Tech Support by Alexander Hewitt

 Tech Support
by Alexander Hewitt

    It was a cold winter’s night in the middle of summer, and the clock had  just struck noon when Father Time called tech support. The robotic voice on the other end said that he'd be put through in just a few minutes, and to please wait patiently. 
    "Ordinarily, sure," he said to himself, and problematically, only himself. "But considering my watch is ticking orthogonally, in a few minutes I might not be born. Can we hurry this up?"
    The hold music wasn't great, but it luckily only played for a few years until a less-robotic voice came in before it started.
    "Hello,” the voice said. “My name is Sally, how can I help?"
    "Hi, yes," said Father Time. "I'm trying to get time up and running, and it's going a bit weird."
    "Okay," said Sally. "Yes, I see you've purchased our all-inclusive universe package, and you say the time function isn't working?"
    "Yes, it's running everywhere at once. We need something more… streamlined."
    "And you've tried the hourglass?"
    "Tried it, but the sand didn’t work."
    He stepped aside as a passing planet stopped to un-exist.
    "Did it go upwards instead?" Sally asked. "That's a common issue, easily fixed with a gravity patch."
    "No, it punched me in the beard. So I smashed it."
    "Oh, that's... not meant to happen. How about the sundials?"
    "They turned the sun off."
    "How did-... Did you follow the instructions during setup?"
    "I tried, but they're in a language that hasn't been invented yet. And there’s no pictures!"
    "Right, well it’s nothing to worry about," said Sally. "If you look at the base of the pack, you should see a big red switch."
    Father Time dug through the paper, and cardboard, and extra pieces that made no sense. One of them was a duck. It glared at him, with more menace than a temporally-uncertain duck ever should. This raised several increasingly concerning questions, none of which seemed like a good idea to answer. The duck, honestly, agreed.
    Beneath the sudden-duck lay the package’s base, and a big red switch.
    "Right, got it!” he said, throwing the duck aside. “You mean the giant thing marked 'Do not switch'?"
    "Yep, that's the one."
    "What should I do with it?"
    "Switch it."
    The duck quacked angrily, then started to hatch.
    "And will that make time to go forwards? Linear-like?"
    "Yep, should do the trick," she said. "I will warn you though, it'll probably make a very big bang."

The End

 

This was just a silly little story I kind of liked. It made me chuckle, especially the temporally-uncertain duck. Hopefully it does the same for you.

I've posted it here to coincide with the same story releasing in audio format on my Youtube channel, with me as the narrator. Check it out and hope you enjoy!

- Alexander Hewitt 

 The Final Charge

by Alexander Hewitt

First published in The Mark Literary Review – April 2021

    The last man on earth sat alone in the corner. The light of a summer sun was streaming through the window, landing on the dusty floorboards. The world was silent, no birds, no buzz of insects, no leaves rustling outside. The wood beneath  him was brittle from years of rot, but even that had long since become sterile.
    Now there was just him, sitting in the room, his breath like sandpaper in his ears. His heart beat like a drum, slow, and steady. He counted the beats, trying to ignore his aching legs.
    He reached towards the pile of cans beside him, the results of his days search. The supply would last him a few months if he was careful.
    His hand was trembling as it grasped the nearest tin, and drew it towards him.
    Something thumped. He glanced to the stack of metal food, but nothing had fallen.
    The man shrugged, the sound was probably in his head. He was surprised it had taken him this long to start hearing things.
    He inspected the can, shaking it by his ear. The label was missing, but from the sound it was likely beans. Most of the cans he found were beans.
    Something knocked again, twice. The sound was coming from the door.
    He turned towards the noise, and the door creaked open.
    He placed the can down beside him, and tried to get up. His legs still hurt, but he figured even hallucinations were worth checking. Anything to help pass the time.
    As he started to rise, a figure walked into the room.
    They were tall, draped in a black robe, a hood covering their face, and in their bony grip was a scythe that shimmered in the sunlight.
    The figure turned towards the man. “Hello.”
    The man's voice was dry. He hadn't spoken in months.
    “H-hello,” he said, stammering. He coughed and swallowed, trying to get his vocal cords working. “Who are you?”
    His gaze wandered up and down the lone figure. He admired the shine of the scythe, the depths of the shadows where a face should be, and the way the dust lay undisturbed beneath their feet.
    “I am Death,” said the figure. The voice shivered through the man's bones, and the room grew cold.
    The man blinked, rubbed his eyes and tried thinking of other things, trying to shift the hallucination from his mind. But when he opened his eyes, the figure remained.
    “Have I gone mad?” he asked.
    “What is madness, to a lonely soul?” Death replied. “You have nothing to judge sanity by, but yourself. So no.”
    The man tried rubbing his eyes again, to no avail.
    “Yep, definitely mad,” he said. “Trust my head to come up with that kind of crap.”
    “I'm sorry,” said Death, bowing his head and clutching the scythe. “I didn't mean to upset you.”
    “Who are you?” the man asked.
    “I told you. I am Death.”
    “No, honestly, who are you?”
    “Would you prefer me to lie?”
    The man shook his head. “No, I guess not. Does that mean, I'm dead?”
    “No,” said Death.
    “Am I dying?”
    “Very slowly, but I think your people once called that living. It's intentional.”
    “So, why are you here?”
    “Because,” said Death, “you are the last one. The last of my charges before I rest my scythe for good.”
    “And…?” asked the man.
    “And…” continued Death. "You seemed...lonely…”

*   *   *

    It was another month before the summer days started to cool.
    The sun was low in the sky, casting long grey shadows. They wandered through the old park, dust crunching beneath the man's feet, gazing at tree branches that hadn't sprouted leaves since he was a child.
    “I remember these,” said Death. “These were great oaks, mighty creatures that saw the fall of empires. I was there for them all, in the end.”
    The man kicked at the loose dust beneath his feet, spitting clouds around his shoes.
    “I remember this place too,” he said. “We used to come here as kids. In Autumn, we'd gather up the leaves and jump through the piles.”
    He smiled, chuckling to himself as the memories flooded in. “I used to always try and make the tallest tower, all yellows, reds and oranges, then crash through the middle and make the biggest mess I could. This friend and I would compete, see who could make the tallest pile, the biggest splash. We'd end up with crunched leaves through our clothes for days after that.”
    His smile started to recede as the memories drifted away. He kicked at the dust beneath his shoes again.
    “Why would you do that?” Death asked.
    The man shrugged, and turned to them. “Because it was fun.”
    “Ahh,” said Death, in the tone of one that recognises the answer, but understands it as much as a cat understands how to open cat food. “I've long watched humans, seen your concept of 'fun,' I've never quite grasped its purpose. It's a learning mechanism, yes?”
    “That's probably a part of it,” the man replied. “But really, it's just something you do, because you can. Something that makes you smile.”
    Death considered this a few moments. “Like, chess?”
    “Possibly. Do you enjoy playing chess?”
    “Yes,” said Death. “It is by far the greatest invention of your species.”
    “Not the wheel?”
    “Not even close. I've never had need for wheels.”
    The man grinned. “Fair enough. Who do you play with?”
    “Every so often one of my charges challenge me to a game,” they said. “Trying to win back their life, forestall walking through the next door. I don't have the power to grant that, so I just make sure to win and they seem happy enough.”
    The man chuckled, and watched a spec of dust fall from the tree branches, like snow.
    “Shame you don't have a board,” he said. “I always fancied learning how to play chess.”
    There was a rustle of cloth behind him. When the man turned, Death was holding a thick folded chess set in their hand. It had stone tiles with a yellow and black painted border, and the man could hear pieces rattle inside.
    “I always carry a set with me,” said Death. “Just in case.”
    The man laughed. “Alright, how do you play?”

*   *   *

    The room was cold, and the dark window panes covered in frost. The man's stomach grumbled as he threw another chair leg onto the fire, and he glanced to the small pile of remaining cans. They had  searched for weeks, but every building they found, they had already emptied, and the winter chill made moving at night impossible.
    The firelight danced around the room, shining off of the scythe leant against Death's shoulder, as he captured the man's knight with a pawn.
    “Damn, nice move,” said the man, sitting down to the chessboard again. He hadn't managed to beat Death in a single game, but he liked trying.
    Death didn't react, but the man thought he felt them smiling.
    “Do you give up?”
    “Never!” the man said with a grin. “Watch this!”
    He picked up his second knight, and moved the piece forwards.
    “Your species has always amazed me,” said Death. “Your resilience, your stubbornness.”
    Death selected a bishop with his bony fingers, and captured the second knight.
    “And look where it got us?” the man said. “Just me left, running out of food, and chairs. Supplies will last maybe a month? Two at most.”
    “And yet you keep searching,” said Death. “No matter how many times the world throws you down, you always seem to get back up. Why? Why keep fighting?”
    “It's just how we are, you must have seen human stubbornness before?”
    “Yes, many times,” said Death. “And there's usually something, a loved one left behind, a deed that needed doing, ambition, or fear. But here we are, at the end of everything, nothing left worth the struggle, and you're still fighting. It's incredibly…human.”
    The man chuckled. “You say that like it's a bad thing?”
    “I would never,” said Death. “But I am curious, why do you do it?”
    “Tradition, I guess,” the man said with a shrug. He moved his pawn forward a space. “And, it's how you get better, how you overcome problems like this. You try, and you fail, and you try, and you fail.”
    Death moved their bishop, to take the man's pawn.
    “Until eventually,” said the man, selecting his queen. “You learn.”
    He moved the piece forwards, threatening Death's king.
    “That’s Check, isn't it?” the man said, smiling.
    He felt Death smiling back.

*   *   *

    The sunlight had returned, streaming in through the window, but it held no warmth.
    The man lay in the corner. His stomach had stopped grumbling days ago, and he doubted his legs would let him stand. Death was sitting beside him, the dark cloth of the robe spilling past their feet.
    “Here's a question,” said the man. His voice was weak.
    “Yes?” asked Death.
    “Was I the lonely one, or you?”
    He felt Death smile at him, before turning to the chessboard, and moving a piece. The man didn't have the strength, so Death had been playing both sides for him to watch.
    “What happens to me, after all this?” the man asked, as he had many times in recent days.
    “After you die, I release you from this world,” said Death. “And I walk with you to the next doorway.”
    “And, what happens to you, when I'm gone?”
    Death didn't answer for a few moments.
    “I'm not sure,” they said at last. “You're my final charge. After you, I'm done.”
    The man thought about this, and started coughing, the spasms burning his throat. Death looked down at the board.
    “Would, maybe,” said the man, when he could breathe again. “Would you maybe like to come with me? After all this, I could use a friend.”
    “Friend?” asked Death, looking at him. “You would really want me to...join you?”
    The man smiled. “I would.”
    “I don't know if I can,” they said. “Only the dead can walk through the doorway.”
    “But if I'm the last thing that's ever going to die,” the man said. “Then surely death itself has died? So you'll have to walk yourself through eventually.”
    Death shrugged. “I guess that's one way to look at it.”
    “Good,” he said, coughing one last time. “Then you can come with me.”
    The man closed his eyes, and eased his head back, as one by one his muscles relaxed.
    “...And...don't forget the chessboard.”
    His heart stopped beating.
    Death rose to their feet
    They watched the breath leave him, and whispered: “That sounds like fun.”
    They grasped the scythe, and with one final swing, they released the man's soul from his body.
    His spirit stood up, pain free, and grinned. “Hello.”
    A door appeared in the distance, a dark hole in the world, shining in black.
    Death lay the scythe beside the body, and smiled to their old partner, the job now done.
    “Are you ready?” asked Death, holding out a bony palm. “No regrets?”
    The man smiled at his friend and took their hand. “None.”
    They both walked towards the doorway, hand in hand.
    And together, they stepped through.

    The End

This was the first short story I ever had published, back in another life and another time (kind of, it was like 4 years ago lol) I'm posting it here, partially as the Mark Literary Review which originally published it on their site has since ended its publishing run, and while the archives are still up (link on the 'writings' tab!) I can't guarrantee how long that'll last, so just in case, here we are.

I'm also posting it here to coincide with the release of a youtube video I've made, reading the story into audio. Check it out, hope you enjoy!

Thank you so much for reading, hopefully many more stories will appear in the future, and I can't wait to share them with you.

-Alexander Hewitt

Oh, the places you'll know - Dr Suess parody

 Oh, the places you'll know.

A parody of the Dr. Suess classic, by Alexander Hewitt

Congratulations!
Today is your day!
Your mind is so full
and it's where you can play!

You have brains in your head.
And slippers for shoes.
Your dreams can be steered
to wherever you choose.
You're on our own, and you make yourself tea.
But YOU are the one, who'll decide where to be.

You'll look through the windows, you'll look with great care,
and then you should say, 'I dont choose to go there!'
With your head full of brains, and your mind full of style,
you're too smart to go out in the streets for a while.

You may not be happy
within your four walls,
but the internets great
for expanding your halls.

It's open out there
in the netspace so fair.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do.
There's people to help
and more to talk to!

And then you'll meet friends,
don't worry, don't stew.
Just go right along,
and they'll meet you too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU'LL KNOW!

You'll dream with the mighty!
And create with the best!
You'll craft a new world
and a home for the rest!

You won't lag behind, even while isolated.
You'll join in the world, and the group you created.
Wherever you dream, your heart will be found.
Wherever you make, is where you'll find ground.

Except when you don't.
Because sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly its true,
a lock down
of your town
can hit you right through.

You will be lonely,
and you may be sad,
while the world keeps on typing
and people get mad.

You'll drop from cloud 9
with an unpleasent bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a slump.

And when you're in a slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

Your networks may crash, and your people move on.
The power may die, or the internets gone.
The store shelves are empty, loo roll unseen.
Do you dare to go out? Do you dare to stay in?
How much could you lose? How much could you win?

And IF you go out, while avoiding the crowd...
Where can you go, where are you allowed?
Do you try the big store, where a queue lasts a day?
Or the small corner shops, tucked by away?
its a difficult time, I think all can say.

You can get so confused,
you're tempted to run!
To flee from these lands for some place with more sun.
But that spreads out the virus, oh I'm sorry, no fun!
But home is the place that is safest for one.
YOU, one.

And it just feels like you're waiting,
Waiting for the time to go.
For your food to come, or a plant to grow,
or the mail arrives, but you trust it? No.
For the phone to ring, or the rain to snow.
Just waiting while you feel so low,
and there's things you should be doing but...
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the pubs return.
Or to hear an old friend laugh and learn.
For restaurants on a friday night,
till one day they can fly a kite.
Waiting for that special one,
and kiss them with the setting sun.
For crowds and laughter, drinks and dance!
For festivals, another chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That's not for you!

Just because you're staying in,
doesn't mean that you're alone!
There are people out there waiting
for you to cast your stone!

To skip the pebble on the sea,
and feel at last the ripples free.
It skims across a world of light
to every bodies clear delight.

Oh, the places you'll know! There's fun to be done,
and points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And magical things you can do with those words,
or that paint brush of yours, that can paint the absurd.
There's that voice in your heart that can sing like a bird,
and the internets full of those people, you've heard.

Except when it's not,
and you're all that you've got.

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance,
you'll dream of some things that could scare off your pants!
There are some thoughts, between hither and yon
that can scare you so much, you wont want to dream on.

But on you will go.
Though the dreams be foul!
On you will go.
Though the nightmares do prowl!
On you will go!
Though those demons do howl!
Onward up many a frightening peak,
through your fingers be sore
and the future seems bleak.

On you will go,
one day like the last.
And you'll face down your problems,
and work through the past.

But you aren't alone in these fightening days.
Theres folks to be talking to,
helping you stay.
And those people so strange and alone just like you,
will need all your help,
and together pull through.
This world is a changing, as it always has been,
but the people inside of it
are the greatest vaccine!

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL LOVE ART!

So...
Regardless your name, or where you would start,
those places you'll know?
That place is your heart.
It's time to be making!
Today is your day!
The whole world is waiting.
So...get on your way!

Blog: How to kill an ear worm

I've been thinking and overthingking alot recently. Not the the point of it being a problem, but definitely to the point of it being a thing I should really deal with, like the trash that needs to be taken out, or the green things I should probably be eating instead of the large pizza shaped things that are so readily available and tasty.
And I had this thought today, the kind of thought that helps the other thoughts stand in an orderly row, to be satisfyingly knocked down like dominoes into something visually pleasing:

Ear worms.

I know how to deal with ear worms.

For those that dont know, or that use a different term for this thing, an ear worm is that song that gets stuck in your head. It's that tune that just plays over and over and over and over and over and over and...
yes, that. It's the thing that burrows its way into your mind and plays itself on repeat until it starts to make a living by eating its surroundings.
I've lost sleep to ear worms, I've lost concentration, until one day I figured out how to stop them.

(Point of order, as much as I did think this method up, there is little-to-no-chance I am the first to do so. I should also mention that as far as I know, I do not suffer from OCD or similar conditions that make thought spirals a legitimate health concern. But maybe, if you suffer from such things or not, this might help you, just as it helped me?)

Here's how it goes. You have this song in your head, stuck there, been there for days. It's so happy in your head that its started ordering matching curtains and throw pillows to brighten up the place.
How to get rid of it?
Imagine a room, and a few feet in front of you against the wall, is some manner of music box. It might be a cassete player, an ipod, or a radio. For me, I use a jukebox, the kind from the 50's, with the colourful curved top and the bright lights. (I dont know what that says about me, maybe that I'm old fashioned? Maybe I just like pretty lights.)
Walk up to the jukebox, the music gets louder as you close in. The music is coming from the jukebox itself. Now, change the channel. Put on another song, start flipping through the options, feel the press of the buttons and the shifting of whatever internal mechanims your box has. Make it as real in your mind as possible, and every time you press the 'next' button, think of a new song to overtake the old.
You may well get sick of that new song later, but you can always come back and keep mentally channel surfing until you find something you like.
It takes some practice, but I found it helped.

So with that in mind, here's the thought I had today.
Thought spirals are just earworms. They come from the same mind-speakers in the same imagined-jukebox in the same head as the songs. could they be dealt with the same way?
I wonder, if you're anxious about something, job, relationship, money, can you just...change the channel?
Can you just find another jukebox (or maybe its the same one?) and when you can't stop worrying about the rent thats due sometime in the future, or the deadline at work thats creeping ever closer, could you try instead pushing the button, and remembering that trip you took to that island a few years ago? Maybe the anxiety will come back later, but we could all do with a break once in a while.

It surely can't be that easy...
But...what if it is?

From the wrong time, the wrong place, but maybe the right hat,
-Alexander Hewitt

Poem - The voice behind your eye

The voice behind your eye
By Alexander Hewitt

Tis a story
That is true.
One so told
From me, to you.

A tale that's held
Behind your eye,
So hold it tight
And do not cry.

For eyes are doorways
To the soul,
And tears a carriage
To their goal.

And demons held
Behind such walls
Must never darken
Others halls.

It's sounding grim
But do not fear,
Just smile a grin
From ear to ear.

Block the pain
Behind your heart
And let it fester
From the start.

Feed the beast
In all it's glory.
Feel it grow
In might and story.

Do not let
The others see.
Do not show
The pain in thee.

Do not gather
Help from them.
You don't need it,
Root nor stem.

Relax and let
The darkness grow.
Why should you fight it?
You're too slow.

And in the end
When you're alone,
And you realise
How I've grown...

When tears have left you,
Friends have gone,
And nothing seems
To light your song...

That voice that brought you
Misery...
You will find,
That voice was me.

You and I
Have much to do.
So say goodnight.
This time, it's true.

Eastern europe adventures, and the meaning of cool.

Wow, what an incredible trip its been! Through Romania, Moldova, and into Transnistria, a country that the international community says doesnt exist, that uses a currency not listed on thr stock exchange,where east and west meet in secret, an noone really knows what's going to happen.
It's like walking into a soviet twilight zone. The main streets are covered in beautiful buildings, hiding the far more disshevelled (though still very cool) back roads. In the end though, it is incredible, the people are incredible and they love their country, whetheror not others agree it exists.

I've long held the belief that 'cool' is not a popular vote, it is a personal one. If you think something is cool, then it is. Otherscan disagree with you, (and act accordinly) but they dont get a vote in your world, only in their own.
You like it, you rock it. That is cool.

So on an international stage, the people of Transnistria have their problems (Name me a country that doesnt?) But the way they love the patch land they call home, where monopoly's can rule, where coins can be plastic (Google them,they're beautiful) and where people smile just as wide as anywhere else when they meet a new face, invite you into their home, and share the wealth of fruits from their garden, that is cool.

From the beauty of Romania, the winefields of Moldova, intrigue of Transnistria, we enter Ukraine. Hot spot of eastern europe.

Adventuresto be had.

From the wrong time,the wong place,but maybe the right hat,

- Alexander Hewitt

Romania, First impressions

So, my first taste of Romania.
Not quite what I expected, I will say.
First of all, DAMN IT'S HOT.
Actually its not too bad, mid 30's C, (Google did warn me about this, I'm sure one day I'll listen)
but oh do I miss an air conditioner in the humidity...

Flying in, it seems like a land where nature has not quite lost the fight for dominance. The victory of Man over tree is certain, but the battle yet rages, the pockets of trees blanketing the landscape are still holding on, while their enourmous cousins still fight on the fringes. Swathes of forest lie between the farmlands and cities, parts of Bucharest itself is covered in vines, slowly smothering the walls, street lamps and powerlines into a true urban jungle.

The city, Bucharest, reminds me much of cities in Africa, and South America, the space between buildings, the degradation and construction, the graffiti hidden in the alleyways. Yes, this is partially the European architecture, but i had the thought of unity between them, not as simply buildings, but as the humans who live here. These cities flow into such similar shapes, because at the very core of them live the same species of biped ape, divided by culture, distance and language, but united by who they truly are. They are human, and these cities, are their creations.
It struck me as oddly comforting as we drove through the streets of Bucharest, beneath the vines. This wasnt a new or strange place any more. This was  just another city, beautiful and strange in its own unique ways, yet eternally familiar all the same.
And for humans thay built it, or those wandering through, this is a home.

So, hello to country no. 45, I wonder what you have in store for me tomorrow.

From the wrong time, the wrong place, but maybe the right hat,
 - Alexander Hewitt