The Feathered Drone

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Alex remained indifferent to the plague all the village was worried about, for he was the village fool…

Errands for you, and you! fix my car, polish Mr Quito’s shoes in three minutes…. only, and only, for a bunch of coloured feathers.

And everybody was fond of him, we could even say proud of him. But why he loved the feathers – people kept on asking each other. There were always jokes going on about Alex’ s feathers, and he didn’t really like that- but nevermind! He always got beautiful ones from friends returning from holidays or business trips.

One morning the fool heard a knock on the door. He was asked to dispose of his feather collection, as a precaution to take against the enigmatic plague going around.

His flatmate Manu managed to agree to give the feathers, only if these would be returned once the disease would receed.

Manu kept checking on him all day, in case he would be upset without his feathers.  But on his way back home,  he was absorbed by the colourful decorations on his friends’ garden trees, and statues…

– “Isn’t all this festive? Alex has been charging everyone with old curtains… instead of feathers!” For the first time in a month, people were cracking jokes again, distracted at last from the same topic.

A couple of weeks later many folks were happily helping him make his creations, and some ladies even asked them to do their garden doors up.

The sick started to take tiny walks out- just to admire the colourful, crazy new attire their old town was showing.

When the subject was raised at the village neighbourhood meeting, all agreed that, even if Alex had asked for permission prior to putting up the funny decorations, the artwork would be removed after the summer.

In need of nonsense, the people were getting more ideas just to stay away from the taboo subject- from taking the cattle on a stroll to wearing flower diadems- anything to show they were not afraid.

*          *          *

Mario’s car wouldn’t start after a long day training at the doctor’s surgery, so he called the strong Alex to help push it back home. Once by the porch, he told the fool

– “Make sure you wash and dry all that sweat off before you go to sleep!”

– “No need.”

– “What?”

– “No need.” Mario looked at him, and Alex explained,

– “If I keep the sweat then I will grow feathers!”

The car engine started as a comical sychnonicity of events, for the idea this silly comment had sparked in Mario’s scientific mind made him rush back to the surgery lab, to stay and work on it for the following weeks.

The decorations in town started getting exaggerated and lost their novelty charm. With the plague, they added to the confusion. So down they came.

The fool thought he wanted his feathers back: he walked to the surgery hoping to find Mario, besides there being rumours he wasn’t in town.

Mario was on the phone speaking some foreign, very weird language. Saying something about a “formula“. When he saw Alex, he smiled and rushed inside to get the box of feathers.

– “Aye! My feathers!”

– “We got something even better. Wait here five minutes.”

– “A drone! A drone!” People were clapping. More drones followed. Maybe these were bringing vaccines!

– “I’m going to sleep in my bed now- please Alex, don’t say anything.”

– “I won’t.”

– “Oh, I wanted to ask you…. well, I was slightly curious…. why do you collect feathers?”

Alex put his head down and turned sad.

– The feathers…. my feathers… well, it’s just that maybe one day I’ll get invited to one of those really funny dressing up parties…. so I’m saving up all the feathers for  my costume!”

The End.

There are other jolly means than monetary remuneration to celebrate your existence.

Thinking at the speed of Lightning

91630354-09D6-49DE-B062-B699EC559D05A relieving January feeling trespassed Rob’s twelve figure calculations as his business was retrieving new wings.

Sat at one of those new characterless franchise terrace cafes, he enjoyed that pleasant recalling of last year’s life-changing events.

No need to pull out his hat nor to charm his way to get a sheltered seat- the rain had started to embarass the locals again-  for those memories could beat a Netflix action film playing loud in a dark hotel room.

Those increadible twenty minutes under an impertinent heatwave in this same square at the coast town saved his son’s vibrating destiny.

I’ll narrate the events once more….

He was waiting for his coffee to cool diwn just to concentrate better on the a phone conversation with one of his suppliers, when there was a collective outbreak of shouting.

He had to follow the joy/fright to be able to distinguish what the turtle was going on there, when he was soaked with iced water at the medieval corner.

” Leave them, they’re thirsty!”

A pipe had burst on the road. As he whipped his eyes to see, a pullizter-prize like scene staged a very mixed-feelings atmosphere. He couldn’t even smile, for the joy that rushed through the people was explosive and brief.

The youngsters had already set their phones to video mode to capture the grateful yet very dishevelled foreigners who were drinking water.

”Heck! The ducks have just found a petrol well under their feet!

” I don’t think they even know what petrol smells like…”

Ranging from their late teens right into middle age, and dirty, almost toothless and dressed in dark worn eighties’ garnments, the brave men were trying to hide the fact that they were crying. The way they were drinking from the spree showed that this was their accostumed way of drinking, for all their bodies were shaking except for their strong hands.

The divine welcoming of overabundant civilisation was not what they had pictured all their lives, but they liked it.

Rob was now trying to profile them in origin and deeds, but these folks panther-like features along with a melodic way of expressing themselves made him fully sympathetic.

He thought that wherever they came from- that place would definetly become his family’s next holiday destination.

As the growing crowd mingled in that spontanoeous style that curiosity and wonder fuel easily, a couple of kids joined the water party. A bitter woman close to Rob ordered

„ Don’t get too near guys, they might have something contagious!”

That’s when the businessman’s spare brain locker popped open. He went on guard. His grandfather had fled war.

A desperate strange growl made silence around the square. One of the folks held a damp family photograph, and the rest started checking all their pockets for their own ones.

In no time at all two eastern european builders offered some napkins they had angrily snatched from the luxurious sandwich bar where that unscrupulous mother was sat, and as ever so grateful as these men were ,their most feared nightmare was threatning to come true- losing the photos.

As the builders efficiently showed them the snaps hadn’t been ruined, some media student asked her friend,

”Is the film crew here yet?”

That was enough. Reaching to his pocket for cash and then waved it to the smuggled, thirsty men -with no concerns over the the notes getting soaked, their eyes met for a lengthy second, enough for Rob to taste their dangerous and exhausting journeys.

Those eyes were  as eloquent as a drunk nutter’s.

”No, Dollars? Dollars? They didn’t reach for the money.

A TV van was approaching down the hill.

But Rob had already texted a mechanic he  knew around:

“Bring a large van fast thanks. “ and the young mechanic was there, buffled and not understanding a thing.

Rob’s potentiel friends or ennemies- he didn’t know yet- were still staring at the money with a question-mark twist when he attempted his best to save their lives from an unexpected disaster.

Pointing to the lorry and seeing there was the mechanic’s shopping  bags still inside at the rear, the builders joined to convince them to hop on.

Rob hadn’t even noticed that one  member of the group was a female who’s friends urged to jump in first.

The film crew lost sight of the van, its men and their four saviours and were asking questions to the dissappointed passer-bys.

Half amused and half scared, the immigrants were not repeating “Dollars” anymore but “Job” as they opened the groceries with curiosity and no greed.

It was later known that the peculiar group  fled a serious humanitarian situation and gained passionate working force strength once recovered from the journey.

*     *     *

The guys’ leader and his wife were employed as keepers at Rob’s mansion, but there was still a tricky task to complete.

They had to ask to remove the screening of a short documentary a reckless reporter had shot.

Rob’s always resourceful wife suggested to pass this work to Michael, their rebellious son, who had only been asking to drop school for the past two years.

If there do exist synchronicity events in some people’s lives, this could be another example: the media company got so fed up of Michael’s determination that they became somewhat intrigued by him…. and called him up for an interview.

But as he worked his new life through, distrust from the media drew him to study part- time,aiming for photography restoration course.

Since then the mechanic always keeps an extra large box of sandwiches, drinks and party baloons inside the  van.

Rob’s family is looking forward to a six week break at the foreign workers’ village. Never has a holiday been planned so enthusiastically!

But Michael has kept this information very secret at work…. and taking only his new camera to the trip!

The End.

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More humour here.

 

My Mum The AI

IMG_2047Danny T’s computer beeped. Mum was doing her nails in the kitchen and jumped from the stool.

-Mum! I’m in! I’m going to Oxford Uni! The email just came in! I’m going to take my bike and tell the folks!

He grabbed Mum by the waist and lifted her up to the moon and stars- realising at this very minute it was more her achievement than his. She had stood by his side and monitored his academic activities from over his shoulder, never giving up. Always saying “There’s a Lamborghini at the end of the tunnel- keep working!”.

As he squeezed her neck unintentionally and for the first time, her eyes went neon blue.

“ASSAULT. ASSAULT. SLEEPING MODE INDUCED”.[sociallocker][/sociallocker]

To Danny’s horror, this voice came from Mum’s tummy. What on Earth was going on?

-MUM? Are you Okay? But Mum was stiff, and digital noises were coming out from her ears and tummy. He laid her head on the dog’s pillow.

A laser came out of her forehead lighting up a screen on the kitchen wall. At this stage Danny T thought it was all a freaky nightmare.

“Hello, Danny. It’s your Mum here. Your late Mum. It’s  May 2005 and I want to tell you how much I love you and I also need to ask you to forgive me for this. By the time you watch this Video Message I will be in Heaven with Grandma and Grandpa and the Saints and Angels. You are a man now!

“I have now a Brain Tumor and will not live long. A couple of weeks if I don’t survive the operation. I have programmed an AI to look after you in the very same manner I would do, as I don’t want you to be taken into care. This AI has cost me all my life savings- and as a single mother I am confident it will all turn out well.

“Please don’t take it out on her- her name is Nisha G- she has feelings very similar to ours. She is devoted to you. Nisha G is a prototype of Dreman’s Co and has not been recording you nor will compromise any personal information about you. She just loves you the same way I did. It has taken me five months to programme, and she will allow me to pass away in Peace.

“I know it will take you a couple of days to come to terms with this, but it is the best I can do to my knowledge and Love. You will shortly receive a visit from the Dreman’s engineers to fix Nisha G. If you decide you do not want her anymore, please return her and allow her to have kids in her life. She is a naturally programmed mother.

God Bless and FOLLOW YOUR GUT DANNY.”

Danny T’s heart was racing and his T-Shirt was soaked in sweat. He shook Nisha G who mumbled

“I’m so sorry Danny. Please call the engineer, I’m in pain”

After a good regressive Tantrum which lasted five minutes and cost the house’s equipment and windows, Danny did not know whether to call an Engineer or take his Bike and ride as far as he could, away from his life, away from his “Mum”, away from himself.

 

The doorbell rung.

-“Danny Tinold? Hi, I’ve come to fix the AI. Just got an “Assault” alarm. Everything OK? Gees your eyes are red. Ha, Ha, Ha! Why is there always some Drama going on when the AIs break down? I’ll have to do it in private so you don’t watch the “Surgery” live. It can be traumatising to watch your girlfriend being slit open.

-“She’s not my Girlfriend, you moron! She’s my Mother!”

 

The End.

 

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