here!” Paul nodded.

“I do know that – we’ve worked hard enough. To be honest, I’m more nervous about the fact that I’m about to meet the 16-year old version of my best friend! What if I say something wrong?”

“Worried I won’t like you?” She smiled, closed the notebook and handed it to him. “That’s all the information you need.”

Paul took it, turned to go and then paused. “Also – you must have recognised me when we met at uni. It means you always knew we would succeed… Why didn’t you say?”

Dr Winters sighed and leant back in her chair, “Because at the same time I was learning all this stuff about paradoxes and how easy it could be to change the future. I didn’t want to risk it,” She grinned at him suddenly, “Besides I didn’t recognise you immediately – you’ve changed a lot since you were a student!” Paul grinned back.

Paul led the way to the Time Machine, their creation. Everything had gone well, he’d managed to avoid any major disruptions to the Space-Time Continuum. He’d found it unnerving talking to the 16-year old version of his best friend. He could see glimpses of the woman he knew she would become but she was still unfinished to his eyes.

There was still so much she had to look forward to.

Us Against The World

We move forward -
The future's right there.
Take our first steps on our own,
No one's looking back.
It's all brand new,
But I just want to share it with you.

Do you remember
That trip was the time of our lives?
We saw a dragon
And we travelled through time.
Us against the world,
Our first taste of freedom.

And, now, in this all-new world,
I'm standing on the brink between
Who I was
And who I will become.
I can feel myself changing
But I don't want to.
I want that summer again
When we were in the same town.
Should have seen you every day,
But I took it for granted.

Grown ups say
High school friends don't last forever.
I don't believe them.
Every new thing,
Every milestone,
I want you to be there for me.
I'll be there for you -
I never want to let you go.

Untitled

We are a freckle
On the body of the Universe.

We are a full stop
In the book of Infinity.

We are a speck of dust
In the corner of Space.

We are a nanosecond
In the history of Time.

We are the centre of our own Universe
But ignored by all others.

We are nothing to everything
But everything to ourselves.

All we see is all we know
But, by golly,

We make the most of it.

Friendship Politics

Step One:
Find people you can talk to,
Hang out with,
 Common interests, perhaps.
Where you feel you fit in.

Step Two:
Falling out,
The bitching and back-stabbing.
Come out of that with your conscience
Unscathed.

Step Three:
Find those you
Trust,
Who'll keep your secrets and
Be there for you.

It's a lot more complicated than that
At the time.
But, in the end, all that matters is
"I like you,
I don't like you."

Adaptability

We adapt so easily.

New environments and routines
Become the norm so quickly.
We adjust to the change,
Settling in.
Modern technologies are
Assimilated into our lives
Such that we can barely
Remember life before.
What did we do previously?

I guess this is how we've survived
For so long
Where other species have not.
Our adaptability
Is our greatest strength.

So why is it so hard to change what people think?

Why is there that initial resistance?
The transitional period where
Pioneers and the forward-thinking
Are mocked and dismissed
As renegades and madmen.

So many cases across our history.
So many once-common beliefs
Now alien to the majority.
So many condemned as heretics
Only to be revered as martyrs
In generations to come.

Here's hoping we learn.
Change.

"Don't Forget Me"

We're doing well so far.
The weekly emails -
Sharing those funny little moments,
Laughing at this brand new world.
Talking to you face to pixelated face.
Not the same as being with you.
But it'll do -
It's only 8 weeks at a time.

I know you weren't being completely serious
When you wrote that.
I guess we thought there was a risk:
I would find someone else
To share my secrets with.
But I don't think we realised
Just how much it was possible
To miss someone
And just how much you mean to me.

I'll always be there for you.
New friends here
But there's no one quite like you;
No one who sees my flaws
Without having to be shown.

How could I?
When I think of you every day,
For one reason or another -
See a photo,
Hear a song,
Just want a hug.
When you're the one who gives me the confidence
To be me.
My life, not theirs.

Oh, as if I could!

The Things You Remember

It's not the checklist of tourist attractions.
It's reaching your hand out
And touching where the ancients created.
Or knowing that the view in front of you
Is one that inspired artists and dreamers.

It's not the work you studied.
It's the song your friends listened to that lesson
Whose lyrics you didn't quite get.
Or how it felt to be top of the class
With that smile creeping onto your face.

It's not the view from the peak.
It's the panic then relief
When your dog fell in water then scrambled out.
Or the fantasy worlds created
And games played with your brother.

It's not random trivia about friends' likes and dislikes.
It's the way their laughter was contagious
And made you feel so good!
Or the running jokes
That no-one can remember starting.

It's the little things.
How you felt, not what you did.
And isn't that such a cliché?

Coming Out

I'm proud of who I am.
I've accepted every part of me:
The geek,
The socially awkward,
Who I could fall in love with.

I'm not out of the closet
Yet.
I'm not ashamed,
I know this is who I am.
I'm just not sure anyone needs to know.
Is it any of their business?
But it feels weird,
Keeping this secret.
Especially from those closest to me.

They'll be fine, I'm sure.
I've been subconsciously hinting for the last two years -
Choice of TV shows,
Favourite characters,
Opinions in debates.

But what if they're not?
No, I don't think that.
I know they'll accept me.

It's the actual telling.
Some details are obvious -
Wait until we're face to face.
"Sit down,
I need to talk to you."
But then what?
Come straight out with it?
Ramble about nerves?
Tell the story of how I realised?
So much fuss.

Once that's over with
I don't need to tell anybody
Until I find someone.
It's none of their business.
But I won't deny it.

I don't make it obvious.
It doesn't mean I'm not proud.

Untitled

"I heard that you settled down,
Found a guy
And you're married now."

Yeah, I change the pronouns when I sing.
It means more.

But, also,
I just want someone to notice,
Call me out on it.
I want to be spared the
Awkwardness
Of the traditional dinner table reveal.
And perhaps I also want
A little drama.

I'm dropping hints -
"I need to tell you something."

Messages

Beep beep
An unexpected situation.
Bad news, but not the worst.

How do I respond to that?
Words of comfort sound hollow,
Unfeeling.
The opposite of what I want to convey.
I want them to know
I'm thinking of them
Without it sounding like
A greetings card.

I've not had to deal with anything like this
So far.
Not on my own,
I've always been shielded,
Standing back.
I don't quite know the etiquette.

I have to reply.
To just ignore it is definitely rude.
So...
"Thinking of you" - no, that's the greetings card.
"Hope everything is okay" - it's obviously not.
Not quite right,
Appropriate.

I know, I'll be honeest -
"Um, I don't really know
How to respond to that... I hope
Everything will be okay [it will]
Keep me up to date [I'm here for you]"

Message Sent.

Life. Camera, Action

Lights.
Waiting at the side.
Watching.
Learning.
You think
Not your turn yet.

Camera.
Other people take centre stage.
Still
You wait,
You watch.
You don't take the chances,
The opportunities.
You think
Your time will come.

Action.
It's your turn, your chance,
Your life.
Cut.
Over.
Gone
Forever.
No second chances.

Living was left too late.

Letting Go

We were friends
And most of the time it was great.
We hung out,
Laughed together.
I have a lot of fond memories -
That film we always watched,
We saw it again recently,
It wasn't the same.
You got me through
Some of my toughest schooldays.
You also caused them.

You'd cut me down.
Those memories still affect me.
I'm still insecure
About not knowing what to say.
You made me feel it was a bad thing.
Other people are showing me it isn't.
Or you'd meet someone new,
Find something more exciting to do,
More grown up.
Then you'd get bored of that and come back.
I was always there.

I remember the exact moment I realised
We wouldn't always be friends.
Ten minutes of silence walking to school.
No animosity,
I just couldn't be bothered to try anymore.
We don't need each other
Like we used to.

I still have a laugh with you.
I still trust you with secrets.
But there aren't going to be many more milestones.
I can see
There's a limit on our future conversations.
The door's starting to lock between us.

Behind me.

Change

One gets accustomed
To living a certain way.
Tried and tested routines,
But nothing stays constant.

Some changes are unexpected
And happen swiftly,
Small alterations
That are either absorbed with little effort
Or that send you into a minor panic
But are soon forgotten.

Or the bolts out of the blue,
Life-altering events that cannot be predicted,
Only weathered,
What some would call "character building"

Then there's slow changes -
Friends growing apart,
Personality development -
That aren't immediately noticeable
But months down the line
You look back and don't recognise
Who you used to be.

There are also the inevitable,
The milestones of growing up -
Changing schools,
Leaving home -
They're the scary ones
Until they happen.
You soon adjust
And wonder why you spent so long worrying.

It doesn't mean you learn for next time.

Wait A Little Longer

A girl sat down at her desk with a blank piece of paper in front of her. She picked up her pen and started to write:

Dear All,

This isn’t anyone’s fault. I just can’t be bothered any more. I don’t know what to do with my life. I feel like somewhere I’ve taken a wrong turn and there’s no point trying to fix it because I’m never going to achieve anything.

I’m so scared of the future. I just want to run and hide.

I am sorry. I’m sorry I’m not brave enough to keep going and make something of the situation I’m in. I know I should wait for it to get better but I just can’t see any further.

I love you all, but that’s not enough.

She finished writing her note, placed it on her cluttered desk and got into bed, turning her MP3 on and putting her headphones in. She opened the bottle of alcohol and the jar of pills and took the appropriate dosage. Then she lay down and went to sleep.

And somewhere, a girl looked up from where she was celebrating getting into university. She shivered slightly and felt a phantom pressure on her left hand, as though someone was holding her hand. It never quite went away; nor did the nagging feeling that she was late for something.

She grew up, settled down with a woman whose high school sweetheart had died in a car accident. And she was happy.

When she died in her old age, rather than seeing her partner, she was met by a girl she’d never seen before and yet recognised immediately. She held out her left hand, noticing that it was young again, as the other girl held out her right. Their fingers slotted together and she suddenly felt complete. The other girl spoke:

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wait for you. We were supposed to meet during your first week at uni.”

“What happened?”

“I killed myself.”

“I wish I could have helped.” She gripped the girl’s hand a little tighter.

“You were supposed to be a week older. You should have been in the same year as me. We would have met sooner and you would have helped. Given me something to live for.”

“Why didn’t that happen?”

“Chance, the Devil, bad luck?” The girl was crying now, “I should have waited for you.”

“I’m here now.” She took the girl into her arms, both secure in the knowledge that no matter what had gone wrong before, this was exactly where they were meant to be right now and forever.

“Breathe in, breathe out, keep your heart beating until I come to kiss you awake.”

The Finish Line

Another day
And another -
Just one more day,
Another week,
Another month -
Almost there,
So close to it.
A new life.
Just keep going,
One week,
One day at a time.
So close now.
Reach out.
Your very core yearns
For the finish line.
For the end.

For the beginning.
For a new start.
For freedom.

A Rant

I don't have self-esteem issues.
(Certainly not because of my hearing)
My hearing impairment is no big deal.
I'm used to these minor adjustments.
They've been there for most of my life.
I don't view myself as disadvantaged.
I wish you wouldn't.

There is more to me than the university I attend.
Yes, it's a great achievement.
That's not the point.
You should be asking if I'm happy.
Never mind.
I know you need something you can measure.

Long monologues about how proud you are
Rather than trying to listen
To me talking about something I'm interested in.

We work fine
Without your commentary
Shaking our foundations.
It doesn't matter
That you don't understand.

We don't need external approval.

Fairytales

"Someday you'll be old enough
To start reading fairytales again."

Do we ever really stop?
Every story with a happy ending
Is a fairytale,
Something that never was,
Where everything falls into place.
Everyone walks away
Smiling

What about religion?
The ultimate fairytale.
No one is ever deemed too old to read the Bible
With its Good vs. Evil morality
And its abiding sense of
"Everything will turn out right"

In all other cases
We disguise it,
Saying that
Adult stories are realistic -
Scientifically possible,
More ambiguous characters.

But what's realistic
About an author's manipulation?
The orchestration of coincidence.
Giving hope that it will happen
For us.
One day something will happen,
Or we'll meet someone,
And everything will be okay.
Good always triumphs
And Evil is suppressed.

Age has nothing to do with it,
Hope is the key.

Does such a belief seem naive?
It belongs to a more innocent age,
Before we got all world-weary.
What if it's a belief that everyone holds?
Even if they hide it.
Even if they forget.
Even if they care too much about what people think
To act on it.

Wanderlust

Travelling
Is so incredibly appealing.

Freeing.
Just pack a bag
And step out your door.
Cut all ties.
Board a train
And let it take you anywhere.
You can be the mysterious traveller.
Staring into the distance,
Looking profound and in control
As you wonder what you're doing.
Or observe your fellow passengers,
Attempt (and fail at) Sherlockian deductions.
Strike up a casual dialogue,
The thrill of conversation with a stranger.

Then you arrive somewhere.
Step into the sea of people
All heading somewhere,
All with their own story.
You're an anonymous face in the crowd.
Someone might remember you
Offering help or
Wishing them a good day.
Not for long.

A new place,
A new life,
However temporary.
Fresh food for the soul and mind,
Your heart unburdened
Of its former troubles.

Running away
Is so incredibly appealing.

Multiple Choice?

Person A:
He's charming, witty, gorgeous.
I'm comfortable with him.
He makes me feel good about myself.

Person B:
She's charming, witty, gorgeous.
I'm comfortable with her.
She makes me feel good about myself.

If I fall for person A,
Everything's fine.
Society grants us
Our happy ending.

If I fall for person B,
Society condemns us.
We'll be treated like second-class citizens,
Looked down upon,
Discriminated against.
We'll have to deal with crap
From narrow-minded people
For the rest of our lives.

How is that fair?
How is that just?
How is that still the case?

Warning

Inside a patient’s room in the Central Psychiatric Unit, Colorado

Nurse 1: So, you found him last night?  Poor man.  At least he’s found peace at last.  He was always on the go – always wanting to tell us to be careful.  And all that stuff about hiding.  I’ll miss him.  He was a bit eccentric, wasn’t he?

Nurse 2: Yes. Do you think he was always like that?

Nurse 1: What do you mean?

Nurse 1: You know.  All creepy about hiding and that.  Aliens and stuff.

Nurse 2: No, he just liked all those StarWars films– probably from when he was a kid.  His brain didn’t function properly – it’s like he was confused...overloaded somehow.  That’s why he had the operation.  The doctors hoped it would help him with the seizures – not now, though.  He was harmless, but he did seem troubled, didn’t he?

Nurse 1: Yes, I felt uncomfortable with him – always felt he was watching me.  I wonder where he got the paracetamol from.  Three blister packs of 16 tablets.  Enough to kill anyone.

Nurse 2: Yes, well, his relatives used to come and see him.  They used to bring him stuff.

Nurse 1:  That’s strange.

Nurse 2: What is?

Nurse 1: He’s taken 12 tablets from each pack.  Oh well, I’ll just bag them up with the rest of his stuff.

Doctor:  Where’s the patient?

Nurse 1:  I’m afraid you’re too late.  Killed himself last night.

Doctor:  Oh no.  His scan results came through this morning.

Nurse 2: Yes?

Doctor: Where do I begin?  The operation to separate the two hemispheres of his brain went well and that should have stymied the epileptic seizures, but the scan...well, it’s very unusual.  The right side of his brain looks like that of a very old person – in fact, someone who’s been through the wars, really.

Nurse 1: Well, he was in his fifties and he wasn’t well; so you’d expect that, wouldn’t you?

Doctor:  No, not really.  The scan indicated severe tissue loss.  But what is unique in my experience is the left side of his brain.  I wanted to do the scan again, because it doesn’t look like brain tissue at all.  Here, I’ve got a scan.

Nurse 2:  That looks like the inside of a computer.  My Ian works with them – microchips or something.

Doctor:  Yes, I know what you mean with the regular layout, but the material is organic....life, you see.

Nurse 1:  Too late now.

Doctor:  Indeed!

A scrap of paper lay on the floor:

“Please listen to me.  They’re here.  You need to hide.  They’ve been planning this for years.  They’ve been here for 54 years.  I don’t know how long I’ll last.  I just want this pain to end. 

Yes, they arrived in 1958 when I was born.  There’s loads of them and- they’re planning the final takeover.  12.12.12. Those numbers – 12 is my lucky number.

The only way is for all of us to die.  All of us born in 1958.”

Note: This is not written by me but by a friend - @NorthernChap on Twitter.

Life Goes On

One door closes,
So another is opened.

One chapter ends,
So another begins.

Remember the past dearly,
Leave it behind.

Take the good memories,
Forget the bad times.

Don't look behind,
Turn your gaze on the future.

Move forwards eagerly,
Don't be afraid.

Whatever comes will come,
You will face it.

Life goes on,
The world keeps turning.

Barbie Dolls

I loved you.
You came alive
At my touch,
Walking, talking,
Styling your hair,
Changing your clothes,
Imagining you to life.

Even now...
Although age dictates
I shouldn't,
I still feel your charms.
So pretty
But now unreal,
More plastic than magic.
The time draws near -
Try on one more dress,
Brush your hair
For the final time.
Say goodbye.

All things change,
Come to an end.

Never Anyone

I'm tired of waiting.

Everyone else gets a taster -
Clumsy primary school kisses,
Cheesy Valentine's cards,
Playful flirting, honing skills,
High school "loves",
Walking down a corridor hand-in-hand,
Stealing kisses between classes,
Acting lovey-dovey and ridiculous,
Slow dances at school discos.

I know it's stupid,
That none of that stuff really means anything
But I can't help but feel I've missed out.
I want to listen to love songs
And actually know what they're talking about.

I'm not going to try to rush things.
I've already thrown away one first.
I don't regret it, much.
Just -
For once someone was
Interested in me,
Looked at me as more than a friend.
I'm not used to that
And I liked it.

I'm confident in myself,
I know I'm not
Unattractive.
I'm waiting for someone else to
Notice that.

As I Am

"I don't care what they think"
Sometimes it just sounds like a front,
What you're supposed to say.
You're meant to just hold your head up high
And let the looks and comments
Slide past you.

It is hard:
The self-doubt,
The pressure to conform to the majority.
But standing tall
Feels good.

It's taken a while but
It's no longer a front for me.
I used to stay quiet
Instead of saying something "wrong",
I used to dress in a way that
Wasn't quite me.
Now I'm comfortable in myself.
What I wear,
How I behave -
It makes me feel good.

And yeah, there's still
Moments
Where I feel like
Retreating,
Putting my walls up again.
But not around
People I actually care about.
I surround myself with those
Who accept me.
No one else matters.

Because the thing is,
I genuinely don't care.

A Sort of Immortality

"You and I will be
Young forever"

There's people I look up to
Though I don't know them -
The actors that embody what I love and
Who I am now.
Especially those who become
Role models
Because their characters are.

It seems impossible to think that
One day
You'll be no more

Except,
You will still be here.
Take out the DVD,
Press play
And there you are.
Young and in your prime.

It'll take me back too -
To figuring out my feelings
And working out what I believe in,
To eager mornings
Discussing stories with my friends,
To singing in my room late at night
Just because it made me feel good,
To feeling I could do anything,
To being young.

We know them through their work.
Their work will always be here.
So we'll always remember them
And how they made us feel.

May

"What good is sitting
Alone in your room?"

A quiet settles upon the town.
The sunshine calls to all and sundry
Saying "come outside,
What harm can one afternoon do?"

Ignore it for now.
Ignore the carefree laughter of children
For whom "May" means
Barbeques and football and playing in the park.
Focus on books and paper.
Count down the days.
Just four weeks.
Focus for another month
And then we can do whatever we wish.
A reprieve.

Personally,
I'm looking forward to a picnic day.
Friends sprawled on the grass,
Sandwiches and strawberries and summer.

Then three months at home
Over too soon,
Most likely.
No time at all before
The last touch of summer on a golden countryside
Signals back to the grindstone.
Focus for two more years of this.

And then we can do whatever we wish.

Untitled (Suggestions welcome)

"Give me your answer,
Fill in a form,
Mine forevermore"

People dress it up.
Grand ceremonies,
Pomp and circumstance.
Overflowing vases of flowers,
Fancy dresses paraded for one day
Then stored away,
An excess of acquaintances and distant relatives
When, really, it's so simple.

All that matters
Are the two people standing
Together
At the head of the aisle.
They're the ones who make the decision.
They know
The person beside them is
Who they will always want beside them.
They've chosen to share their forevers.
They've chosen to announce it to the world.

But there are some who don't get the chance.
They still make the lifelong commitment.
But not in the eyes of the wider world.
Their promise is private, implicit,
Hidden.
No less true.

"Mine forevermore"
We don't need a form
To tell us what's in our hearts
But we'd like to be recognised.

Equal.

Knowing How To Feel

Eye contact, a spark. He takes the boy’s hand on that staircase and everything begins.

He spend months imagining what it would be like if only the other shares his feelings. He sketches out the myriad of possibilities; what would happen in a world where it is obvious what the other thinks, detailing the perfect scenarios in his journal. Just in case.

In his head it’s all fireworks and orchestras and romance and so many feelings. The “what if” of an innocuous brush of the fingertips and a throwaway comment.

It’s the equivalent of a teenage-bedroom-poster fantasy.

Until it’s not. One day he sings, not thinking of the boy, just wanting to express himself in the best way he knows.

A confession.

A kiss.

The years pass by, they stay together. Of course. They were always meant for each other, after all.

They get their happy ending: moving in together, chasing their dreams in New York, the inevitable wedding, a family, a lifetime together.

Sometimes he looks back and remembers his teenage fantasies. He still has his old journal from those months. It’s battered and dog-eared but he can never quite bring himself to throw it out. After all, it holds a record of “the best years of his life”

He can see what people mean by that now.

He misses the depth of feeling he had back then, encompassed in the pages written late at night, the endless K+B doodles, the tear stains from when everything nearly got too much for him to handle, the very best of his thoughts and daydreams.

Not that his life isn’t all anyone could hope for, it’s all he wants, all he needs.

It’s real. Making memories, not fantasies.

But it’s not quite how he imagined it would be.

Then again, nothing ever is.

Author’s Note: The title is derived from Stephen Fry’s letter in Dear Me – “I am perhaps happier now than I have ever been and yet I cannot but recognise that I would trade all that I am to be you, the eternally unhappy, nervous, wild, wondering and despairing 16-year-old Stephen: angry, angst-ridden and awkward but alive. Because you know how to feel, and knowing how to feel is more important than how you feel.” By the way, if you haven’t read that book I would recommend it!

I know this is barely a Glee FanFic but I’ll say it anyway – I don’t own anything.

To my future lover

I don't think I've met you yet.

Not that I believe in love at first sight.
(I'm sure it does happen but it's rare)
I reckon we''ll be friends first,
Comfortable in each other's company,
Happy to talk for hours about nothing in particular.
Rambling, reminiscing, debating,
Sharing.
Then one day we'll look at one another slightly differently
And realise that
The line between best friends and lovers is easily blurred.

You could be anyone.
A new student, work colleague,
Someone who takes up rowing just for the hell of it,
Someone I meet at a convention,
Someone I happen to sit next to in a cafe.

I don't know who you will be,
When we will meet
Or what will happen.

Maybe we will realise the moment we meet,
Not love at first sight,
But something more than "just friends".
We'll get to know each other
Over dinner, on the way to the movies,
Coffee dates and lunch breaks.

Or maybe it will be something different,
Something new and uniquely ours.
Whatever.

I look foward to meeting you.

Secrets

How much do we really know about each other?

I don't know your favourite colour.
I don't know your favourite film.
I don't know much about your life before we met.
Are these the sort of things best friends should know?

I know what you thought of school,
How much you like stretching your wings now
And that you're not fully free yet.
But you will be.

I know I trust you -
When I'm with you I just want to
Tell you everything.
Except, perhaps,
The stuff that really matters.

Does it matter?
Does it matter that I didn't tell you
Until I had to?
Does it matter that you were the only one I wanted to tell?

I know you'll always be there for me.
I know I'll always be there for you.

Yeah, we know enough.

The Juggler

You made my day.
Practising your juggling
Whilst we waited for the next lecture.
I was smiling,
Enjoying the spectacle
And you saw,
And smiled too.

Connection.
And I saw -

Perhaps you'd send a note across the lecture hall -
"Hello, I hope you don't think I'm being forward,
Here's my number."
And I'd reply,
"Hi, I'm Helen."

Or maybe you'd wait until Tuesday
And send a Valentine's card.

Or maybe...
I'd make the first move,
Put aside my personality
And say hello.

Or maybe it was just a moment.
Two minutes out of a Friday morning.

It still made me smile.
It still makes me wonder.

Pet's Corner

Two crosses standing together.
Bamboo sticks secured with white.
Small bodies in small boxes
Lying,
Still loved, but not loving.

Still remember you -
Lively (still, lifeless),
Warm (cold, so cold),
Mine (always).

Happy memories -
Confidence you gave me
Remains.
Always loved you,
Always will.
But never again.
No more pain,
Not in that way.
Part of my heart
Underground.

Two wooden crosses -
Unfortunate.

How are you supposed to tell?

Everyone says
You just know.
Thanks, that's so helpful.
Not.

There's so many stories.
People just assume
Everyone knows.
But they don't.

I don't.

If I did,
I'd know what to do next.

Listen

It's not easy, wearing these.
You like loud music, large crowds.
I'd rather talk one-to-one.
So I stay on the outside.
That way, fewer people see me stumble.
I smile and nod,
And hope no more is required.
I really do try my best.
You could too.

Speak a little clearer please, I think.
Surely that's common sense.

Obviously not.

Maybe I should point it out.
But you would take that as being rude.

I don't hear something you say.
Pardon?
Never mind. It doesn't matter.
Yes.
It does.
You don't have to push me further away.
You could try.


I can hear you perfectly.

Education of Lies

They say it'll be different.
You've worked for eleven years,
Got your certificate so
After the summer
We'll treat you differently.

You're grown up now.

They lie.

It's just another two years
Of the same old stuff.
More work,
More pressure,
Formulae to learn,
Subjects to study,
Essays to writes,
Rules to conform to,
Classes, exams,
Another certificate.

And then it changes.

Pompeii

Perhaps,
The day before
The catastrophe
They went shopping,
Came home and ate.
Perhaps
They went to school
Or played in the streets,
Feeling the sun's warmth on their faces.
Perhaps
They were due to be married
Or looking forward to
A birthday celebration.
Perhaps they never knew
The ending to their book.
Perhaps
They were ordinary people,
Doomed people,
Unknowingly drawing closer
To their destruction,
Their final days full of
Laughter, tears,
Hope, love,
Living without fear of what would certainly come
From living in Death's cool shadow.
All that remains now are
Huddled moulds of bodies.
No sign of what they were before
That one day.

Broken

We were already drifting apart.
New friends.
New worlds.
Then you told my oldest friend
My deepest secret.

It wasn't yours to tell.

There's no going back now.
Sorry.

Pensieve

Memories.
They're an odd bunch, really.

First, there's all those facts:
Exam details that disappear within a week;
Indelible information about yourself -
Name, address, first pet;
And bits of useless trivia,
There to be dredged up in a pub quiz ten years down the line.

Then, your proper memories:

Things you feel you should remember,
Events that you know happened but you can't visualise -
Your first day at a new school, meeting your best friend.
They're things I wish I remembered.

Then there's things you didn't want to forget at the time:
The diary entries penned by a stranger,
And the knowledge that today's
"I never want to let this go"
Is tomorrow's
"Why did I care?"

And the humiliations -
You mind insists on retaining them,
Reminding you of something that no longer matters,
But still stings.

Sweetest of all are
The things you thought you'd lost.
And then a friend's story, a word, a song
Unlocks the door
And you revisit that long gone day.

However you try to control it -
By recording who you are now.
You can't.
All you can do is relax.
Don't worry -
You're never going to forget what shaped you.

I hope.

Lost And Found

So, this is a Doctor Who story that I wrote way back in 2009! I found it saved on my computer a few weeks ago, read it through, and thought "Actually, this isn't bad. I'd quite like people to see this."
It's written for the Tenth Doctor, sometime in the Specials Year.
And yeah, The Doctor, the TARDIS, all concepts that originated in the BBC show are in no way mine. I'm just a fan.
Click on the tab above to read it :)
Hope you enjoy. Once I get the hang of this editing lark I'll post some of the poems I've written too.

Cheers,
Helen x