The Jester and Other Stories

By Adrian Sturgess

Twelve enchanting stories…

This is an elegantly written and varied collection of short stories and miniatures. 

…By degrees, he became aware of the plight of a frail looking old lady, whom he perceived to be engaged in a life and death struggle with her umbrella. The wind was gusting viciously, driving great waves of sleet from one end of the square to the other. His attention was riveted to the old lady’s plight, for she was being buffeted and spun in all directions and appeared completely helpless in the face of the relentless onslaught…

A veritable box of chocolates, there is something inside these pages, to suit all tastes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magenta Dawn
• Release date: Dec 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386680574

Book preview

The Jester and Other Stories

Adrian Sturgess

Copyright © 2016 by Adrian Sturgess.

All rights reserved.

Publisher: Magenta Dawn

These stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction of this publication, in whole or in part, without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

Preface

In some instances, these stories are very short, in the manner of so called 'flash fiction' although I think the term ‘prose poetry’ is a better fit for them. If you are not familiar with this concept then think of them as short stories, but with the sensibilities of a poem and tending towards heightened imagery and restricted subject matter.

Many years ago I worked in the construction industry. On one occasion I had to drive for a couple of hours, through dense fog, very early on a Saturday morning in order to witness a large and problematic concrete beam being cast. It seems that the factory had put back the time of the casting, but they hadn’t bothered to inform me and I therefore found myself alone and waiting, in the sublimely austere setting of a deserted precast concrete works, with nothing particular to do for an hour or so. The basic idea of ‘The Jester’ popped into my head and I rushed into a small office room to scribble it down. I have always had a bit of a fondness for it.

The Jester

The jester stood atop a building so high that, from the ground, if he was noticed at all, it was as a speck of colour against the monolithic grey. He stood in all his multicoloured finery and savoured the chaotic beauty of that which lay below him on that summer’s morning. He shut his eyes and several times drew the pollen and petroleum scented air deeply into his quivering lungs. He then moved to the very edge of the building and flapped his arms as if he might actually fly.

Calmly and with infinite dignity he stepped forward. The world spun; his head spun; a shout escaped his lips, lips drawn back in splendid glee. But the shout was sucked back into his throat by the vacuum within him and there it echoed about his inner chambers throughout the duration of his long descent. As he fell, an object of supreme beauty, his fine young face was a slowly turning point of focus amidst the surrounding chaos and colour.

A woman on the ground looked up and her eyes registered bliss.

‘A shooting star,’ she murmured. ’The first I ever really saw.’

And she watched in rapture as the jester cartwheeled slowly against the blue sky.

A group of schoolboys stood and gazed.  ‘A bird, escaped from the zoo,’ they cried. Their high-pitched, excited voices floated up towards him and were sucked past his unhearing ears. Their outstretched hands and fingers pointed frantically until the jester finally passed from view.

His bursting inner joy forced it’s way through the pores of his skin, as cherry red as blood. His smile was as pure as high mountain air and his broad white teeth glinted in the early morning sun.

The fortunate few who witnessed his splendid flight had all sorrow lifted from their hearts and were as children in the innocence of their joy. Ever after it was remembered as a special day in their lives.

But one girl wept. For her, it was a day of sadness, a very real ending of a life. She saw the grinning faces and felt the warmth of hearts touched with joy all around her; but deep within her was a coldness, as of a shadow crossing the summer sun.