January Stones 2013: When physics got sick

This is an excerpt from my first collection of Flash Fiction,  January Stones 2013. I wrote one a day in January 2013. The book came out last year.  Yes, that's how long it can take to get a book out sometimes.

It is currnelty being made into an audio book. 

Here is the first one:   

When physics got sick

The Scientist carefully took the shards of glass out of the cupboard, dropped them in the sink, and watched underwhelmed as the tumbler formed itself. It seemed natural, as if it had happened a thousand times before. Yet his constantly questioning mind wondered whether this, this first occurrence of something quite extraordinary, marked the beginning of the end as the second law of thermodynamics was breaking down.

As he filled the tumbler with water he became aware that at the same time as being in his kitchen he was also upstairs and at the other side of the universe, so clearly Planck’s Constant had suddenly become somewhat bigger.

Later, examining the internal structure of protons, he found that they were indeed made of cream cheese and constantly mumbled nonsensical German so the label “quark” was actually extremely apt. Yet there was a paradox because surely the cream cheese itself was made of atoms, and they, in turn, of protons.

And yet.

There was no problem for Newton. Apples still fell merrily on the heads of those foolish enough to sit under apple-trees in the autumn. The big nuclear reactor in the sky still reacted. His home planet appeared to be carrying on its Maypole dance around its star and keeping up its complex ceilidh with the rest of the universe.

The Scientist paused for a moment and pondered. Perhaps the Humanities people were right after all. Every physicist knew that all of these laws did not work all of the time. Everything was relative anyway – Einstein had shown this. There could be a god, then. Or maybe the Matrix was not so far-fetched. It might even be the philosophers who had got it right – that life is but an illusion.

Scientific advice by Doctor Martin James who identified two subatomic particles, some ten years or so before the World Wide Web was born at CERN, thereby gobsmacking his children’s science teachers. 

Read more about these collections here.  

         

 

About a Blue Car

It was oddly quiet at the Parkinsons’ semi in East Oakham. Sal had just come back from the pub with fiancé Matt and was astonished that her mother and father were not back from the cricket match. It was getting dark now, despite it being the middle of June. They’d left the pub themselves because the landlord had called last orders.  

“I wonder where they are,” said Sal.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” said Matt. “Probably having coffee with someone or something stronger. Especially if they won.”

Sal guessed he was right. After all, her dad was vice-president of the Crockley cricket club. Crockley was where he worked and because he lived in East Oakham, this match had been considered rather significant. 

“I’m not really worried.” But she was tired and couldn’t understand why. “And now that I’ve sat down I can’t move.”

“All right.  I’ll put the kettle on, shall I, and make a cup of tea?”

Sal nodded. She closed her eyes. She could hear Matt pottering about in the kitchen. The noise became fainter and then she woke with a start.  Well, she hadn’t really been asleep but she’d sort of had a dream. A bit vague really. Something about a dark blue car. She wasn’t really sure what. But she could remember the number plate: MEM0 775 D. That wouldn’t exist, would it?    

“Here, drink this,” said Matt as he placed a tray down on the table.

Sal took one of the mugs of tea and one of the digestive biscuits and picked up the TV remote.

She found a programme about mind-reading.

“You’re even better than this guy,” said Matt as she got question after question right.

“It’s just daft,” said Sal. “I’m only guessing. I feel nice and relaxed, though.”

“More tea?”

She nodded.

They’d just finished their second cup and the credits were beginning to roll when Sal heard the key in the lock.

“Sorry we’re so late,” said her mum. “Only we stopped to help this old lady who was run over.”

“Oh dear,” said Matt.

“Oh it was all right. The car was going very slowly. But she was a bit shocked and so was the driver of the car.”

“We couldn’t make him understand  word,” said her dad. “I think he was foreign. Maybe the car was as well. Had a funny number plate. MEMO 775D.”

Sal shivered.

“Which side was the steering wheel on?” asked Matt.

“Good point,” said Mr Parkinson. “You know, I didn’t notice.”

“It was a blue car wasn’t it?” said Sal. “And it was backing it out of that alleyway next to the hairdresser – you know where them mucky kids used to play?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Parkinson slowly.

“Bloody hell, what are you saying, Sal?”  Matt’s eyes were round and open. 

“I saw it when I fell asleep when you were in the kitchen.”

Nobody seemed to know what to say.

“You know, you’re getting good at this clairvoyance malarkey,” said Matt as they got ready for bed later. “Perhaps you should make a career of it.”

“Mmm,” said Sal. It hadn’t been much use, though had it? It had been a bit of fun with the TV programme. And she hadn’t really been worried about her mum and dad and even if she had been, having that vision or whatever it was hadn’t really told her a lot. Still, it had seemed to happen because she was so relaxed and having Matt make her tea and feed her biscuits had been good. “As long as you keep on supplying the digestives and as long as you promise to make them chocolate.”     

       

   

 

 

                  

The Wedding Next Door

 “Mama asked me to give you this.” The boy from next door was holding out a stiff envelope. 

Dotty looked into his dark brown eyes. They were really serious today. His eyebrows were raised as if asking a question. 

“What is it?” 

“You will have to open it and see, Mrs Fellows,” said the boy. 

Dotty slid the card out of its envelope. It was so colourful it made her eyes smart. There was a picture of a young Pakistani girl dressed in a very elaborate dress. There was a lot of yellow in it. The girl had reddish brown patterns all over her hands and arms. The strange squiggles on the card meant nothing to Dotty. There were obviously some letters printed there but she couldn’t make out what they were, let alone what any of the words might mean. “So, what’s this then?” 

“It’s an invitation to my sister’s wedding.  Mama wants you to come.” He bit his lip and looked away from her slightly. “You will come, won’t you? Mama is worried that it might be noisy. There will be drums.” 

“When is it?” 

“Saturday. This Saturday.”

“I don’t know.  I think I’ve got something else on.” Perhaps she could go and see her daughter. Get away from the noise that way. 

“Please come. We’d like you to be there.” He waved and scampered back up the garden path.  

He wasn’t a bad lad. He had a strange name, though. Majid. Like “magic” but with a d at the end.  At least he could speak English. His grandmother only spoke Urdu. His mother tried her best, but she spoke so fast and with such a heavy accent that Dotty couldn’t understand her. The two girls were so shy that they never talked to anyone. Which one was getting married, she wondered? The tall thin girl. Or the shorter one who wore glasses? She had no idea which one was older. She supposed it was an arranged marriage. That’s what they did, didn’t they?