The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters

by C. A. Newsome

  She heard the crash of breaking glass, and the whump of a fire igniting. It was another rampant mob, protesting their frustration at the government in the only way they knew how: by causing wholesale destruction.

  The only options were to run or to hide. She started to walk through the closed up market stalls, only to hear shuffling footsteps coming from up ahead. Perhaps this was an organized gang fight, two groups meeting in the closed up market to settle old scores, or simply to take their anger out on other people. Father always condemned them, but the cause of all the unrest depended on who you listened to. Father blamed the people of course, while the people blamed the government.

  As the footsteps were joined by others, she darted to the nearest market stall, dropped to the ground and crawled under the tight awning into the dark space beneath. If they searched for her they would find her, or if they torched the waxed canvas awnings that covered the closed stalls she would burn with it, but she had no other

  choice.

  In the near pitch darkness she lay there, heart pounding, tears running down her cheeks, as the sounds of a riot filled the air around her.

  As she heard the whump of a stall igniting not far away, she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She was such a stupid, stupid girl. She should never have left the house. Running off to find a boy was the most ridiculously hair-brained reason to go out on to London’s dangerous streets at night, but of course she knew that now.

  ‘It was a dream,’ she whispered, wishing now she could through all the stupid romance books in her bedroom into one of these riot fires. As a whistling sound came from beside her, she wondered if it wouldn’t be quicker to just step out from under the awning, put herself at the mercy of the mob, close her eyes and give up.

  ‘Shhh…’

  Jessica jerked her head around as the sound came again. Someone was lying in the dark a few feet away. She tried to shuffle backwards but found only the wooden side of the market stall at her back.

  ‘They’ll hear you. Then we’ll both be dead. Just stay quiet and they’ll pass.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Simon.’

  She stared at him, but it was too dark to make out anything other than a silhouette.

  ‘What are you doing under here?’ she whispered.

  He made a sound that could have been a wry laugh. I think I live here now.’ He pushed something towards her. ‘Here.’

  It was a sweatshirt, folded up into a ball like a pillow. She put it under her head and lay facing him, the cold tarmac of Camden High Street beneath her. ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The boy who asked me for the time.’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She thought she saw the silhouette nod. ‘Yes.’

  Jessica’s heart seemed to swell out of her chest. ‘You’re him.’

  ‘You just said that.’

  ‘I know.’ Her lips worked, searching for words. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? To find him. Yet here she was, in the most unlikely of situations, unable to think of anything to say.

  ‘You didn’t know,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t know the time. You didn’t have a watch.’ He chuckled. ‘I had to guess.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask someone else?’

  ‘I didn’t want to.’

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘Why did you need to know? Like anyone ever cares what time it is anymore.’

  ‘I just wondered. I wondered what you’d say. Whether you’d look me in the eyes, whether you’d smile. I just … wondered.’

  ‘Why did you wonder?’ she whispered back, feeling weird and awkward, but at the same time almost euphoric.

  ‘Because … in your eyes … there was something that I haven’t seen for a long

  time.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hope.’

  ‘Hope?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to a girl who had hope, and I wanted to know why she had hope in her eyes.’

  ‘Because things can always get better, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Simon moved a little closer. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Oh. Um, Jessica. Jessica Woods. But you can call me Jess.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet you, Jess.’

  ‘And you too. Why are you really under here, Simon?’

  He sighed. ‘My father got arrested, and then a gang took over my flat. The usual kind of thing. Not like it doesn’t happen every day, does it?’

  Jessica swallowed. She shuffled a little closer and tentatively reached out a hand. ‘I’m sorry, Simon. That must be awful.’

  ‘These things happen. You have to make do, don’t you?’

  Jessica reached up and felt first Simon’s arm, then his shoulder, and finally the cool, soft skin of his face. She stroked his cheek, the tiny button of a tear bursting over her fingers.

  ‘I don’t think I can make it better, Simon. I wish I could, but–’

  Simon’s fingers closed over hers. ‘You already have,’ he said.

  Jessica closed her eyes. When his lips touched hers, all the infinite troubles of the world seemed to melt away.

  The kiss seemed to last forever. Jessica never wanted it to end, but like everything, eventually it did, and she stared at Simon in the dark, his face just inches from her own.

  ‘Listen,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. There’s nothing to hear. They’ve gone. The mob’s gone.’

  ‘I told you, didn’t I? Things always get better.’

  Simon smiled. ‘They do,’ he said.

  * * *

  The rest of the story of Jessica and Simon is told in Chris Ward’s novel, The Tube Riders.

  *

  A proud and noble Cornishman (and to a lesser extent British), Chris Ward ran off to live and work in Japan back in 2004. There he got married, got a decent job, and got a cat. He remains pure to his Cornish/British roots while enjoying the inspiration of living in a foreign country.

  In addition to The Tube Riders series, he is the author of the novels The Man Who Built the World and Head of Words, as well as the Beat Down! action/comedy novella series under the name Michael S. Hunter, and the Tales From the Village Green (cricket short stories) series under the name of Michael White.

  Chris’s Blog: http://amillionmilesfromanywhere.blogspot.jp/

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  *

  The Riddle

  Alison Blake

  Crash! Spinning! Turning over and over. Pain. Oh God, the pain. Flashing light, crushing weight. Her head vibrates like a tuning fork. Blackness. Something wet and sticky. Flashing lights again but now they are all the colors of the rainbow. Too bright, stabbing into her head. Blood dribbles out of her mouth. Her head crushed by a giant vise. Terror, terror, terror.

  Help me! The scream echoes in her head but no sound waves carry it beyond her tortured body.

  Help me!

  Now she hears voices. Thank you, God.

  "There's someone in there," says a man's voice.

  "Christ," says another. "How are we going to get her out?"

  Help me!

  "They can't hear you, Erin."

  What?

  "I said they can't hear you. Isn't that right, TooTrue?"

  "Probably," agrees TooTrue.

  "Here, let me help you." A tall, strong looking young man offers his hand. She reaches for it.

  "I wouldn't, if I were you," says his companion. "That's the first step on the road to a terrible destination." He shudders.

  The helpful young man, snorts, an oddly inelegant sound coming from someone as courtly looking as he. "That's the self-righteous for you," he tells Erin, "strong on advice but short on practical help." He reaches out his hand again and she grabs it fiercely. Anything to escape the wreck.

  Now on her own two feet she looks down at herself. There is no blood, no broken bones, and no l
acerations, only a nasty headache and a slight dizziness. "Thank you," she says to the beautiful young man. "I thought I was dead for sure."

  "That remains to be decided," says TooTrue gesturing with his head. All three turn to observe the first responders. They are working frantically over her poor car which is wrapped obscenely around a battered Hummer.

  "I don't understand," she says, although she is afraid that she does. "I'm alive." Her voice is high pitched verging on loss of control.

  "Yes, yes." TooTrue is impatient, perhaps irritated at being pulled away from something more important. "For now," he adds.

  "What does he mean?" she appeals to the good looking, elegantly dressed, young man.

  Before he can answer, TooTrue says, "Touch and go, don't you know." He sounds bored. But it's her life he is talking about.

  The young man smiles gently at her, a beautiful smile, warm and inviting with a hint of humor. "It's a choice, you see."

  "I get to choose between living and dying?"

  "That's pretty much up to them," says TooTrue. He gestures again at the men now working with the Jaws of Life, tearing apart her little car, trying to reach... but there is no one there.

  "If I'm dead, where's my body? The car is empty. I'm out here not crushed in my car."

  "As I said, it's a choice."

  "I don't understand."

  "I'll explain, sweetheart."

  Now TooTrue snorts. He says in a high pitched, scratchy voice "You, girl, I would like to point out that everything Nick says will not necessarily lead you to the truth."

  "Nick?"

  "Nicholas," says the handsome, young man with a graceful bow. "TooTrue is a clever fellow. Even his name is clever, and not to be taken literally." He sighs rather theatrically. "I regret to say you find yourself smack in the middle of one of the oldest riddles known to humankind. An unenviable position.

  "What riddle?"

  Nick smiles at her. "There once were two identical twins. One twin could not tell a lie, the other could not tell the truth. Each twin stands before a doorway, guarding it. In the middle is a sign saying, one door leads to safety, the other to death. Ask what you will, but only one question per twin. Choose wisely.

  "But everyone knows how to solve it."

  "Do they?" Nick smiles.

  TooTrue glowers.

  "Yes," she says. "It's easy, the traveler asks one twin, 'If I ask your brother which is the safe door, what will he say? The twin answers, 'He will say take the left door.' So the traveler walks through the right door and is safe. Easy."

  Nick smiles at her again, "Of course it's easy."

  "You're a fool," TooTrue grunts at her.

  She is beginning to dislike TooTrue.

  "But what's the point of it? What do I win when I solve your riddle?"

  "You get to choose," say both Nick and TooTrue almost, but not quite, simultaneously. Their words echo each other.

  "I just want to live," she cries.

  "Then don't choose him," says TooTrue. "He'll waltz with you on the path to Hell."

  "On the path, yes. But in which direction," says Nick with a laugh.

  "Hell?"

  She looks uncertainly at Nick.

  "Don't you recognize him?” asks TooTrue. “Look at his fine clothes, his sly expression, his graceful form and handsome face. Where do you think following him will take you?"

  Nick has stopped smiling and is staring at TooTrue, shaking his head more in sorrow than in anger.

  She looks from one to the other.

  "A fair question," says Nick. "Another questions is, where do you think following TooTrue will take you, Erin?"

  "You know my name."

  "I know everything about you."

  "Except how you will choose," says TooTrue.

  Erin takes a good, long look at TooTrue. He is a tall, skinny man, surprisingly young considering his gruffness. As she watches, he scratches his arms and neck. His skin is a blotchy pink, as if he suffers from the heartache of psoriasis. His hair is thin and dry looking, mousy brown in color. He wears what looks like a grubby bed sheet, his feet are bare and his toenails need cutting. There is a faint odor of garlic and sweat. Erin fights a horrible urge to giggle. A blind date nightmare. She looks back at Nick.

  He winks at her. "I agree TooTrue doesn't look like much, but he and his gang have an incredible PR machine."

  "Are you saying I have to choose between the two of you?"

  "Give that girl a cigar," Nick waggles his eyebrows and smiles, pleased with his rather feeble Groucho imitation.

  "And one of you always tells the truth and one of you always lies?"

  "Too damn literal," mutters TooTrue.

  Nick laughs. "No, my beautiful Erin, we both are capable of telling the truth."

  "And lying?"

  "Actually no," says Nick. "Tell her, TooTrue."

  "We tell the truth, yes," says TooTrue grudgingly.

  "But do we tell the whole truth?" Nick shrugs. "It's up to you to ask the right questions. After all, it's your soul."Nick is enjoying the situation. It's obvious to Erin that he lives for these duels of possession.

  TooTrue, seems self-righteously bored. But something tells her he that wants to win as badly as Nick.

  Erin looks around her. The first responders are still working on her car. They have strung lights around the area so it's as bright as day. She can see the sweat staining the underarms of their shirts and rolling off their red faces as they fight desperately to save her.

  But beyond the string of lights all she sees is a gray, hazy mist. It's as if the broken cars and the desperate men exist on a tiny, solid asteroid adrift in a haze of infinity or fantasy… Or madness. Looking down she sees only as far as her feet.

  There's nothing below. I'm standing on nothing!

  Vertigo sweeps over her, she sways as a cold sweat slicks her body, nausea threatens. She reaches out her hands for support but to her surprise both Nick and TooTrue take a step back from her.

  What?

  Then she sees that they too are standing on nothing. They are adrift in nothingness! "Help me," she pleads.

  For the first time TooTrue looks pleased. "Of course I'll help you, you poor dear soul."

  A soul? "Am I dead?"

  Nick studies the men working on her car. "Not yet," he says. "Your time is slipping away. Once your body dies, the choice is no longer yours to make."

  "Have you been a good girl?" asks TT.

  "Yes. No...Sometimes."

  TT smiles, his teeth are brownish, she notices.

  Nick looks at her thoughtfully. "Just how bad have you been?" he asks gently.

  "I've never killed anyone." Wonderful, what an epitaph! She Never Killed Anyone.

  TT looks at her suspiciously. "Is that the best you can do?" he asks.

  "I shopped-lifted a few times, but nothing really expensive. It was a dare. Just to prove I could do it." Her voice pleads for understanding. "I was a kid...just a kid."

  TT is absolutely glaring at her now. "Pathetic."

  "Oh, give the girl a break, TT. I'm sure she can find something that will suffice."

  TT whirls on Nick. "Listen you, stick to your own parameters and I'll take care of mine."

  Nick turns to Erin, who is watching them anxiously. "I suppose you went to church and confessed your crimes?"

  "I don't go to church," she admits in a whisper. TT narrows his eyes at her. "But I'm truly sorry. I would never do such a thing now."

  Nick is humming along to some music only he can hear. "Repentant, are you?" he asks.

  "Yes, I am."

  "And you'll never steal again?" TT demands.

  "No, I won't. Truly I won't."

  "Well then―"

  "Not really your type, is she TT?" asks Nick.

  TT glares at his opponent. "I could squeeze her in."

  "How about sex?" suggests Nick. "That's always a rich field."

  Erin freezes. "Sex?"

  TT leans forward, his hungry eyes
fixed on her face. “Tell me about your sex life, Erin." When she flushes with embarrassment , he smiles with satisfaction. "You’re a whore."

  "No!"

  "Don't worry about it," says Nick. "If you go with him, there'll be no sex . . . ever. On the other hand, if you choose to come with me, there'll be sex galore." Nick suddenly jumps high and shouts, "Hallelujah!" His jump takes him almost ten feet high.

  TT looks up at him sourly. "Bursting with joy," he mutters bitterly.

  As Nick floats back down to wherever they are he asks, "Do you like to dance?" He starts to dance himself, whirling an imaginary partner around the misty galaxy.

  Out of the corner of her eye she can see TT scowling? It's obvious he disapproves. "No," she says, "I don't dance."

  Both Nick and TT look at her sharply. "You're lying." TT's eyes gleam.

  "Why are you bothering to lie?" Nick asks gently.

  "We can see through you like a piece of glass," sneers TT.

  "A beautiful, fragile piece of glass," Nick amends.

  "Yes," she says. "I like to dance."

  "And sing?"

  "And sing."

  Nick is delighted. "Wonderful. My home is filled with song and dance. Laughter and―"

  "―Drinking," TT breaks in. "Filthy louts lie about all day, drunk as sailors."

  "In actually fact," Nick corrects him. "We seldom become drunk, simply happier." He turns to Erin. "You haven't been very happy lately, have you?"

  She shakes her head.

  He comes closer, but is careful not to touch her. "If you choose to come with me, there will be music and dancing, singing and laughing. Racing across the cool grass. There are sea- blessed breezes that blow across the velds. Dogs to romp with, horses to ride, but only if they want you to ride them. And the food." He kisses the tips of his fingers. "Ah the food."

  "I'll get fat." She tries to joke.

  "No one is fat in my house. Everyone is a perfect soul."

  "Ha! If you believe that, you deserve to be his victim. Hasn't anyone warned you about signing a contract with Old Nick?" TT is in a rage, clenching an unclenching his fists, he bares his teeth at Nick.