"Do You Hear Me Now?"

“We're more than just friends,” I whisper against George's deaf ear. I know he won't hear me, but that's okay, because I've never actually told him before.

His soft breath tickles my neck as we hug. He always gives the best hugs. I feel like I belong in his arms. Through all the years I've known him, and through all the stuff we've been through, I've known that I'll always be with him.

“Did you say something?” he asks as he pulls slowly away.

“Nope.”

“I swear I heard you...”

“Nope, nothing,” I shrug with a smile. He smiles too, which makes my insides quiver with excitement. He's so beautiful.

Before we hugged, we'd been talking for hours. We'd talked about our past together. We talked about school, and the countless times we'd been in trouble. We remembered the times we would run through the corridors of the maths department, and hide from each other for the fun of it. We reminisced about the way we used to stay up all night, and realised we were doing it again. I'd looked at my watch, and smiled.

“It's 3am,” I laughed. And then he had hugged me.

“This is great,” he says.

“What is?” I ask, although I know exactly what he means.

“This. Us. This is how we're supposed to be. We're supposed to be relaxed, chatting, laughing...”

“We laugh a lot,” I giggle.

He nods, a massive grin on his face. “I've missed this.”

“Me too.”

“What happened to us?”

“Stuff...” I say, not wanting to go into it.

He nods again, his face more solemn now, as he thinks about it too.

I pull him into another hug. This time, I rest my chin on his other shoulder, so I can talk into his good ear. “I've missed you, George.”

“I've missed you too.”

“I know we've been together most of the time,” I laugh, “but I think tonight is the first time, in a long time, that I've seen the George I used to know.”

“I know,” I hear him smile. “Sorry I went away.”

“Don't worry,” I squeeze him tighter, “I understand.”

“You're always here,” he laughs, pulling away slightly to look into my eyes.

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking around his flat.

“You might as well live here!”

I laugh, “That's true...”

He laughs too, “Want to?”

“What?!”

“Do you want to move in with me?”

“What are you talking about, Mr?”

“I'm asking you, as my best friend, to move in with me, so we can do this more often, and spend everyday together.”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead on his chest. He squeezes me tight to his body, and to breathe, I place my chin on his shoulder (next to the deaf ear again). The urge to kiss his neck is overwhelming, but I catch myself in time. I press my face against his skin and sigh. I feel him shiver.

“What's wrong?”

“I wish I was more than your best friend,” I whisper, quieter than ever.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he repeats when he doesn't hear my answer.

“Nothing,” I mutter.

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not! It's just a big question.”

“What? To move in with me?”

I nod.

“Okay... Take your time – you don't have to! I was only half serious anyway...”

“I want to!” I admit quickly.

“Then what's the problem? It's not like I asked you to marry me!”

My face drops.

“What's with the face...?” I can see him working it out. “You want me to ask you to marry me?”

“No!” I hastily reply.

“Then what?”

I look him in the eyes, with a shy smile on my lips. “I'd wanna be wined and dined first...”

He laughs. I laugh too, but it's a nervous giggle. I pluck up the courage from within and continue, “I'm serious, you. How long do I have to be there for you, hug you, and tell you I love you before you take the hint?!”

“What do you mean?” he looks bewildered.

“I.” I say this really slowly, “Love.” I pause between each word. “You.” I give him a moment, before adding, “I really love you George, and I wish you could see! Every time we hug, I tell you how I feel, all the things I wish I could just come out with, I whisper them into your useless ear.”

“What?!” I can see him starting to smirk.

“I pour my heart out to that ridiculous scar tissue of yours, hoping, I suppose, that one day you'll actually hear me, or maybe that it'll sink into that equally useless brain of yours!”

“Alright!” he laughs, “no need for the abuse!”

“It's been forever!” I continue, “I've loved you for as long as I can remember, and the night you lost that hearing was one of the scariest nights of my life! But it gave me to opportunity to tell you everyday that I wish we could be more than friends, and that I love you more than words could ever say!”

He walks me to a chair, and sits me down.

I take a deep breath, but now I've started, I can't stop - “I say I love you everyday, but you've always thought I meant it as a best friend... and I did, but I also meant so much more! I love you, George...” A few moments passed in terrifying silence, “Do you hear me now?”

George chuckled lowly to himself. “I thought I was making it up. I hear you. I've always heard you.”

“What?” My heart is racing, and his reaction is puzzling and frustrating.

“I've always heard you saying that we should be more than friends. I've always heard you say you love me. And I'm sure I've heard you singing to me. When we hug, I always close my eyes, and hope that what I'm hearing isn't in my head, because although I can feel your breath on my skin, I could never have believed that you would be saying those things to me.”

“Why didn't you say anything?!”

“Why didn't you?” he asks seriously.

“But you heard what I was saying!”

“I didn't dare believe it!” he huffed, standing me up again.

I feel tears of confusion flooding from my eyes as he sits in the seat he moved me from, and pulls me down onto his lap.

“I can't believe you,” I whisper.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers back, wiping the tears from my cheek with his thumb.

“I still love you though, you prat,” I laugh.

“I love you too,” he replies, and fresh tears stream down my face, as I feel relieved, and happier than I've ever known. He adds, “I always have, and I always will. And from now on, please can you tell me in my good ear, because I'll never get tired of hearing it...”

I laugh and nod, before his gentle lips press against mine and we hold each other until the sun peeks through the window, and it's time to start our lives together.

"Timber - Space Cowboy"

We're the only spacecraft in this quadrant to have Timber on board. Nobody uses lumber any more...

Of all the things on Earth, you would think that wood would have outlasted most things, like plastic, or glass. Wood makes fire. But no.

Nothing makes sense here. The people of Earth used up all the wood. All of the trees died, and the air along with it.

That's why we're here, hundreds of thousands of miles away, in a wood-less spacecraft, with Timber on board.

Apparently Timber's special. Apparently Timber's going to save the human race. I don't know why... to me, he's just an irritating little brother.

He cries all the time. I know he's only like, three months old, but still. He's always crying. And it's not like I can get away. He's always been a space baby – well, almost always. He was the last person ever to be born on Earth. As the people ascended, town by town, country by country, the poor and the huddled masses were left to find space wherever they could. My parents thought we were doomed, until a crazy old lady saw Timber being born. 

For some reason, Amber (the crazy old lady), thought that he was a sign. A sign that life could go on, no matter what. She had a battered old spacecraft, that had once been used for minor explorations, like to Mars, and she offered our family a place. There's barely enough room to swing a cat in here, but it'll do. That's what my parents say when Amber's not listening. When she is listening, they praise this craft like there's no tomorrow, for if it weren't for this, there wouldn't have been a tomorrow for us.

Again, I think it's strange that wood hasn't lasted, when you consider the things that have. Somehow, we still have other plants. We have vegetables, and no matter how much I try to convince my mother that we need to conserve them, she still makes me eat at least one portion a day. How did they survive? And why?!

Another thing that has outlasted it's uses, is the profession of my parents – cowboys. I'm technically a cowboy too, but apparently I'm not old enough yet. Even when I argue that am a cowBOY and they would be cowADULTS. But whatever. They make no sense to me.

If there aren't any trees up here, there certainly aren't any cows. And even if there were, they wouldn't need herding, because there's nowhere for them to go!

Timber's still crying.

My parents are putting their herding skills to good use, though. To pay our way on this ship, they've started a business with Amber. Now we herd vessels that need a little more guidance than others. When we left Earth, I thought we were in the worst little tinpot ship in the universe, but seeing some of the lost people wandering the darkness out there, I suppose I'm thankful for this place.

I'm going to have to get up, if my mother doesn't do something about my brother soon.

I've been learning the “tricks of the trade” as my dad says. I've been watching on the big screen, as the adults have communicated with the new people we're looking after. I've even been on one or two of the other ships! I've watched first aid, when people were injured, and I think I might want to be a doctor one day.

Seriously, someone needs to get me some ear plugs.

I hope that one day, I'll be able to get this family a ship where we can each have our own rooms, and I can have some peace. Doctor's still earn a lot, even though money doesn't mean as much any more.

That's it, I'm getting up.

As I look down at my little brother, he stares up at me. His eyes are such a deep blue, that they reflect the night sky I miss so much. Maybe there is something special about Timber. Maybe he's just young enough, and happy enough, to save us. We'll have to land somewhere, someday, and I hope Timber will be the one with the biggest smile. He's always smiling. Even when he's crying. Maybe he knows something we don't... We'll just have to wait until he grows up a little to find out...

"The World Of Cinema"

Turning into the lobby, ticket in hand, the old man took in his surroundings. The smell of the fresh popcorn, and something sickly sweet he couldn't quite name, mixed with the smell of his own cologne – put on specially for the occasion. It was a smell he'd never forget. His fist wrapped tightly around his ticket and receipt, he wondered where he would be taken in this massive building...

He was still amused by the fact that it was so often referred to as a “cinema” now. It had always been “the pictures” to himself, and his childhood friends. It had even been “the talkies” to his mother, but she could never afford to take him. In fact, he'd never been able to see a film on the big screen before – he'd always been too strapped for cash to splash out on such a luxury. The mines were dark, and dingy, unlike the magical darkness he imagined awaited him now.

The paper in his hand crumpled a little as he stared up to the high ceilings. He quickly looked back down, and straightened his ticket out, pushing the receipt into his suit-jacket pocket as a memento for the future. He'd dressed up for this – his first trip to the picture palace.

He checked his watch for the time, knowing that he was more than a little early. He didn't have much of an interest in the film he was going to see – in fact, he barely knew what it was about – but he was there for the experience. He wanted to know what he'd been missing out on.

Slowly, savouring the sights and smells, he wandered over to a large, deceptively comfortable-looking chair, where he sat gingerly. He placed his walking stick between the seats and looked over to the concessions stand. His lips curled in amusement. Again, he glanced at the ticket and laughed to himself – tickets had changed his life. Firstly, it had been the train ticket to see his daughter. He'd been early then too, so, on a whim, he bought his second ticket – a lottery ticket from the Post Office by the station. The third ticket had been to London, to collect his winnings. The fourth, this, his first extravagant buy.

The little boy in him was alive and well, as he laughed aloud at the prices of popcorn and sweets. He muttered, “Not even if I had a million... Oh wait.” He laughed again, and shook his head.

Between his knees, he had placed a small carrier bag, containing a Thermos flask of tea and a bag of Revels. He knew he probably wouldn't need them, but he wanted the full experience, without the price. A lifetime of hard work and poverty had taught him the value of a little thrifty thinking.

Constantly clock-watching, the man pondered the lives of the people surrounding him. He wondered why the usher looked so flustered, when all it seemed he was doing was ripping paper and pointing. He wondered why the lady serving drinks sounded like a man. He wondered if she'd ever find her calling in life, or if she was stuck here, the way he'd been stuck underground for so many years. He wondered if the mother with the three screaming children would be watching the same film as him. He wondered why she wasn't in work – why they weren't in school. He thought about the man that had sold him the ticket. He wondered if that man actually cared what he was talking about – he'd talked such a good game. He wondered if that man in a suit worked in the building, or just walked around like that all the time. He wondered why time had slowed down, the closer it got to show-time. He wondered if he could go in yet.

His hand trembled as he showed Willy Wonka his golden ticket. “It's not ready yet, sorry,” the usher replied.

He wondered what they had to do to make the screen ready. He glanced over to the screaming children again and smiled to himself – menaces.

Standing beside the barrier, the man watched a young girl serve an older couple. She seemed to know them, so they must have been regulars. The way she talked so freely, so happily about the film they were about to see, he could tell she cared. She was cautious not to spoil anything, but still seemed to talk for a good while.

“It's ready now,” the usher returned. “Okay?”

The man nodded and smiled, once again handing his ticket over. He hoped he would get the larger half, but was disappointed with the stub. He placed it carefully into his pocket with the receipt. No matter. He'd keep it anyway.

“Second on the left. Enjoy your film.”

“Thank you,” the man grinned, as he finally saw a glint of hope in the usher's eyes. Maybe he would be less stressed when he came back out? Maybe not.

The weird patterns of the carpet made his journey from the lobby to the screen an interesting one. He tried to work out which dark patches were stains, and which were designed. He wondered how long the seats had been there, and if he'd moved them, would the carpet be a different colour underneath. He had no doubt that it would. The corridor stretched on for ever, with colours and lights everywhere, and doors to whole new worlds on either side. His heart raced as he relished every sense, every little new thing. The smell of popcorn had followed him, but it seemed staler now. Still nice, but less warm. He made himself aware of the toilets and their location. He'd avoid them if he could, but he liked to know.

The name of the film flashed above him, and his smile grew ever wider as he opened the large, thick door, and walked into darkness. Spotlights led the way to the ample seating. Row after row of choice presented themselves. No-one else was in there, so he had full choice of where to go. As always, he plumped for the middle. The very middle.

Pulling the seat down, he laughed at a lonesome piece of popcorn dropped, abandoned underneath. He didn't care that this place wasn't perfect. If he were anyone else, he probably wouldn't have even noticed. He liked the way the screen felt – cosy, not scary at all. The screen was edged by large curtains, and he felt a little disappointment as he realised there would be no great unveiling. He decided not to worry about it. Instead, he covered his eyes, and removed his hands slowly, creating the effect himself. A moment's silence fell, before he broke it by moving his bag; the crinkle of the plastic echoing throughout the room, warning him to take his things out now. He placed his Thermos in the cup holder on his right, and his Revels wedged in the holder on his left. He opened the packet and carefully placed the torn-off top back into his bag. He stole one of his own toffee ones.

Sucking the chocolate off before biting into the sugary centre, he looked around at the tiny lights in the ceiling, and the ornate lights on the walls. He looked behind himself, to the projector, lighting just two or three feet in front of itself. He couldn't see anyone up there, so he wondered how long he'd have to wait. His eyes strained to see his watch – five more minutes.

A younger couple walked into the screen, chatting loudly, about one thing or another. He couldn't care what, he just wished they'd be quiet once the film started. They sat in front of him, so he smiled to himself as he thought he could at least throw his chocolates at them if they didn't.

The screen then started to slowly fill. People of all ages started to pile into the room, standing at the bottom of the stairs for a moment to choose their spots. The man watched, as each new group held up the people behind, only to choose the area with least people already sat there. He chuckled, as he revelled in his perfect seat.

As the sounds and smells of the screen changed due to the people, the sights changed as the lights dimmed further, and the screen turned a lighter shade of off-black. He would never have noticed such a subtle change anywhere else, but as he glanced back at the projector, he saw a man, doing something with the machine, and the light now stretched across the room to the black expanse of canvass.

Gradually the noise died down, and the colour of the screen became lighter and lighter, until loudly and all at once, trailers and adverts blared into view. His heart racing, the man found himself taking one last chocolate, before falling fully amerced into a world he'd never known before... the world of cinema.

"Aubrey"

“You're a weirdo,” James shouted over to his best friend, Aubrey.

“No! You're a weirdo,” the seven year old girl called back. “Just 'cause you're a year older than me, doesn't make you too old to run after the ice cream van! In fact,” Aubrey approached James with an ice cream in each hand, “it's makes you the weirdo.”

“It does not!”

“Does.” She licked one of the ice creams.

“You never see adults running for the ice cream van.”

“That's because adults are old and boring.”

“Well, I'm more grown up than you.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“How do you prove you're an adult?”

“Be old, and boring,” Aubrey licked the same ice cream again.

James watched her carefully.

“What?!” she asked after a while.

“You gonna lick that other one?”

“Why would I lick that one?”

“It's melting all down your arm...”

“But it's not mine.”

“Who's is it, then?”

“Yours, stupid.”

James' eyes lit up and he reached out for it.

“Nope,” Aubrey grinned. “You're too mature for ice cream.”

James huffed.

Aubrey continued to lick her ice cream, while the other dripped sadly onto the floor.

“You know...” she said slyly, “you could act your age again, and have this. If you want to...”
“I want to.” James sad bashfully.

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“Be young and not boring!”

James immediately ran past Aubrey, and jumped as high as he could, into the water fountain. Landing feet first, he kicked the water over the sides, and in Aubrey's direction. She laughed.

“Okay!”

“That enough?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, holding out his ice cream as he climbed out of the fountain.

“Thanks,” he took it, and lapped it up.

Aubrey rubbed her creamy arm in his soaking wet jacket, and they smiled to each other.

James rubbed his own arm, as he sat on the edge of that very same fountain, twenty years later. He wondered where Aubrey was, and what she was doing. She had been his first love, and seemingly, his only love. All other attempts had failed miserably, and brought him back here. He would give anything to go back in time and tell her. Maybe he could have convinced her to stay? And then everything would have been different. Maybe better?

He felt a shiver run down his spine, so he stood, and began his long walk home.

A girl stood in the tree line. If only James had looked over his shoulder, he would have seen that he didn't have to travel the world to find her again. He just needed to see what was already around him, just as he should have, all those years ago.

"Only The Good Die Young"

“Virginia, you can't keep this hidden forever.”

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don't know!”

“Well, you know what I think.”

“I can't just come out to my parents.”

“Why not? I did.”

“I know... but... it's different for you! Your parents are so much cooler than mine.”

“So?”

“So, you don't understand what it's going to be like to tell my parents.”

“I'll do it for you, if that's what you want?”

“No!”

“Then you'll have to do it yourself.”

“In my own time.”

“Come on, Virginia, you can't keep me waiting.”

“You don't have to wait. We're together now, aren't we?”

“Yeah, but I wanna hold your hand in public. I wanna kiss you and not have to worry that somehow your parents might find out.”

“We can do that here.”

“As much as I'd like to, I don't think we can spend our whole lives locked in your bedroom.”
“We can try...”

“Only the good die young, Virginia.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you should have fun with your life! Do something 'wrong' once in a while, live a little!”

“I do!”

“But you're too scared that we are 'wrong'?!”

“We're not wrong.”

“Then why can't you tell?”

“Because...”

“I'm serious, I'm not spending the rest of my life in here.”

“You won't have to.”

“Then how long?”

“Just give me a minute.”

“Okay.”

Several minutes later...

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hold my hand.”

“Okay.”

“You can do this.”

“Yeah.”

“Now or never.”

“Only the good die young.”

"Buona Sera"

The sound of the Italian language was one of her favourites. For some reason, when I spoke in my mother's native tongue, my beautiful baby girl would giggle happily to herself. When I sang, she would fall into a deep, sound sleep, with that cute smile still playing on her tiny lips. “Buona sera senorina,” I used to say, as I gently left her bedroom door ajar, so we could hear her if she awoke. She was the most wonderful thing.

She was smiling today too, as she introduced us to her boyfriend. He's okay. Nothing special. She asked if he could stay in her room tonight, and I had to think about it. It's been such a long time since she was that giggling baby, but she still seemed that way to me. I decided that I trust her. I nodded. “But you leave the door ajar,” I added, “at least for the first few nights, okay?” I have to let her go some time. I have to let her grow up.

As we walk to our room, I see her door slightly open, just as I'd asked, and I hear her laughing with him. I feel an emptiness – I used to make her laugh. I listen for a moment, knowing that I'm being watched by the love of my life, as I concentrated on our daughter's chatter. I'm not listening to what she's saying, but more the way she's saying it – she's happy. “Buona sera, senorina,” I whisper through the door, blowing a small, pathetic kiss, and we go to bed.