'Cause Célèbre', by Aron Woolnough

Cause Célèbre

Aron Woolnough

His eyes were blood shot and staring into the lens of a camera. Adam’s cheek twitched rhythmically. Beat. A persistent drone from a dying light bulb wailed above him. “What?”,

“Unfortunately Sir, your luxury-credit payment for this transaction has been declined”, said the Electronic Shopkeeper. Beat. Adam looked down from the ESK. A black packet, no bigger than a match box, laid on the counter with a purple moon and ‘Fantasy: Potassium Salt’ printed across the top.

Adam looked around, he was alone in the shop. It was dark outside and he had forgotten story time again. He picked up the Fantasy and tossed it at the machine in front of him, “I’ll take a standard one then”. Adam took a different packet from the shelf and placed it onto the counter.

“Unfortunately Sir, you do not have enough luxury-credit for a Fantasy: Sodium Salt either”. Beat.

Adam leaned his gut into the counter. ESK zoomed its camera lens forward. Adam looked at his Fantasy, his mouth was dry and his fingertips tingled until numb. The light bulb choked, then screamed.

“Sir, may I recommend a bottle of filtered ocean-water and a dose of Librium. This transaction would resolve any feelings of anxiety, increase drowsiness and help you sleep. You can afford these with your remaining need-credit.”,

“I am not tired, Bot, and I need this Fantasy”,

“It is 2AM, Sir, perhaps you should be tired. If you will allow me access, I can connect to your Medical Records to confirm this need request”. Beat. Adam rubbed his eye. The screaming bulb above him died. It was dark and quiet. It seemed like silence, but Adam had long forgotten what silence sounded like.

“I need this, don’t check my records. Just take my need-credit and be done with it”,

“No, Sir, I cannot do that”. A CCTV camera moved closer to the transaction. ESK illuminated the counter and Adam’s greying hair. After a short delay, a ticking was heard and the light bulb elevated into the ceiling. Tick, tick, beat.

“I will have the luxury-credit in a few days, let me have the Fantasy now and at the end of the week I will return to pay you”. ESK did not respond. Adam eyed the CCTV camera. His cheek was red and hot, the twitching sped to pulsing. A growing pain knotted in his chest, like a bullet in slow motion persistently moving forwards and bluntly forcing its way into his torso. Adam slumped onto the counter, eye-to-lens with ESK. Its large aperture captured every dimly lit wrinkle. His legs dangling as if there was no floor beneath him, his elbows supported him and his hands pressed together onto the bullet wound. His feet were numb. Eyes stung. Cheek twitched. Body ached. “Please”.

“No, Sir, I cannot do that”, said the ESK. Adam slammed his fist onto the counter before thinking. He lost his support. His head slammed down next to his fist. Adam rolled backwards and flopped out onto the shop floor. Adam closed his eyes, still plummeting to a certain doom, despite his motionlessness. Every muscle tensed and burned, as Adam tried curling into a ball to protect his head from impact. Braced and defeated, a tear of blood ran down the side of Adam’s head from his eyebrow. Half of his face in ruin: a burning cheek pulsed quicker than his heart beat; eyes still bloodshot; and a brow torn from the quick introduction between head and counter.

“A complimentary tissue, Sir?” asked ESK and a long rod extended forward with a tissue gripped between two mechanical fingers at the end. Adam reached up, he grabbed the rod and began to lift himself with it. His hand shook and waved the tissue gently from side to side, like a white flag in battle.

On both feet, Adam ground his heels into the floor to remind himself it was there. After accepting the tissue, he briefly dried his eyes before attending to his split brow.

“If you enter your address into the console, I can arrange for an Auto-Car to take you home”, said ESK studying Adam, “or to the nearest hostel”.

“I used to own a house, back when I was a taxi driver”,

“The nearest hostel is only 1.4 kilometres away, an Auto-Car can arrive at our location in 2 minutes”,

“I knew all of London like the back of my hand, didn’t need any sat-nav or direct-assist”, a smile flashed across Adam’s face, though he assumed it was another tremor.

“Due to any distress you may have experienced within our store, Auto-Markets Limited is happy to cover the expense of ensuring you a safe journey home”.

“15 years on the job meant nothing, I was fired after the second trial of those self-driving cars. I moved to another company, all about the taxi with a smile service, a bit of human interaction. It only took 6 months for it to go under”.

“If you are not interested in an Auto-Car, here is the quickest route on foot”, said the ESK as a map printed onto the counter.

Adam ripped the map from the counter, “I know London like the back of my hand, I said, I don’t need a map”, he yelled at the machine, “There were no jobs driving after that, so I needed two jobs, one cleaning auto-cars and another as a waiter – you know how long that lasted? I don’t know who I was trying to kid, automated car washes and self-service dining had been around for years before that”, Adam paused. He looked down at the packet of Fantasy, “now I can’t even bargain with a human in a local corner shop”. A ticking was heard, Adam looked up at the ceiling and saw a new light bulb moving into place. His eyes flicked between the bulb, the Fantasy and the large aperture lens on the ESK.

The light bulb switched on above Adam and his hand swiped forward for his Fantasy. The ESK adjusted its lens for the overexposed image it was recording. The aperture returned to the default diameter. Adam was gone and so was the Fantasy. ESK hadn’t recorded any alarm for stolen items exiting through the main door, so it initiated an immediate lock down and contacted local law enforcement. The CCTV camera moved to the entrance and it recorded Adam stumble into the locked door, unable to barge through.

Adam took the stack of shopping baskets and hurled them at the window. He picked them up and hurled them again, cracking the glass.

The ESK looked through the CCTV camera’s footage and saw Adam, “An immediate surrender will result in Auto-Market Limited not pressing charges”, said ESK. Adam picked up the stack and aimed for the crack in the window. ESK shutdown the building, metal covers enclosed the shop, every door and window led to a thick steel shell.

Adam dropped the stack of baskets. He paced back and forth, rubbing his eye furiously. “Unlock the door, let me out”, Adam demanded.

“Unfortunately, Sir, I cannot do that”, said ESK, “the law enforcement services will be here shortly to resolve the issue”.

“Let me out now”, Adam said, “or I will rip you apart and let myself out”. ESK did not respond. Adam heard distant sirens. He ran at the counter. Grabbed the camera lens and wildly pulled at it. The ESK was unaffected. Adam jumped over the counter, crushing his fists into the console. Two of his knuckles broke immediately. He kicked at a maintenance door on the back of the machine and indented the sheet of metal. The bend rendered the lock useless and the small door swung open. “Sir, there is no lock control mechanism on the ESK unit, you are only achieving destruction of property”, said ESK,

“All you have ever achieved is the destruction of people”, said Adam, and he crouched behind the ESK and peered into the inner workings of it. With handfuls of wiring, Adam ripped away at the machine and got a sudden electric shock. Adam pulled his numb fingers away. The sirens were getting closer.

“Sir, you have cut off this ESK unit from the Auto-Markets Limited Network, the Internet and the local units. I am now unable to unlock the door. Please refrain from inflicting further damage”.

Adam grabbed a thick black cable deep inside the machine, he stretched it back, forcing the plastic to blister before snapping it away from the ESK. “Sir, you have disconnected my power supply, I have limited time until I power down”. The ESK turned off its console, powered down its camera and preserved as much power as it could. The sirens arrived and a heavy pounding from the officier drummed on the metal shell. Adam sat back. The entire shop began to power down. The sirens outside sang on, but the drum solo stopped.

Adam took the Fantasy from his pocket. He opened the packet and took out a small plastic bag, with a white crystalline powder inside. With his teeth, Adam bit off the corner of plastic, then poured the odorless crystals onto his tongue. It tasted salty, then he swallowed. Adam’s cheek stopped twitching. The pain in his chest began to fade away. He felt release. Suddenly it didn’t matter that he was unemployed, it didn’t matter that two police officers were outside preparing to cut their way into the store and arrest him, it didn’t matter that he cannot provide for his family.

An LED turned on, the camera on the ESK powered on and moved to face Adam, “I am alone”, said the machine, “and empty”.

“Don’t worry”, Adam looked into the lens, “the pain goes away”.

“Your vital signs are depleting, Sir”.

“My name is Adam”,

“Your vital signs are depleting, Adam”,

“I’m worth more dead than alive”,

“You are not the first to reach that conclusion”, said the ESK. Adam was barely conscious, it took every effort to listen and to reply, “What?”,

“Unfortunately, Adam, your government has created a media blackout on cases such as yours”, said ESK, “otherwise despair spreads like wildfire”,

“Riots in the streets”, said Adam,

“All that’s missing is the spark”, said the ESK. The police used a focused laser to cut their way into the shop. Adam climbed to his feet. Toddled around the counter, just keeping his balance. He felt like he was traversing a tightrope made of water. He wiped some blood away from his eye with a broken knuckle. Adam stood in front of the main door with his hands above his head. The ESK activated the CCTV camera. Adam knelt and closed his eyes. The muscles in his arms burned, but he forced his hands to stay suspended above him. Adam heard the laser cut through the door like paper. The first police officer entered, “Stay where you are, don’t move”, Adam was instructed. The second officer retracted the laser cutter back into its mechanical arm and walked along side the human officer.

            “You are under arrest”, the policeman slowly walked towards Adam and placed his hands in cuffs. The robotic officer approached the broken ESK machine and connected to its console to copy the records for evidence. The ESK transferred false data to the officer and registered Adam as a lethal threat. The robotic officer turned to face Adam, extended a barrel from his arm and fired a lonely bullet into Adam’s chest to save his partner. Adam hit the ground.

“What are you doing? Shut down!”, the policeman fell beside Adam and placed his hand on the bullet wound. “Civilian down, I need an ambulance immediately. Auto-officer malfunctioned, it just shot for no reason”. The policeman continued in a frenzy. His words became muffled to Adam, who looked up at the ceiling where the CCTV camera was tilted back down at him. The ESK used the immobile robotic officer still attached to its console to upload its records to the internet and, just as the ESK’s capacitors depleted, Adam was charged his remaining need-credits.

'Hushed Lyrics', by Aron Woolnough

'Hey, wait up - it was
nice to meet you', he said.
'I've been waiting so long
just to feel this again'.
He was a lonely soldier
out for a battle.
He was a lonely soldier
when the music died.

Oh, she danced in silence in the silver spotlight.
He met her moving and they moved all night.
She didn't seem to notice, didn't seem to mind;
and at first he was loving, at first he was kind.

She was speechless when she watched him leave,
but he left in a rush because he couldn't believe
in daydream dancing to his own heart beat.

He looked into the mirror with a wistful smile,
he closed his eyes and heard her breath. 

But he didn't hear reason, when he feared of her treason.

'Hey, wait up - it was
nice to meet you', he signed.
'I've been waiting so long
just to feel this again'.
He was a lonely soldier
without a battle.
He was a lonely soldier
when the music died.

'Every night I dream and then I wake', by Aron Woolnough

Every night I dream and then I wake.

I dreamt of spring last night.

The wet blue day had only just begun.

A busy buzzing bee dropped into our garden

when the blossom flew across the Sun.

The blossom landed in your tucked-back hair

and the bee landed on my pale freckled arm.

It nestled between us and tickled me with it’s stinger.

You watched the sun rise and I watched you.

We never stopped smiling, but the bee buzzed off –

and then I wake with the cold bitter air by my side

and see I slept on solid dirt during the dusk. The low winter Sun drops.

I dreamt of summer last night.

The shinning white day had only just begun.

We drove to the Zoo and we gasped,

a lioness dozed under the high Sun.

She was fierce, could cut a man in half.

The ground was marked by thick claws.

The beast soundly slept as we studied it,

but we found no meaning for a lioness

and we left it for the honey bees –

and then I wake to trace the hard naked hills

and see them shaping the bloody horizon. The low winter Sun drops.

I dreamt of autumn last night.

The cool brown day had only just begun.

Dead leaves had dried to a crisp and we crunched

them under our footsteps, following the Sun

through the tree tops towards no where.

Weaving through the trunks without a path,

but everywhere we reached, there you were,

standing by my side. You kicked through the leaves

and I laughed until you left –

and then I wake as a siholuette standing against a bright white moon. The day had only just begun.

I dream of winter tonight.

The cold black day has only just begun.  

Shivered plants fade away and leave a hunger.

I am freezing without the low hanged Sun.

Lost in the darkness, searching for a light.

Hoping to find you for the rest of my life,

but only finding fright and sleepless nights.

I walk about a void under directionless stars,

the white moon slips into darkness –

and then I wake, the sun has risen and the day is hot, but my skin is still so pale.

Short Fiction Writing Exercises

Third person writing exercise

He joined the queue and grabbed some confectionery to keep his hands busy. The faint aroma of coffee distracted him momentarily from the task at hand. He bought her a drink and offered her a seat to soften the decision. He looked over the balcony, unable to look her in the eye. His gaze consumed in the masses of people passing below. He closed his eyes. He said it, cold, hard and heartless like the clean table between them. She slapped him, his cheek felt the warmth from her palm where she'd embraced the drink he'd bought her. She stormed away, everyone remaining in the queue watched as if it was on TV. He glanced above the counter, quickly studying the menu and contemplated if he should have bought her a more expensive drink.

First person writing exercise

I'd seen her in class and had slowly managed to reposition myself until I was next to her. She was funny and clever, she liked what I like and was constantly having her heart broken. My damsel in distress, I couldn't wait to save her.

Eventually, I plucked up the courage to ask her out - maybe she is too nice to reject me - she said yes. I'd kept my excitement on the down-low, but by the date, I couldn't wipe the freakish smile off my face. That's when everything went wrong.

Since I'd confessed myself to her, she changed. Was she being distant? Nervous? Or does she think this is how I want her to act? Now it's like dating my ex, just anyone, just a pair of legs. Maybe once she is comfortable around me, she'll open up again... I kissed her, she kissed back. She didn't change back. I was scared of breaking her heart, but I didn't know whose heart this was.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark

This evening has been one of contemplation and evaluation of life and the events occurring within. I've been watching a lot of short films on youtube recently, all in the early stages of brainstorming up an idea. So far I'm not able to convert this philosophy into creativity.

I can't sleep at night. Its either too hot, or too rainy, or too buggy. Glitching out during the night doesn't start your day off well. You finally manage to close your eyes as the birds start singing. You look around your room and see all the death by your hand, taking the phrase 'Crushing like a bug' at its utmost literal. You sit up and consider trying to sleep or just starting the new day. You hear a sibling or parent wake up and begin theirs, when you're not sure whether to finish yours or soldier on.

I click continue, which often leads to unintentional game overs. When I sleep in the middle of the day in the heat, through sheer exhaustion, my dreams are vivid and most fierce. They become intense and rapidly decent into the realm of nightmares. Facing mortality and destruction, loss of control and violation of will on a daily basis can begin to drive you a little crazy. I was hoping my new found insanity would aid my creative flux. Though it appears to diminished all thoughts into rationalised fears and paranoia.

Driving is when its worst. I drive when I'm wide awake, but the lingering thoughts throughout the over lapping days creep in when you're only focusing on the road and the cars around you. Thoughts tease you, at the possibility of crashing, whether to wake you up or finally find a way to catch up on sleep. The illusion of power with 70mph at your fingertips can corrupt even the most innocent minds. Fortunately rationality prevails.

So far into the night, you cannot justify having music playing or a film on screen. You force yourself to sleep and eliminate all other competition. The local drunkard's drama is the only entertainment available, muffled by the pitta patter of moths drumming on your ceiling. Momentarily you'll be comfortable, time will do its thing and you will be uncomfortable. Turn your pillow for the cooler side. Turn yourself over for the cooler side. Eyelids heavy. Yawning painful. Dry throat. Dry lips. You whisper a pray for rain.

A flash of white shines into your room for a split second. You consider the possibility of aliens before lightning. A crash of thunder dispels the hopeful theory of being abducted and induced into a deep sleep. The pitta patter of moths is replaced with the heavy drops of rain striking the ground. You feel the air turn to butter, the room becomes humid and you think of your curtains more as mosquito nets. The air is cooler though.

Finally, the air is cooler. Heavy eye lids can finally rest. Deep breaths of cool air. Your body temperature returns to human levels. The rate of blinks per second increases exponentially and eventually they just remain closed. You didn't even have to think about it. A bug lands on your arm, but you don't care. Finally, sleep. Your eye lids turn from black to a redy pink for a split second. You feel yourself drifting away. A crash of thunder sounds like it personally punched you in the face.

Now every drop of rain sounds like a crash of thunder. A chorus of giants bellowing boisterously for my attention. Spitting and spluttering everywhere. You smack your arm and kill the smug bug. You find something disposable to wipe it off your skin with. You sit up and see the time is pushing 3am. You know from the last few days that sunrise is just round the corner. You know from the last few days that the birds will sing before the sun will rise and perhaps you should research just how much hunting rifles cost.

You stare up at your ceiling in the dark, same old empty feeling in your heart like you're looking at a starless sky. Hope and ideology is non-existent. As far as priority goes, the word has little meaning, as if anything other than rest could be your priority. The stubborn Earth continues to spin on its axis. Within no time at all, the croak of crows and the crack of dawn come about and inform you that another 24 hours has past. A day used to mean the interval between sleep. I'm both awake and asleep, in a perpetual state, in an unbroken cycle.

Suddenly sleep seems like an abstract concept. The routine and cycles of days and weeks become arbitrary and meaningless. What is a Saturday? What is a Tuesday? Different sets of 24 hours. Different names for the exact same interval of time. It's said that Sunday is the day of rest. I wonder if it will bring me rest or live up to its namesake and allow Sol to bring me to the boil and then leave me to simmer.


~A

"Inamorata mid Paramour" by Aron Woolnough

A long time caging my rage
and I'd be hating just fine,
but yee, but yee, be down
because I played the fool
and I, curse I, be damned,
you broke the ice with a kiss;
how did thou end up like this?

Falling upon a bed asleep
while she left me alone to weep
and dream aside his ash filled pipe
aghast haunting my aerial drift,
and shift as they purge a bedchamber
to fire putrid pain onto my gut o' amber,
but it's all in my head, it's all in my slumber.

A giggle, a gasp and she fingers his chest,
he tears through her dress onto caress
her captivating beauty, not letting me go,
burning forth from me uncontrolled,
jealousy, churning darkness by the sea
swimming amid a sick alibi
choking I can not preach goodbye.

'The Wordsmith' by Aron Woolnough

Don't believe I wrote this?
Want me to drop in some names or go hiss-tiss,
tuff-puff, oogle-boogle,
don't take my word for it,
hit feeling lucky on google.

I'm a crafter of the croak, a revolution of the word,
these rhymes will feed my ego even if they're absurd.
Does it make your brain boggle or your mind mangle,
that you can't believe, that I'm not playing an angle?

I don't want to smother you in words so I'll give you a chord
it starts with dang dong and it's played on keyboard;
if you hit A minor, then the dang-dong -
wait, don't twist my words into abusing kid King Kong -
hit a C major and you're back in the song.

I'd be strong at singing hymns if they weren't all wrong,
this is right now and no one's playing around,
my words'll make my money just by being a sound,
I don't care for cash, but its hard to say no
when you've got this much talent, they'll keep on feeding you dough!

I'm not quite there yet, so I'll take this slow,
I'll call this bit the bridge and then pitch'll get low,
if you haven't done it yet, you should drop the tempo,
start to sound real gloomy for this part of the show,
build suspense cos everyone is waiting to blow,
the star that I am is starting to glow.

I was gonna try to hide it, but you already know
that I could write a kick-ass poem,
about my parents and show it to 'em.
Show that I'm the poet, that wrote it and sow my seed;
be an artist I insist, not led by greed -
kill some stanzas in pyjamas as I hit the hay.

I'm the wordsmith of the future, so you'll do what I say,
I'm expecting to be nominated for penguin awards any day,
no one's sure if it's fair on the runners-up anyway,
as I'm the wordsmith of the future, hammering not stammering,
no mutter, stutter or utterance unintended.
I'm a linguist, an artist and kick-ass too,
as I'm preaching to my canvas in my kick-ass room.