The Clan of the Cave Bague

And the waves lap gently at the sand, pushing it up and pulling it back, undecided on whether they should stay or go but nevertheless forced into constant motion by the irresistible pull of the moon.

Chrissy sits and waits on the shoreline for the dashing young man who must surely happen by soon. But the waves lap, and the sand stirs, and Chrissy’s shadow lengthens across the hard packed rippled surface and still he does not appear.

Her crown sits askew on her golden head and her eyes gaze vacantly down at her feet. She wriggles her toes into the sand and watches as the saturated ground gives up its water in tiny pools around her feet.

The sun dips lower in the sky, resting its head sadly on the horizon, and sends glowing amber beams of sympathy to soothe the young girl’s pain. She smiles back sadly, and looks once more along the empty beach.

She folds her arms over her knees and rests her chin on them. She sings softly to herself. It may be “Some day my Prince will come,” but we can’t quite hear. A light breeze creeps cautiously from the ocean surface and sidles up the beach. It lifts a few strands of soft, fine, hair and strokes them gently. “There, there. Everything will work out fine.”

She rises and stands before the ocean with her arms held out. The breeze grows a little more excited, flicking at her white linen dress, and whispering in her ear. She spins slowly on the spot, a careful pirouette, pointing with her right foot and inscribing a perfect circle for her Prince to cross. She raises her arms in a graceful arch above her head and pivots forwards, raising one leg in an elegant Arabesque.

The lapping waves give a gurgling chuckle at the dancing girl while their parents roar approval from further afield. The wind cheers and whistles as it flows alongside her, constantly caressing, touching, guiding and leading. She dances up the beach, her shadow flickering and waving and the sun turns the water to fire as it clings to the last scrap of the sea. As she dances across the demarcation line between the ocean’s domain and the land’s, the dry sand leaps excitedly in the air around her feet, kicked into glittering tornados by the energy of her passing. From over the border, the brine-soaked ocean sand looks on with envy.

And then he is there, clad in white, tall, lean, his face indistinct with the sun at his back. She dances around him, laughing and crying, desperate for a glimpse of his long awaited face. She spins towards him and the last ray of the dying sun burns fiercely in her heart before vanishing, leaving her alone and silent on the empty beach once more. Her arms fall to her sides and her gaze turns down to the eternal sand. She sinks to her knees with her arms outstretched. The beach takes her hands and the ocean strokes her arms.

And the waves lap gently at the sand and the wind sighs its pity. Chrissy sits and Chrissy waits for another glimpse on another day, while the weeping sun rolls its moment of magical twilight around the world.

The Book of Fail

Being an account of the End of Days

Chapter 1

1. And it came to pass that The Great Orange Stupid looked upon the face of The Company and was displeased.

2. He spoke unto the sky and unto the firmament and unto all living things saying “Where is there an Administrator of Systems that I may have unto myself a well configured network?”

3. And the firmament was silent. The sky also was silent. And all living things were too busy playing Nintendo to offer an opinion.

4. And The Great Orange Stupid rolled up his sleeves and said unto himself “Lo, I shall make me a room of servers. Five cubits long it shall be and three cubits wide, even unto a height of three cubits.

5. And I shall decorate the room of servers lavishly with the cheapest B&Q paint, so better to attract an Administrator of Systems worth of my network.”

6. And The Great Orange Stupid did build the room of servers. Five cubits long it was and three cubits wide, even unto a height of three cubits.

7. And the Great Orange Stupid did lavishly decorate the room of servers. And the walls ran off-white with the cheapest B&Q paint. And The Great Orange Stupid took all of the mops and buckets and cleaning cloths and caustic soda and vacuum cleaners and old bin bags from out the room of servers and did lay them on an alter for the cleaners to collect.

8. And the Great Orange Stupid looked upon the face of the room of servers but was displeased.

9. And he spoke unto the room of servers saying “Woe to thee, O room of servers. Where are thy racks? Where are thy servers? Where is thine disorganised rats-nest of broken cables?” And the room of servers sat silent in its shame, for neither had it racks nor servers nor a disorganised rats-nest of broken cables.

10. And The Great Orange Stupid reached out with his hand and there were racks. And he reached out his hand and the racks were filled with servers of exquisite brokenness.

11. And he called out to the rats of the field, saying “O ye rats of the field! Weave for me a complicated and unmanageable tangle of CAT-5E that I may vex and dismay my Administrator of Systems.”

12. And the rats of the field heard The Great Orange Stupid and did scamper to him, weaving a nest of complicated and unmanageable CAT-5E.

13. And The Great Orange stupid looked upon the room of servers and saw that it was good.

14. And The Great Orange Stupid did summon all the monkeys of the field and did say “O monkeys of the field! Write for me software that I may run on my servers of exquisite brokenness. And make it complicated and unmaintainable and invest it with FAIL and stupid.

15. And the monkeys of the field did write the software and did invest it with all the FAIL of the world and all the stupid of The Great Orange Stupid and did taint the servers of exquisite brokeness with its hellish presence.

16. And The Great Orange Stupid did speak to the Angel of Human Resources saying “Find for me an Administrator of Systems, that I might populate mine room of servers with his presence. Let him know UNIX and Oracle and Perl and legion other computery skills, yay even unto Visual Basic.”

17. And the Angel of Human Resources replied “Alas Great Orange Stupid, nowhere in thy kingdom is there to be found an Administrator of Systems with the skills thou dost require.”

18. And The Great Orange Stupid grew vexed and waxed mighty in his wroth. And he spake unto the Angel of Human Resources saying “Thou shalt venture out into mine kingdom and find for me such an Administrator of systems. In the corners of all the world thou shalt search and thou shalt not return until the Administrator of Systems I seek is found, lest thou be the recipient of a good kick in the knackers.”

19. And the Angel of Human Resources did scowl and went forth into all the kingdom.

The pigeon emitted a ghastly shriek as it spun out of the sky and strafed the pavement by my feet. I leapt nimbly to the side and kicked out with one foot, sending the hideous creature hurtling headlong into a nearby bush.

“Aha! Take that!” I cried, dancing the happy dance and celebrating my triumphant victory by pulling faces at the final resting place of my fallen foe.

Alas, my celebrations were too early, and before I had finished the first verse of “Happy Happy Joy Joy”, the bush had begun to quake. There was a dry snapping sound and a puff of terrified leaves shot into the air where they were picked up by the wind and sent scuttling off.

I tensed and looked soberly at the bush. Nothing could have survived that perfectly executed ninja-kick.

With a sudden rending sound, the bush split apart and the pigeon lurched forward; its right leg was bent awkwardly beneath it and its left eye roared bloody vengeance for the loss of its partner. It staggered towards me; slowly, painfully, inexorably, its dragging limb screeching and scratching through the autumn leaves.

“In the name of God!” I cried. “Why can’t you just die!”

I clasped my hands to my head and fell to my knees, unable to escape the relentless approach of the broken, feathery monster. Despair washed over me – a sudden lethargy; a willingness to accept my fate. The desolation of my soul was filled by a sudden longing for release; an urge to simply accept my fate.

“Three years! You’ve been following me for three years and I can run no more. I accept my fate, oh beaked spectre! Do with me what thou will, just make the pursuit end! Lift from my head this curse of eternal flapping and fluttering. Just give me the bloody note.”

The pigeon squatted back on its mangled leg and held forth the other. Tied around the base of the leg was a tiny scrap of paper. With shaking hands, I untied the message and unrolled it.

Dear John

Have a pigeon

Love, Jenny

The dissolution of my spirit was complete and I sank to the ground. The cold pavement pressing against my face went unnoticed in the blackness of my despair. The pigeon cooed mockingly in my face and I closed my eyes against my shame.

Why couldn’t she just send a box of bloody chocolates like any normal person would.

It was early in the evening when the leathery little chap in the crepe paper suit first approached me as I was walking through the park. He did not do so directly, but instead walked past on my right hand side, circled around behind me, and then sidled around to my left. He gave me a cheery little wave in way of greeting, and grinned a wide, gummy, grin.

“Hellay!” he said.

I nodded in reply.

“I wonder if I may bother you for a moment,” he asked, with another toothless smile.

“You are bothering me quite enough already,” I snapped, having no wish to spend the evening being accosted by little men in strange clothes.

He looked momentarily crestfallen, but brightened up before I could take any satisfaction from it.

“It will be worth your while,” he said.

I frowned at him and continued walking. He fell into step beside me, looking up expectantly and wielding his hideous grimace at me the whole time.

“Really,” he said.

“I very much doubt it, strange little man,” I said. “I am very choosy about the people with whom I keep company and my current criteria for conversation does not extend to leathery little men in paper suits. Good day.”

“Ah, but it is a good day,” he said. “It’s the best of all possible days.”

Something in the earnestness of his voice caught my attention and I stopped. While waiting for him to cease grinning inanely and get to the point, I surveyed his peculiar apparel. His suit was most definitely crepe, pale blue with little veins of white running through it. The bottoms of his trousers were ragged where the paper had soaked through and torn. From his sleeves and trousers there protruded naked white extremities. His head was wholly bald and his eyes sparkled like nuggets of amber in his jovial face.

“Today is the day,” he began, “when your problem shall be solved.” He finished this with a flourish of his hands and a little pirouette.

“And why, pray tell, will all my problems come to an end?” I asked.

He smiled knowingly and reached into his paper jacket, producing a small strawberry coloured parcel tied with wool.

“Because, my dear friend, I have a crepe paper suit for you!”

I gaped at the wizened fool with astonishment.

“What on earth would I want with a paper suit?” I cried! “Begone! Avaunt!”

“Hear me out, sir,” he pleaded. “Listen to what I have to say!”

“I have listened to what you have to say, and it is readily apparent that you would have me dress like a buffoon! A buffoon like you, sir!” I cried.

Without giving him a second glance I began to stride down the pathway, but after a few steps I heard little leathery flaps as his little leathery feet slip-slapped along behind me, no doubt bringing his little leathery body with them. I stopped in annoyance and turned around.

“Sir! Will you kindly find someone else to bother! I am in no mood to have clothing of inappropriate construction foisted upon me by a grinning imbecile. Please, depart at once.” I stood straight, pointing to the east.

His gaze followed my finger for a moment and then travelled back up the length of my arm to my face. I was horrified to see huge, glassy tears standing out in his amber eyes.

“You unspeakable fiend!” he wailed! “How could you? Why would you?” He spun around in a grief stricken little circle and flapped his little white feet up and down a few times. When he turned to face me, his look was dark and angry.

“This,” he said, thrusting the strawberry coloured parcel in my astonished face, “is too good for the likes of you! All I was trying to do was help! But, oh no! You’re much too grand! Much too proud to wear the humble coat of crepe! Much too arrogant to wear the gentle raiment of pulp and dye! A pox on you, Sir! A pox on you and your silly nose!”

I allowed him to vent his wrath and watched with some bemusement as he zig-zagged his way back along the path, stopping every now and then to regale a passer-by with tales of my unspeakable cruelty. He eventually disappeared from sight and I turned and carried on my way, trying to enjoy what was left of the evening.

When I reached the park gate, I found the policemen lying in wait, as they always did.

“There he is!” one cried.

“Get him!” said another.

I loped off in the opposite direction, enjoying the feel of the cool air on my naked skin.