soulsinger's blog: "Short stories"

THE WINNING TICKET The young man thanked the woman behind the counter as she passed him the warm crispy pink lottery ticket. £7. A fair investment, he thought, since he was going to win this week. £7 to win nine million quid. Not bad. Easy money really. Guaranteed. Luvvly Jubbly. He slipped easily into his biweekly daydream. How would he spend the money? Well, first things first. He would settle his thirty grand debt with the local loan shark, preserving his kneecaps forever. Next, he would tell his boss to where he could stick his job. Computer bloody inputting. That’s all they thought he was capable of. They just didn’t know what they had! Fresh out of Uni, bursting with new ideas. Well, they’d see. Tell the boss where to go. Then what? Off to JCT 600 down the road. To actually walk in to the show-room and touch those beautiful cars. He had walked past so many times and drooled. It was all he could do to stop himself licking the glass. And imagine actually driving one of those babies! Maybe he’d buy an Aston Martin. Maybe one of those garish yellow lambourghinis. Maybe both. But of course, he would have to get a people carrier too. One of those massive Mitsubishi estates that could carry eight people and their luggage. He walked slowly, clutching the ticket in his pocket, making sure that it couldn’t escape. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends about the executive box he had just bought at Manchester United. He smiled as he imagined the call to his ex-girlfriend, Sarah. Her calling him, grovelling for forgiveness, begging to be with him once more and him parrying every advance offhandedly, as if she didn’t matter anymore. “Please, please. I beg you. I don’t love him, I love you! You’re the one I’m meant to be with. Please, don’t do this to me.” “Well, I dunno. Maybe. I’ll have to think about it. I’m furnishing my mansion this week. Maybe I’ll call you back?” …and her sobbing as he put the phone down. Yes, being a millionaire would be great. No more worries. No more hassles. Everything would go his way. People would treat him with respect, be at his beck and call. No more drudgery. He would be able to make choices with what to do with his life, rather than having it chosen for him, like a leaf on an autumn breeze. He imagined parking his pure silver Jaguar XJ220 and stepping out, as the door man opened the driver’s door. He saw himself walking towards the entrance of his night club, where the long queue of punters looked on enviously. The ladies wanting him, the lads wanting his money. And he would walk through the club as the crowd parted, making way for the boss as if he were the messiah. And beautiful slender girls, would surround him, flashing perfect teeth and tanned flesh, begging for a chat, a dance, a drink, a meal, breakfast in bed, maybe? And he would say ‘I’m flattered, but there’s only one girl for me’ and they would scowl as they walked away, cursing the day that Britney Spears walked in to Luckies. “Watch where you’re bloody goin’ mate!” A big bruiser shouted at him as they knocked shoulders, his spittle splattering the lapel of his battered leather jacket. Out of his beautiful dream, he headed purposefully for home. The winter brought night-time early at this time of year. It was barely four o’clock and the street-lights were already coming on. He reached home just as the rain began falling. He went straight to the kitchen and opened a celebratory bottle of wine. He sat down in front of the muted TV to watch the football scores roll in. The bottle of wine went straight to his head and he fell quietly asleep on the sofa. “Come on, wake-up Dan,” his mother screeched and she banged a mug of coffee down on the nest of tables. “Five hours, you’ve been there. I’m not tip-toeing around anymore.” She picked the lottery ticket up off the floor, where it had dropped. “Aren’t you going ta check these then?” “Aw, Mum,” Dan shouted after her, “Mum, give us those back, please.” “It’s alright, Danny, I’ll check ‘em.” “Please, Mum, no.” “Well, let’s see”, she said, as she began searching for the results on Ceefax. “Oh, here we are…” Dan snatched the ticket from her hands. “Oi! Manners, young man.” “Mum! I want to check ‘em, alright?” “I don’t see that it matters so much. You’ve either one or you ‘aven’t.” “I want to check ‘em.” He looked at his watch. “I can’t check ‘em till eleven thirty eight.” “What? Why? You’re not being all obsessive again, are you?” “Come on, Mum.” “Well, can’t I check ‘em? You can ‘ave a look later.” She reached for the ticket. “NO,” he bellowed. “You’ll ruin it.” She gave him a ‘look’. One of those looks that mothers give that mean ‘after all I’ve done for you…”, “what have I done to deserve this…”, “if your father was here…”, and “you complete and utter little sod…” all rolled into one. She stormed dramatically out of the room. Dan huffed and shook his head. He would have to explain. “Mum…Mum. Look Mum, I’m sorry. I really am. But this is important. I have to check them myself. Really I do. And at exactly that time. I’ve worked it out, Mum. I’ve…” “Is THAT what you’ve been doing? I though you were on those porn site on T’internet.” Dan went a little red. Since he had left his ex-girlfriend, he had, on occasion, needed just a little… “Well, I’m glad you weren’t looking at that filth. You know, I get so much, er, Corn beef…” “SPAM” “That’s it,” she pointed an accusatory finger at him, “So much spam…filth. There’s extensions and creams and all sorts. Horrible. So what were you saying?” “I’ve worked it out, Mum. How to win the lottery.” “Don’t be daft.” “I have. It’s all to do with…” he looked at her, sizing her up. They talked about everything, Dan and his Mum. They were best friends, really. She loved talking about the fifties and sixties when she would go to the dances. “I saw the Beatles, you know, when Pete Best was still the drummer. He was lovely, you know. Really nice. When stars were real stars, not like today. That Justin Timberland. He can’t even dance properly. He looks like one of those dyslexics”, “Epileptics?” “That’s it!” “And all those women with big boobs. Disgusting. Don’t they know it’s sexier to keep clothes on?” (Dan would never agree on this subject). Dan’s favourite subjects, on the other hand, were Quantum Physics and computers. His Mum would endeavour to keep up but usually lose interest. She was, however, depending upon her mood, capable of the deepest insights. He wondered what mood she was in now. “Spit it out, then.” “Well,” he thought for a second, “okay. It’s like this. You remember what quarks are?” “They’re like, smaller than atoms, aren’t they?” she said hesitantly. “That’s’ right. Well, scientists believe that at the quantum level and smaller…” “Smaller than that? How can they see…” “It’s to do with maths. They can predict how things are by the way quarks react. And the maths is so complex but they have more-or-less proven that everything is made up of strings.” “String? I don’t think so. It’s all floppy. And it falls apart in water.” He looked at her sideways on, trying to gauge of she as joking or not. “Hmmm. Strings of energy. And depending upon what dimensions they are moving in, they create the forces like, er, electro-magnetic and nuclear forces.” “Right. I see. And dimensions are…” “They’re the space that we live in, only we can only see three dimensions. We have a fourth which is time. But there are other dimensions that we can’t comprehend. That’s why mathematics is so important. It can help us deal with multi dimensional problems.” His Mum was frowning. “More dimensions? That’s impossible, isn’t it?” “It is difficult to imagine. It’s like – a three dimensional object casts a two dimensional shadow, yeah? Well, a four dimensional object would cast a three dimensional shadow.” Mum looked worried. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes, Mum. This has all been proved, you know. More-or-less.” She looked as though she was losing interest. “You want a cup of tea? Or coffee?” she asked, probably to relieve her brain from the bombardment of impossible realities. “Are you still on the sweeteners, dear?” “Yes, Mum thanks.” “What about those – femilinos?” “Phenolanolines? I’m not bothered about those any more.” “Don’t they cause cancer, dear?” “Well, yes. But only if you ingest three and a half tonnes of the stuff every month.” “Right, dear. Well, I’ll try not to make you quite as much coffee then, dear.” Dan watched the silent telly. Funny how silent TVs are more absorbing than ones with the sound turned up. He could neve take his eyes off the pub tvs playing silent videos. Anyway, some bright tacky game show was on. It looked like one of those humiliation ones. The clock said nine twenty. A couple more hours and he would have to get the virtual atomic clock up on his computer. His Mum returned with a cup of steaming hot coffee and passed it to him. “Careful, it’s hot.” Dan took a sip, burning the lining off the roof of his mouth. “Ahshhhiiiittttt….” “I told you it was hot, didn’t I?” And she cuffed him lightly round the head. “Aw Mum!” “Well. You know I don’t like that language. So. Are you going to tell me what you’ve been doing?” He massaged the raw skin on the roof of his mouth with his tongue. He could feel soft skin where he had scalded it and the odd flap that was already peeling off. It hurt like hell but bought him a little time before continuing. How could he explain this theory to his Mum? “So. Everything is made of strings of energy and they exist in many dimensions. They pull at each other and effect each other in ways we cannot comprehend. See, everything in the Universe exerts some kind of a force on everything else. And just a minute change at the sub-atomic level can influence the Universe in quite a large way. Like…” He had it! “It’s like knitting, yeah. You know how one missed stitch, or whatever it’s called, can change the way the whole jumper looks? The whole pattern changes, doesn’t it?” His Mum was looking rather dubious. “What’s up?” “You said you liked those jumpers I made you.” “Huh? I do” he lied. “I’m just trying to explain…” “I’m not stupid, Dan, you know. Just tell me straight.” He took a breath. He had never told anyone before. Here goes… “I have written a programme that reads every variable in this location of our dimension and predicts any outcome, within certain parameters.” “You mean, your programme can predict the future? Lottery numbers and that?” “It’s complicated maths. More complicated than anyone else could comprehend.” “But, you only got a C at A level” “That’s not maths, Mum. That’s like doodling with numbers. I missed one of my exams, remember?” “Oh. But that computer’s not big enough to…I remember you telling me how many atoms there were in a chocolate cake. Trillions and trillions. So how can that computer do what you said?” She was beginning to get excited. She had grasped the idea and was running with the fantasy of prediction. “I’ve plugged myself in to a bigger network. SETI and NASA” “Hmmm? Don’t they make rockets?” “Er, yeah. Kind of. They use a network of millions of home computers to sift through data for them, meaning they have a virtual computer with an almost unlimited capacity.” “Oh.” “And my programme set up a Trojan. That sneaks into people’s computer and secretly runs an analysis of the variable I put in.” “Oh.” “It’s been running for sixteen months. Making billions of calculations every day.” “Oh.” “It finished this morning and I received the data.” “And?” “Six numbers.” The idea finally dawned upon her and her face lit up. She smiled slowly. “And those are the six numbers?” “Yes, Mum.” “Come on, Let’s check the.” “I can’t. That’s what I’ve been saying. Six depend upon so many variables. One of the high priority variables is the time I bought them and the time I check them.” “That’s silly. That means that the time you check the numbers determines the results. That’s silly.” “Really? There was a gentleman called Heisenberg and his theory on light stated that you can know it’s direction or it’s position in space but not both at the same time. This is very similar to the state of space at a quantum level. And when you combine this with multiple universe theories, I think it is possible.” “Multiple...what?” He looked at the clock. Nine thirty. Plenty of time. “Multiple universe theory suggests that at every moment in time, universes split, like the branches of a tree. At a simple level, every choice you make, everything you do, could have happened a different way. All the way back to the time you were born. So, theoretically speaking, there is another ‘You’ somewhere that has made different choices and is currently driving a red Ferrari around the coast of Monte Carlo.” “But Dan, you know I can’t drive.” She smirked. Definitely joking that time. “Hmm. Anyway, these universes don’t necessarily exist in parallel. They cross over, spin around each other, merge and intertwine like a bag full of wool.” “Have you got something against my knitting, Dan?” “No, Mum, really. I love your jumpers” “Good. So, we’re going to be millionaires then?” “Yes Mum. As long as I check the numbers at exactly eleven thirty eight.” “What if you were late?” She suddenly looked shocked. “All that money, lost.” “Well, I’ve always thought that I’m a millionaire until the numbers say otherwise. The dream lasts a little longer, that way. But this time, it will work. I promise, Mum.” She looked elated. Although Dan did notice that she was checking the clock every thirty seconds or so, just in case it was lying. “Another cup of coffee? I’m getting nervous waiting, aren’t you, Dan?” “Kind of. Yes please, that would be lovely.” She returned in a fluster. “Just think, Dan, what we can do. I could get the lawn re-turfed! Not with any old grass, no! With that fine stuff that only needs mowing once a month. And a new shed. A big one, with a window! And I could get meself a toy-boy and he could drive us around in a bright new car, a Beetle. We could holiday in Skeggy EVERY year. We’d be the talk of the town.” Her eyes had glazed over, lost in the fantasy. Dan sipped from his coffee, careful not to scold his mouth once more. It was always a surprise at how limited some people’s imaginations were. “Wouldn’t you like to move out, Mum? Out of this dingy old place?” The cuff around his head knocked his teeth onto his mug, chipping his tooth and sending a spray of coffee into the air. They both watched in slow motion as the coffee sailed like an alien glob towards the floor, towards the ticket. “Nooooo” , Mum cried. The liquid splattered the ticket with much drama, bouncing up in small droplets and spreading further across the carpet. A small brown puddle was left on the ticket. It was soaked, stained and soggy. “Quick, a cloth…” But his Mum was already there, bending to save precious pink paper. She dabbed carefully as she would a new-born baby fresh out of the bath. She held it up delicately. “Look, you can hardly see the numbers now. They’ve faded. Look!” He couldn’t though, in case he actually read them. The thing was, it wasn’t as simple as reading the numbers. This wasn’t a variable he had considered. Maybe it was okay to check them now? Damn it. Sixteen months of work, ruined. And that was the thing with when playing with chaos. By knowing every single one of a near infinite number of variables, wouldn’t you, ipso facto, be influencing them yourself? There exists, somewhere, a mythological ‘Schroedinger’s Cat’ which is frequently, for the sake of science (and some say rather cruelly) locked in a box with a radioactive substance and some cyanide based solution. The radioactive substance could, at any moment, trigger the solution to break down into cyanide and hence, kill the cat. However, as the box is closed, it is impossible to know whether the cat is alive or dead. The point is, that opening the box is the only way to discover the result at any point in time and hence, to observer the experiment is to influence the result. This idea dawned on Dan rather rapidly and began dancing on his frontal lobes. The headache that would shortly appear would add to his misery. At that precise moment, the phone rang. Dan sat with his head in his hands as his Mum rushed off to pick up the phone. Was that it then? What could he do but run the programme again. But maybe his trillion variables weren’t enough? Maybe he should face facts that he was meant to work for a living, like the rest of the human race. Perhaps he could sell his programme to Bill Gates? Or the CIA? Or the Inland Revenue? No. Probably not complex enough for the Inland Revenue. “Dan,” his Mum bellowed. “It’s Sarah.” Great, that’s all I need. “Tell her I’m out.” “I’ve already told her you’re in. I’ve told her we’ve won the lottery.” He shook his head again. Anymore bad vibes, he would be giving himself whiplash. “Alright. I’m coming.” He walked to the phone. His heart began to pound. A cold sweat sprang up on his forehead. His throat became dry. “Hi, Sarah.” He said, trying desperately to keep his voice level. “Dan.” She said it matter-of-factly. She was trying to be formal and to-the-point. “Well?” Damn, he squeaked. How cool! “Dan!” She said more forcefully. “Please, just wait.” That voice. It was like velvet wrapped around a brick. So soft it lulled you and then, wham! Yeah, Sarah. She had a sting in the tail, alright. He heard her take a breath. “Listen. I’m so, so sorry. What I did to you. I accept it was all my fault.” She paused. Dan couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “I, I want you back, Dan.” His heart jumped into his throat. Lights appeared before his eyes. He realised he was holding his breath. He gasped for air, quietly but Sarah heard. “I know it’s a shock. I just hope you can forgive me. I’ve realised, Dan, that I love you. I can’t live without you. You’re the half of me that makes me a real person. I’m worthless without you. And helpless. Please, Dan, could you take me back?” Despite the lack of oxygen to his brain, the shock of what was happening, and the pulse racing in his temple, he managed to enjoy this moment. But the ticket. This was all happening too early. How could he turn her away? Should he ask her to phone back tomorrow? No. Hard words only worked in Hollywood. He couldn’t be so cruel. Besides, if he hadn’t won, Britney may have to wait a little while longer… “I love you….” The words stammered out before he could stop them. Sarah gasped. “You’ve never said that. Never. Not in three years.” “But you only want me because…” “The lottery win? Yeah, right. You think I believe your dopey Mum?” There’s that sting in the tail. Best not to say anything. “Sorry” she said quickly. “I’ll try not to be like that, I promise.” “Good. We haven’t won anything anyway. At least, not yet. And Mum made me spill coffee on the ticket.” “If it’s anything to do with that programming, I know it won’t work.” “Thanks for the support.” “Come on Dan, back to the real world.” She stopped again. “I mean, do you think you’re being realistic?” “Yes. I do.” “By the way, have you read the news today?” “No” “Well, they’ve found your little Trojan horse. NASA say they are rather bemused, as it seems to have no purpose at all” That cold prickly sweat sprang to his forehead again. Shit. I’m in trouble if they find out that… “No purpose, and yet it disrupts the SETI programme at a fundamental level. Dan you never told me about that!” “So? What does it matter?” “How can I trust you if…” The volume raised several notches than stopped abruptly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be going on about trust, should I.” “No.” He wouldn’t rub it in. “I’m just worried, that’s all. I love you Dan, I always have. And if you love me, well, we can really make a go of it this time. We can be a special couple.” “DAN” his Mum shouted from the living room. “DAN. IT’S GETTING :LATE!” “Listen, Sarah, I’ve got to go.” “But you haven’t given me an answer.” “An answer? Alright. I do love you. I think about you every night. And every waking minute of the day. The only respite I have from a life without you are the dreams I have of holding your hand. I wish I could hate you and let you go but I can’t. I can’t let you go Sarah. What ever you have done, I don’t care. Life means nothing without you.” There was silence foe a few seconds, then a snivel. She was crying. “That was beautiful, Dan. Beautiful.” She blew her nose, noisily, painful whit noise into Dan’s right eardrum. “Dan? I’ll be right round.” And before he could say anything, she was gone. He stared at the receiver then replaced it on it’s wall-mounting. He ambled back into the lounge. “Did you sort things out, dear?” “Yes, Mum. But I’m not sure if…” “It’s nearly time. Nearly time!” She interrupted. Her excitement was tangible. It was so good to see her smile like that. It hadn’t happened much since his Dad had died. He didn’t have the heart to destroy the moment. He watched as she flicked the remote control. Ceefax sprang up onto the Telly. “Here you are, dear. Here. You check them.” She passed the ticket across. Dan felt a shock as he took it. Nylon carpets. They drove him nuts. Slow-mo again. And the colour seemed to fade from the world. This felt like ‘one of those moments’. Well, one way or another, he would certainly remember this day forever. He squinted at the TV as the numbers popped up. He checked the clock (his Mum had synchronised it with his virtual atomic clock on the computer). “Good work, Mum.” He said, and she smiled gleefully. She had a bottle of sherry and two glasses ready in anticipation. “Isn’t that a bit premature, Mum?” How would she react? He was didn’t want to see the look on her face. How could he stall this moment? “You’re a clever lad. Sarah told me once. That you were like, Einstein, only with tidy hair. That’s why I know that ticket is a winner. Just like you said.” “Yeah? Well, She was exaggerating. Besides, have you seen my hair?” “Hmm. Well.” She rubbed her hands together. “Check ‘em!” His heart sank. He had spent the last few hours making his mother believe in God-knows-what and she was now caught up in his dream. How could he disappoint her now? He had been so cruel. At that moment, the doorbell rang. Sarah. She’s here already. Sod the lottery. “Here, Mum, you check them. It’s okay.” With that, he leapt out of his chair and ran to the door. He had fooled himself for weeks but he was aching to touch her, kiss her, feel her warmth and smell her hair. He reached for the door, turned the latch and swung it open. He was almost knocked back by the glare of a titanium white spot-light. “Good evening. Mr Daniel Outhwaite?” The policeman said. “Yes, that’s me.” “Would you accompany us to the station, please.” Us? He covered his eyes from the spot and squinted down the path to the street. Four vans and three patrol cars were parked along the street. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. He could see men in suits wearing sun glasses. At night. That was a very bad sign. Was that a sniper up there? Shit. Shit. Shit. Fu… At that moment, Sarah ran round the corner, screaming. She was towing two rather young and bemused police officers behind her. They seemed too embarrassed to stop her properly. She struggled harder as several more officers approached her. “Dan, don’t say anything” she yelled. “Please, don’t let them take you.” She pushed against the officer and another rushed to hold her. “Let her go!” Dan shouted and he pushed past the officer at the door. Noise and light erupted as more officers leapt at him, pushing him to the floor, his hands behind his back. His head cracked against the pavement and he retched. He could just hear Sarah swearing and struggling on the floor. Reality hit him. He was suddenly filled with a surge of tremendous strength. He could feel it coursing through his body like hot metal. He turned over onto his back, throwing two officers aside. He sat up, pushing another officer back over the neighbour’s fence. He leapt to his feet. They’re not gonna take me away from her. Never. He began walking slowly down the path towards the melee surrounding Sarah. Then… “Stop. Don’t you move one step further.” His Mum stood I the doorway, a mad look in her eye. Everyone stopped and looked. She was still. Her eyes moving from person to person, daring them to move. She thrust her arm into the air above her head. Everyone watched and waited. “No. Dan. Don’t you move one more step further.”