Brilliant Short Stories

Stan Mason

Description

This is an anthology of a number of brilliant stories which include comedy, horror, fantasy, drama, romance and suspense with wonderful characters to make each one seem alive... and every one with a twist in the tail! You will be enthralled by them.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 29 janvier 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783335336
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
BRILLIANT SHORT STORIES
by
Stan Mason



Publisher Information
Published in 2014 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Stan Mason to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2014 Stan Mason
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



The Man Who Could Fly
Imagination is a wonderful gift endowed to all human-beings. More often than not it runs riot if unchecked in the formative years until a person reaches the middle-teens. Parents are afforded a variety of fatuous tales related by their offspring with high suspicion, usually dismissing them as wild imagination, which is par for the course. Young individuals are able to imagine they have been promoted to become captain of their national football or netball team, or as the king or queen of a country, or perhaps an astronaut flying in outer space, or a super-hero or heroine carrying out an impossible task for humanity. Imagination has no bounds or limits. Yet, as the exigencies of life take their toll, it is usually greatly inhibited by the advance of practical application, reason and logic in time. This wonderful gift becomes heavily suppressed in most people eventually, but it is never lost. In the pace of life, where most people wish to be considered normal, whereby they attempt to act pretty much like everyone else, imagination becomes relegated to the sub-conscious mind where it plays its part in secret for the individual alone. It may creep into ambition or lust or desire but only in the mind... never to be revealed to another living soul for fear of revealing that one has trod beyond the bounds of normality. But what happens when imagination loses its broad temerity to focus on one fantastic ideal and nothing else... to become far stronger than any other ideal or ambition in life? Obsession is a strange condition; a whim which becomes irrationally singular. It starts with a mild fantasy that grows like a cancer on the mind feeding always on one single matter. It can hardly be compared with a nasal cold or influenza which can be cured in time. On the contrary, it grips the mind of the individual relating to an idea, a topic, or a person, and refuses adamantly to let go. In many cases there is no cure at all because it becomes a disease which focusses itself on that sanctum we understand to be the inner mind.
Tulley lay flat on his back in his comfortable bed; his body resting perfectly still. It appeared that he was fast asleep but his mind was filled with action. He believed he was laying face-down with his body stretched taut at full length... his eyes staring downwards. He was flying... flying high up above, soaring like a bird free on the wing, experiencing a sensation of exhilaration which surged through him as he hurtled through the open sky. He could feel the clouds, caress the sky, glide, float, and move nearer to Heaven. Below, the ground remained hazy but he could see the mountains all around, their craggy slopes occasionally interrupted by clumps of trees and bushes. At first, he traversed on cross-currents, progressing forward steadily, then he yawed and swerved across the mountainous terrain, enjoying every second of the flight. His body felt as light as air and he could manoeuvre in any direction at whim. This was an experience he would never forget; it was the last area of opportunity denied to man... to fly by himself... on his own account. Since time immemorial, it had been possible for homo sapiens to walk, run, swim and climb... but never to fly properly without the use of an engine or a machine. Yet it could be done in dreams... it could happen beyond reality. In his present condition, there was no need for him to concern himself with controls, fuel, altitude, speed, or landing. Human flight in the mind easily overcame such tiresome troublesome trivialities. He felt light as a feather as he cruised above the clouds within the realm of utopia. He wished the flight could continue for ever to enjoy the sensation indefinitely but like all good and bad things it had to come to an end.
When he awoke in the morning, he was bathed in perspiration as though he had been flying all night. Weariness almost overcame him... holding him in the vice-like grip of obsession. Man could fly! It was a matter of translating dreams into reality... that was all. Almost certainly, man had once dreamt he could swim. The Doubting Thomases at that time scoffed at the idea claiming that a person would drown if he tried to emulate fish. And look what happened! Someone translated dreams into reality and man discovered he could swim. The same applied to flight. It needed confidence and the right approach to be able to do so. Critics would claim that if God had wanted man to fly he would have endowed him with wings. Well man didn’t have gills yet he was able to swim. Others had often stated that man’s shape was all wrong for flight. But even that argument was flawed. Scientists had proved it was impossible for the humble bee to fly because of its shape, weight, and the smallness of its wings. Yet bees were in flight all over the world. They had translated dreams into reality!
Geraint Tulley was a Welshman by birth. For some unknown reason he had acquired the nickname of Ginty. He was a thin, scrawny young man only five feet four inches high, with a sharp nose, beady eyes and a face not unlike that of a bird. He ate very little and weighed only six-and-a-half stone on his twentieth birthday. He knew nothing of his parents, having been left on someone’s doorstep when he was one day old, and he lived alone in a small rented room. Listless, bored and unhappy, he often dreamed he was flying and thought of nothing else. Flying on his own account, with his own wings, had overcome all reason... it was a total obsession. Nothing else in the world mattered. And why should it? Flying by himself was all he wanted to do. Naturally, people with strange obsessions often drew attention to themselves from cruel or jealous people. Consequently, he became the butt of many jokes and was treated badly by those who regarded him as a freak. At the Royal Oak inn that evening, Tulley was joined by his two friends. As they sat drinking together, Tom Chirk and Will Cardrew became strongly emotive about the local football cup-tie that weekend until falling silent to imbibe more ale. Until then, Tulley hadn’t spoken. He had stared at his glass of beer with a doleful expression on his face, appearing to be a million miles away. Now, in the short silence which prevailed, there was the opportunity for him to say his piece.
‘I can fly,’ he said simply, without looking at either of his mates.
‘What?’ spluttered Chirk, as the ale went down the wrong way. ‘What did you say?’
‘I can fly,’ repeated Tolley. ‘I can fly like a bird.’
There was a long pause as his two friends glanced at each other with confusion and an element of concern. They believed he was referring to a holiday abroad whereby he would fly there in an aeroplane..
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Cardrew, keeping his voice on an even keel.
I can fly. At least I’ll be able to shortly. In a couple of weeks time at the most.’
‘I see,’ continued his friend. ‘Do you mean you’re taking a holiday somewhere abroad?’
‘Oh, no. I mean I can fly in the sky by myself.’
‘Where are you going to fly to?’ asked Chirk, puzzled by his friend’s declaration.
‘Oh, nowhere in particular yet. At present it’s only in my dreams. But I know I can do it. I know I can fly.’
‘In your dreams?’ Tom Chirk stared at him in amazement. ‘That’s where you’ve flown, is it?.’ His comment was rhetoric and remained as such.
‘It was wonderful,’ continued the Welshman. He focussed on the glass of beer in front of him with his eyes dilated, still appearing to be living in another world. ‘Wonderful! I was up there high in the clouds. High up where God’s Heaven begins. I could fly... I could touch the sky!’
His two friends stared at each other with alarm. ‘I think it’s time to get another round of drinks,’ suggested Chirk. ‘It’s your turn to pay, Will. I’ll help you carry them back.’
They went to the bar and faced each other seriously.
‘Do you think he’s flipped?’ asked Cardrew. ‘Too much stress at work perhaps. I mean he’s been under pressure in Parts Department for about three months now. Maybe it’s getting to him.’
‘I dunno,’ replied Chirk, shrugging his shoulders as if a chill had run down his spine. ‘When he talks like that he gives me the creeps!’
‘Maybe he ought to see a doctor... or a psychiatrist,’ suggested Cardrew. ‘I mean, he can talk to us like that because we’re his friends, but what will other people say when he tells them?’
‘They’ll think he’s nuts!’ returned his friend. ‘Let’s see what happens and make up our minds later.’
They collected three pints of beer and returned to the table. ‘Everything all right, Ginty?’ asked Chirk amiably, as they sat down.
‘Fine!’ replied Tulley quietly. ‘Fine!’
‘Tell us more about this flying lark,’ advanced Cardrew, trying to determine whether he had missed something in the interpretation.
‘I’m going to fly like a bird,’ explained the Welshman. ‘At present it’s o