T is for Time

By Paul Vayro

Brick and Spiritwind were unaware of the wider goings on of the universe. Had they known alien’s were heading their way, intent on freezing time and stealing all the tea and coffee, chances are they would console themselves with a debate on the merits of hot beverages and wait to be placed in stasis. Fortunately the Earth’s owners are more practical and instruct Fate to activate the planets in-built heroes. Unfortunately Fate saves their next door neighbours, Brick and Spiritwind, by mistake. Realising his error, Fate gathers his closest friends, including girlfriend Karma and brother Coincidence, to offer the hapless pair assistance.

Zarg, a teenage alien, has insisted a band of heroes will rise and thwart his people’s plan; when captured by Brick et al, the irony isn’t lost upon him. Forming a relationship with the humans, akin to sniping siblings, Zarg agrees to aid their quest: the reward of being proved right is enough to betray his species.

With no weapons other than idle banter and slipshod philosophy, Brick and Spiritwind amble their way through the frozen Earth, piecing together clues and formulating a solution.

Join the Earth’s only hope as they straddle the line between idiocy and genius.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Vayro
• Release date: Aug 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465961006

Paul Vayro

A simple man with a simple goal: to be happy, and hopefully make others feel the same.My work reflects my endless curiousity about the world and everything within it, yet never takes itself too seriously. Read it and think, read it and laugh, read it then put it down and curse buying it; I've put the words in there, what your own mind makes of them is not for me to say.

Book preview

Brick rolled over in his sleep and proceeded to drown. Being such an unlikely sequence of events the subconscious doubled checked all the senses before reacting, it didn’t wish to repeat the motorway fiasco of last summer. With the peril confirmed, the relevant muscles were tensed to lift Brick’s spluttering body clear of immediate danger. The commotion was enough to stir the conscious mind in to resuming control. It wondered what all the fuss was about. As far as it was concerned they were on the way to the bar amidst a thoroughly enjoyable night out.

It wasn’t the first time the mid twenties misfit had awoken amidst such confusion, and he knew exactly how to deal with it: he kept his eyes firmly closed and denied it was happening. As far as he was concerned he’d made it home to bed after being the entertaining life and soul of the evening, nobody had been offended by his antics and there would be no official charges forthcoming; however the evidence against such an outcome was difficult to ignore: the sound of running water occupied his left ear, the right contended with the ambience of many people walking in sullen silence. Brick’s stubborn mindset saw it as further evidence for being in bed, although it wouldn't be pushed on how it came to such a conclusion.

Whatever the truth, he had to accept the night out was over, but had no idea how, why, or where it had ended. This wasn’t good. Inappropriate behaviour followed Brick’s memory lapses like a sequel follows a box office hit.

Brick was a man of principle and routine, and always gave his mind and body ample opportunity to doze back off after waking. When it came to sleep, he opted for democracy over a dictatorship. The decision would oft be influenced by the severity of the hangovers he regularly faced, but for now the familiar sense of nausea and empty agony stood back and waited. It could see he had enough to deal with without its hindrance, even if the man himself was still unaware of the full situation he was in.

Time passed, but Brick’s eyes remained firmly shut. Despite clearly being waist deep in water he was convinced he may still nod off. It was only when his arms went numb, and the shivering threatened to rupture several internal organs, did he relent and lift one eyelid. The sight that met him had both open immediately.

The plan for the evening had been simple: drink, dance, speak to women in a mature manner, get food, walk home, pass out on the sofa, and crawl to bed riddled with regret. At no point did anyone discuss sleeping in a fountain!

With a large dose of confusion, Brick scrambled from the overly ornate water feature, not a gracefully accomplished feat with numb arms, and proceeded to greet the morning commuters as they wandered past. They could only offer an overwhelming sense of not wanting to be there in return. It was an aura they combined with an expression that yearned for an extra hour in bed. Most didn’t even offer this social pittance and completely ignored him. They were either scared of becoming involved in whatever predicament he was in or just plain disbelieving of what they saw. Brick tutted his disappointment at such a reaction, then straightened his clothes and stood proudly. Wiggling the top of his T-shirt, as though it were missing a tie, he began the short stroll to the bus stop, delving back in to his memory for any clues as to how he’d come to find rest in the centre of Puddleton.

Puddleton was a moderately sized town that acted like a city in the hope everyone would believe it was one. Brick Wall was a resident and regular visitor to its many alcohol serving premises. He would almost always be accompanied by his similarly aged and long standing friend and housemate, Spiritwind. Thrown together by circumstance, a common love of sitting and throwaway philosophy had maintained their bond. Brick believed their unusual names brought them closer; Spiritwind couldn’t be bothered to argue.

Spiritwind’s parents had despised their surname, Jones, and its dull nature. When their first son arrived they were determined to counter such normality and saddled him with the moniker, Spiritwind Capernicus Jones. Brick’s parents had a misplaced sense of humour, and when Mr and Mrs Wall had a child they couldn’t resist the temptation to name him Brick. The joy they had anticipated it bringing never surfaced, replaced instead by their son's cynicism and sense of injustice in the world.

Brick continued on his journey to the bus stop, all the time perusing the blank space where the memories of the previous night should have been. The occasional moment flashed by, teasing him with answers he didn’t ask for and would rather not have known. The more useful recollections flitted past, although assigning concentration merely weakened their clarity. Experience had taught Brick that focusing on drunken memories only scares them away, often never to return; however a casual glance from the corner of the inner eye could catch them unaware and leave them open to observation.

Brick's eyes roamed his face as he walked, watching his thoughts with feigned ambivalence as the previous night continued to appear in short, non sequential bursts: the flashing lights of a club, sitting on a kerb, on the floor looking up at a statue, a disappointed looking girl, stood on top of a statue, stranger's faces, chips being spilt….The show reel paused as Brick’s focus turned to the bus stop he’d arrived at. The collective interest of the transport hut had equally found a new source of intrigue.

Those already in the queue shuffled nervously, ignorance of the dripping mess their only defence. Brick could see a gap on the bench that was incorporated into the shelter, and assessed his size in relation to it. He was generally accepted as tall. His build edged past lanky but not in to big. He’d once been described as long, and although he didn’t know entirely what it meant it seemed to fit him well. His defining feature was his hair; it had an un-nerving ability to look good without any effort or styling, a comforting quirk for a man who never intended on doing either. Brick felt confident his slender frame would fit and filled the space left on the seat, much to the disappointment of the people sat there. They ignored him with extra determination as social punishment, refusing to either acknowledge or reciprocate his attempt at an appeasing smile. Brick sneered as though everyone else was the odd one out.

After a few awkward minutes, Brick attempted to break the tension and opened his mouth, only to close it as he remembered he may have some money left. Standing, to see how reliable the information was, he dipped into his right pocket, retrieving a ball of something paper based from within. It was either the remnants of last night’s float or the note he’d written to remind him not to get too drunk. As the corner peeled back it revealed a judgemental eye beneath a crown. Brick had never been so pleased to face royal scorn.

The man to Brick’s left had been successfully blanking the human puddle and the endless streams he created. The morning commuter wanted desperately to bury his head in his newspaper so he could ignore the situation in a socially acceptable manner, but Brick had inadvertently sat on it. The man’s heart sank further as Brick spoke.

Could I possibly trouble you for a lighter? Brick had a plan to make his tender more acceptable.

Of course. The man placed all annoyance to one side in order to maintain the sense of politeness he believed society needed to function. Struggling to retrieve the lighter from his pocket, panic took hold. He wanted the encounter over with before Brick could engage him in further conversation. It popped loose, along with several pence in change. Here it is. It’s here. I’ve found it. The sense of relief expressed itself as words.

Alright, it’s only a lighter. Brick took the lighter and somehow the moral high ground with it. How the man on his way to work had ended up as the social misfit was never fully explained to him.

Silence fell on the bus stop once more as Brick began the drying process.

After five minutes the people at the bus stop had begun sharing looks of disapproval. Brick was oblivious as he dozed where he sat, the flame still flickering across his bus fare home. As the strip of metal on the lighter increased in temperature, so did Brick’s thumb, until the pain startled him back to consciousness with a yelp! The other passengers returned to oblivious ignorance as Brick instinctively inspected the cash. Aside from a slightly singed brow the Queen was still in tact. Rubbing the smouldering tender he was pleased to see his bus arrive, a pleasure shared by the other occupants of the shelter. Standing, the newspaper still at one with his pants, Brick suddenly realised the driver may not be as pleased with his offer of payment.

The doors slid open to reveal a beaming face in charge of the bus, clearly a morning person. Brick knew instantly they had nothing in common.

Is it raining outside? The driver waited for Brick to join in the joke. The soaked one could only look around bemused. Glancing down at the note, he thought of a way to pass it off unquestioned.

You’re surrounded by windows. It’s practically impossible for you to be unaware of the world beyond this bus and yet you need to ask me what the weather’s like. An open mouth was the only response, allowing Brick to continue. The door is a foot behind me and wide open. You can clearly see it is not raining.

It’s a joke, ‘innit, because you’re wet and that. Where was the mutual laughter the driver had been counting on?

So because I’m wet it’s alright to mock me? Do you not think it's hard enough, walking through the centre of town, confused as to why you’re here and soaking wet, without people pointing and making feeble jokes about your predicament?

I didn’t really think about it like that. I just thought it’d be a funny thing to say. The driver took off his smile and replaced it with thoughtful concern.

Liar. You didn’t think at all.

Don’t be like that about it.

Life is hard enough, Mr Bus driver, without the cruel taunts of our fellow man. Just take my money and offer me the pleasure of a seat. Brick threw the note in to the tray and stared down, dropping his shoulders along with his face. The driver looked at the note, then back towards the vertical reservoir. Brick offered a sigh and an extra shrug as he could see the beginnings of a challenge. The driver reconsidered his challenge and handed over the relevant change. Brick squelched his way upstairs with a sense of satisfaction to accompany the short journey home.

**********

Is it raining upstairs? The bus driver tried his joke for a second time as Brick prepared to leave the vehicle.

You really have no concept of humour do you?

I have an admirable sense of humour. My wife told me. And I’ve read about it. Repetition is a major source of humour. All the good comedians use it.

I agree, but we’ve already established that your ‘humour’ was actually an insult; so all you’ve done, is insult me twice. Brick didn’t add any physical dramatics to his words this time. He could see his house through the window and yearned for the bed he knew sat inside.

Insults are funny too. There was an ‘ole chapter on ‘em.

Only when both parties are comfortable with each other and are aware there’s no intent behind it. Otherwise it’s just cruel. Brick stepped off the bus, watching the driver run thoughts across his face while pulling away.

The departure of the vehicle revealed Brick's house in all its glory: a simple quasi terrace in a row of many, complete with straggled front garden and imposing door from the days when it had been new and proud.

In truth the outside was of no interest to anyone, but inside were all the accessories Brick needed to achieve comfort beyond expression. He crossed the road, hoping Spiritwind was still asleep. He could gladly go without his friend’s mockery on top of the morning he was having.

Brick pushed the front door open quietly. The tortoise shell glass that made up the top half had revealed the hallway to be empty. If he could make it to the stairs and to his room he could pretend he’d been in bed all night. The plan collapsed almost instantly as his friend appeared.

Howdo. Spiritwind used the hallway in its going to the kitchen capacity.

I’m fine me mate. No problems here whatsoever. Brick tried to rush for the stairs. Perhaps he could pretend he’d just got back from a morning jog.

You slept in the fountain then? The sound of ongoing cooking intermingled with Spiritwind’s words.

Needed a run you see…..Hold on. How do you know where I slept? I only found out half an hour ago. Brick abandoned the stairs and proceeded to the kitchen.

So you did sleep in the fountain? Spiritwind peered round the kitchen door with a spatula in hand. His movements suggested the hobs had completed their duties and were being extinguished.

I never actually admitted where I slept. Maybe it could be salvaged.

But it was the fountain. Brick stood in the doorway as Spiritwind filled several bowls with the various components of a full English breakfast.

Spiritwind ate. It could be considered his hobby. Not that his body reflected the fact. Spiritwind fell in to the average category for every physical measure of description. Unfortunately for him the average height of a man is smaller than many people realise, leaving him often described as short. His only other distinguishable feature was his bald head, something he claimed to control with the power of his mind to save money on haircuts.

If it was the fountain, and I’m in no way confirming it was, how would you suspect I ended up there? Brick continued to query as Spiritwind downed a sausage while filling the final dish. Placing all six bowls on a tray, the amateur chef headed back to the living room. Spiritwind couldn’t help but smile as he walked past his friend, who stood in an increasingly large puddle. Brick followed whilst negotiating. I realise this is a great opportunity to wind me up, and given the same opportunity I couldn’t promise not to take advantage, but I’m cold, wet, and very confused, and I just wish to shower with some answers.

Spiritwind accepted Brick’s plea and offered him a sausage. Brick took any heat he could get and awaited the information he desired so badly. He remained standing in the corner of the living room, juggling the pork based snack that was too hot to hold.

You told everyone you were off to sleep in a fountain because that is the only truly manly method of rest. You then proceeded to call each of us very soft and very girly for going home to our comfortable existences. You started going on about it being a demonstration of everything that’s wrong with society or something. I was gone before you finished the sentence.

Oh. Why do you think I really decided to sleep in a fountain? Brick continued chasing the meat cylinder from hand to hand.

No idea. I asked you twice if you were sure.

What did I say?

You said you were a man of principle and the lines had been drawn. I had to choose my place in the world: fountain or bed. Spiritwind popped the last sausage in his mouth.

You made the right choice. Fountains are nothing like water beds. Brick turned to leave the room.

I knew that was a flawed theory. Spiritwind allowed Brick to take a step into the hallway before teasing him further details. Although you may have been doing it to impress the girls we met.

We met girls? Brick turned back round, his voice losing all sense of pitch. It settled on deepness for the next part of his question. Did we, impress them?

They didn’t hang around long enough for me to ask. Spiritwind felt his breakfast was missing something.

Ah well. Another fish slips through the net of life. Poor fish, I say. Right I’m off for a shower and a change of clothes.

I’ll wait before commencing any further cooking then. Spiritwind relaxed the muscles that had been preparing to stand up.

Probably best. Brick disappeared and headed upstairs.

A curious chain of events had emerged from Brick’s past shower experiences: whenever he came to clean the lower half of his left leg the temperature would invariably plummet from summer meadow to Arctic winter. Believing it to be a simple timing issue, Brick changed the order he cleaned his body, all to no avail. Any attempt to clean the lower left leg still resulted in a shocking burst of cold water. Choosing to ignore the problem had left Brick with no coping strategy, which meant every time it happened was as surprising as the first. This led to him jumping backwards in horror, ripping the shower curtain down on the way, and flapping around on the floor struggling to break free from the figure hugging material that now imprisoned him. Knowing exactly what was going on would amuse Spiritwind no end, once nearly choking him on a particularly tasty sausage roll; hence whenever Brick takes a shower, Spiritwind is aware to avoid food.

Contents

Chapter Two

Zarg lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was pondering the new life that lay ahead of him on Earth. He’d seen the planet on numerous films back home, but this would be the first time he’d visited one. It would also be the first time his race, the Jefferians, had attempted to take one over.

Zarg’s mother, Doreen, had always held the Earth in her affections. She had long been a fan of its 1950’s science fiction movies. She found the accuracy of their portrayal of aliens as three foot high green creatures with antennae, pot bellies, and horn like noses, unnerving. A school girl crush she held for one particular character had left her in no doubt as to the name of her first born: Zarg; however the decision had left her son facing a number of name related problems as life unfolded.

The teasing at school he expected. If it hadn’t been for his name it would have been something else. The real issue that plagued him, and some would say added an element of bitterness to his personality, was the fact the alphabet is so often used as a supposedly fair means of distribution. He’d spent half his life waiting for the Adam’s and Agatha’s of the world to choose what they wanted before he even got a look in, but things were different now; he was fourteen and practically a man. No more would people tell him what to do and when. It was time the universe realised he was more than a name and his rightful place was at the front of the queue! It was exactly this attitude that had got him sent to his room.

Bored of the ceiling, Zarg flicked through his notes on the history of the Earth. He’d read them numerous times. His mother’s passion for the planet had rubbed off. Not that he’d ever admit to having anything in common with someone who clearly hated him so much and wished to ruin his life. He read on, slightly annoyed but not entirely sure why.

The original Earth had been a humble planet in an up and coming area of the universe. Known only for its extensive swimming facilities, and glorious golf courses, it remained a grade two planet and thus exempt from universal law: grade two being any world that realises life must be out there but not yet in meaningful contact with it. This left the quiet planet exempt from the ongoing debate over language.

Aware that communication is the key to harmony, the great minds of the wider ethos had asked if having several languages per planet was such a good idea. How can any global society hope to flourish when one nation is unable to ask another to pass the salt? Taking the question to the highest courts in the universe the discussions continued, mainly over extortionately priced lunches that were entirely tax deductible, and a new law was eventually passed. It declared that any world that came under universal jurisdiction, that being grade three and above, would only be permitted one language.

The lawyers, whose responsibility it had been to implement the law, were exhausted once the job was done; and rewarded themselves with an all inclusive golfing holiday on Earth. Pitching and putting their way across Europe and into China, they were horrified as they stumbled across language after language, each mocking their efforts more than the last. Unsure how to even begin sorting such a mess, three languages had been the previous maximum encountered on one planet, the lawyers returned to their superiors with a tale to tell. After several high level lunches, and an emergency dinner, a sub section to the language law was passed: It declared the Earth off limits to any outside attempts at communication, even on its birthday. Were it ever to achieve grade three status, i.e. any planet in meaningful contact with at least one other, it would come under the universe’s jurisdiction and be forced to use only one language. The admin required for such a task would need a planet to house it, and the cost of lawyers overtime would bankrupt several galaxies. The story however did not end there.

News of the Earth’s abundance of languages soon spread across the universe, attracting interest from all quarters. Although everybody was ultimately driven by curiosity, the scientists, wishing to name a law or principle after themselves, claimed theirs to be more worthy and pushed to the front of the queue. Once there they measured, observed, and pondered every angle, searching for the infamy their great discovery would bring; however when it did come it wasn’t from the mind of the dedicated brains that yearned for it so desperately.

‘The Unexpected Law of Language Distribution’ was the brainwave of Samuel Unexpected, a maths teacher from a neighbouring galaxy. It states that the Earth not only contains every form of communication in the universe, but that it does so in their exact proportion. Furthermore, the relationship is dynamic and reflects the universe’s language distribution at all times e.g. should a French speaking planet conquer an Italian, a group of Italians on Earth will take up a French speaking class.

The man behind the theory, Samuel Unexpected, had never intended to create a law, much to the displeasure of the serious scientists who had dedicated their lives to the problem. Scientists, as a group, were growing increasingly tired of all the great discoveries being made by amateurs and had been wondering if violence wasn’t an intelligent solution after all. Samuel had had no desire to steal anyone’s thunder. The only reason he even mentioned the idea was to break the ice with a highly attractive physicist. He thought it would be a good joke and starting point for a general chat. Failing to see the humour, she took his comment seriously and went straight home to work on the relevant sums. He was as amazed as her when she turned up the next day to tell him his theory was correct. The attractive physicist fell instantly in love with Samuel’s brilliant mind and they married two days later. After three weeks he found her lack of humour to be something of an issue, fortunately she’d realised there was no brilliant mind after eight hours and had already left.

With the Earth confirmed as a dynamic, linguistic map of the universe, its popularity soared, replacing Eric Wazinski and his singing table on the front page of ‘Things to See as Soon as You Get Chance’. Within months it became the number one holiday destination, and crowds flocked to hover above its surface and observe the multi-lingual folk below. It didn't take long for the marketing men to realise such an oddity could buy them more hair products than they had follicles, and they descended with a smile and a four point presentation on buzz words and maximisation strategies.

Over time, as with all planets, the life that had flourished slowly dwindled, until the Earth evolved back in to a lifeless rock floating through space. With so much money left to be made from the Earth brand, it wasn’t long before one enterprising soul saw a way to keep the cash rolling in. Buying the rights to the Earth franchise, he offered to re-run the entire cycle of its life on any suitably sized rock a designated distance from a sun. The owner would gain an idyllic home, with an inbuilt revenue from tourism, and the universe regained one of its most iconic attractions, only now in infinitely more locations.

Zarg and his fellow Jefferians didn’t own a suitably sized rock a designated distance from a sun, but they knew of an Earth franchise that appeared ripe for taking over. Why pay an obscene amount of money for something that can be taken for free, with a little ingenuity? Zarg cackled to himself mischievously as he came to the end of his notes, rubbing his hands together for added effect before realising he was alone and there was no need to express his internal thoughts to the outside world. Powered by an oncoming huff, he decided to lie on his bed and sulk until the universe became a fairer place.

Contents

Chapter Three

Brick entered the living room, dry and ready for rest. A sleepy haze had descended across his body, craving the comfort and safety of familiarity. He’d dressed for the occasion, wearing all his favourite lounging clothes. Everything was bigger than necessary, from his best curling up jumper to his oversized socks. He shuffled into the room, focusing firmly on the armchair he considered a close friend. He’d been imagining its welcoming embrace since the first shiver in the fountain that morning.

He waited an extra moment to ensure he fully appreciated what was about to come; then stepped majestically across the arm in to a fully upright position. Allowing his knees to bend he controlled his falling weight, folding his limbs beneath him as they planted themselves in various waiting indentations. Brick released a sigh of immeasurable pleasure in response to finally being settled.

Spiritwind had been observing the entire charade from the sofa, timing his next comment to inflict optimum annoyance on his friend.

Pass us that glass. Brick ignored the request. His comfort had reached a level that