Short Story

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Contents

A Short Story - Two Squares a

Thousand Miles Apart - JagerPress. 6

A Short Story: A Romance In Me -

JagerPress ..................................... 30

A Short Story: Provisions Needed -

JagerPress ..................................... 39

A Short Story: Left Behind - Nancy

Smith ............................................. 50

A Short Story: She Sells Sea Shells that

Really Sell - Smartass Publishers .. 56

A Short Story: On Your Bike -

JagerPress ..................................... 63

A Short Story: I’d Hate to be a Shellfish

- Smartass Publishers .................... 83

A Short Story: Putt - James Agerholm

...................................................... 90

A Short Story: Undivision - JagerPress

.................................................... 103

Short Story: Visionary – Smartass

Publishers ................................... 111

A Short Story: Circular Economics -

James Agerholm ......................... 123

A Short Story: A Fair Spark - JagerPress

.................................................... 134

A Short Story: Trending a Mass

Extinction – JagerPress ............... 138

A SHORT STORY: WASHED UP WORDS

– James Agerholm ...................... 150

A Short Story - The Last Human –

Bing’s Chat GPT ........................... 156

A Short Story - A Nomadic Power

Source - JagerPress ..................... 165

SHORT STORY - NOT ALWAYS -

JagerPress ................................... 185

A Short Story - The Symphony of Life -

ChatGPT ...................................... 190

An Intellectual Collapse -JagerPress194

A Short Story - The Honey Baron –

Smartass Publishers .................... 199

Short Story - Tom Forest -JagerPress

.................................................... 215

A Short Story: An Intellectual Collapse

-JagerPress .................................. 231

A Short Story - Two Squares a

Thousand Miles Apart - JagerPress

I sit here looking down the hill.

Below is a scene you would find in a

film, a romantic novel, a poem or even

a dream. The garden that I’m sitting in

is at the top of a large, steep hill in a

countryside landscape. Around me is

sparkling green grass and flower beds

with sprouting colourful flowers

spread all across them. Behind is a

shackled shed; which I can see,

through its windows, all the toys and

accessories - that are now piled in dust

- that we all used to play with when

we were children. Good times, right?

No? Well better times than now, I

think? It’s the middle of the summer in

a sunny late afternoon and I feel

relaxed, but still a bit wound up.

Below there’s the house’s garage

and what used you to be a white

coloured Volvo, then there’s the

concrete road and over a tall hedge

there is a glorious, orange flickered

sunset. Below this, although I cannot

see them, I know there is a much

busier road, a couple of fields, pine

trees and a small river. I decide I need

to go for a walk.

I drag myself up and pick up my

hand bag. I look down at my feet -

heels are never good for a long walk -

so I walked down to the path that

passes by my great aunt’s bungalow

and it’s front garden towards the

backdoor of our house which takes me

into a white coloured tiled designed

kitchen where I take my heels off

carefully and put my trainers on not so

much. I stand up, pull my long red hair

back into a pony tail and walk back out

onto the same gravelled built garden

path.

It’s amazing how the type of foot

wear you wear can affect your day; it’s

seen as a social advantage in my social

demographic, but damn do heels hurt

sometimes. At work we feel like we

have to wear them, even our own boss

who owns the marketing company

wears them, so they are kind of my

first choice of foot wear in the

morning. While I walk past the garage

and the car, I feel like I’m bouncing

with my trainers on, maybe I should

talk to her, my Boss, about this and

perhaps create a Facebook page about

it; although I’m sure there’s one

already.

I’m on the road now, it has no

pavements, but it’s relatively wide

when it turns down the hill and I’ve

walked down it so many times before

in my life that I know the traffic is

scarce so I wander off to the point

where road curves down the hill rather

far too carelessly.

As I walk down the hill I’m shaded

by the tall evergreen trees by each

side and this is only broken by the

driveways of the large houses of what

I presume are owned by international

millionaires or business men and

women who work and live in the city

in the week and only come here in the

weekend now and again.

I reach the end of the hill and

there’s a pavement to my right. I look

both ways, a Jaguar went past at

speed, but after that I could’t see any

further vehicles speeding towards me,

just a few at the other end of the road

turning up another hill that will take

them to town, so I cross the road to

the other side. Fifty meters or so to my

right is a bridge that will take me to

the river’s bank, I notice a sheep in the

field staring at me quizzically. I

remember, when I was eleven and was

camping in a field one morning, while I

was still in my tent and in my sleeping

bag, I saw the head of a sheep pocking

into a paper bag - which contained the

snacks that my mum had sent to me

the other day - that was in my tent’s

patio. I shouted at it and it run off

frantically; not surprisingly I didn’t

touch any of those snacks afterwards

and must have thrown it into the dust

bin bag in our group’s site, it’s funny

how you remember these things.

I walked over the bridge and down

to the river which was shaded like the

road down the hill was. I walked a bit

further until I saw a little boy trying to,

unsuccessfully, skipping stones across

the river’s surface. To his side was a

large Golden Labrador; this saw me

first and barked amiably while it

pattered towards me on the dried

mud like surface of the river’s

embankment. It brushed its nose at

my leg and looked up at me

pleadingly. I padded and ruffled its

head and it made a dog like smile and

a noise of acceptance as if I was his or

hers - I wasn’t quite sure yet- new best

friend and it sat down beside me. The

boy, who had noticed that his dog had

disappeared, was walking towards me.

When he got to me, I said.

“Hi, sorry about that I didn’t

intend to steal your friend.”

He smiled “No worries, she does

that to everyone, especially if she

hasn’t met them before.” He then said

“I’m Charlie, what’s your name.”

“Hi Charlie” I replied “I’m Lucy,

that was very mature of you, how old

are you?”

“Mature? I don’t know about that.

I had my ninth birthday a few weeks

ago.”

“Happy birthday Charlie, still

aren’t you a bit too young to be here

on your own.”

“Oh no, no, my uncle is just

coming back, he’s just saying goodbye

to my mum, he said I could come and

play at the river.”

“He did, did he? Hmmm… I don’t

think that’s the best idea in the world.

I tell you what, I’ll stick around until he

gets back.”

“If you like,” said Charlie “but he’ll

be back soon”

“Ok I’ll just sit over there on the

bench until then.”

I sat there with the dog - whose

name I had discovered was Leyla –

while Charlie skipped stones across

the river which he got, over time, very

good at.

Ten minutes or so later I noticed a

tall, quite handsome man walking

towards us. He wore a white t-shirt,

black jeans, trainers -which were a bit

more fashion intended than mine –

and a shaved head, with a healthy tan.

He looked at me “Hey Charlie I see

you have found yourself a new

friend?”

Charlie shrugged and briefly

looked away from the river and said to

him.

“Yeah, she was just walking by.

Leyla seems to like her.”

I stood up from the bench and

walked towards the man and shook his

hand. “Hi, I’m Lucy.” and then said to

him - while trying to mimic my

mother’s most authoritative,

disappointed tone - “I stuck around as

I thought leaving a little boy like your

nephew on his own is a bit worrying.”

He smiled “Hi Lucy, I’m Aaron,

don’t worry about him. Charlie’s not

your normal little boy and I wasn’t too

far away.”

“Even so, leaving him here on his

own near a river?”

“I was just having a final chat with

my sister before we left and he was

getting a bit restless.”

“Oh, well. Do you live nearby

then?” I asked hopefully.

“No, no. We were just passing by

to see how she’s doing.”

“He doesn’t live with his mum?”

Unfortunately, no. I tell you what

it would be much easier, if you’re free

of course, if I took you to see her, she

always likes meeting new people.”

“For sure, I have time and I also

like meeting new people.”

We all wandered up the path in

the direction that Aaron had just come

from while Charlie kept picking up

stones and skipping them across the

river’s surface - repetition is the best

way to learn I thought to myself.

Before we got to the house that, as

Aaron had said before wasn’t very far,

he explained that Charlie stayed with

him in the city - where he worked as

an editor for one of the large broad

sheets - because his sister wasn’t well

enough to look after him.

When we got to the front door

Aaron rang the bell and pretty soon

the door was opened by a young

blonde woman.

“Hello Mr Shaw, did you forget

something?”

“No, no Nova. I just have someone

who would like to meet my sister.

Nova this is Lucy, Lucy this is Nova my

sister’s house nurse. You wouldn’t

notice it because of her amazing

English, but she’s from Sweden

“Mr Shaw, sorry I’ve got to go and

set up her dinner in the kitchen, she’s

where she was when you left.” said

Nova to Charlie’s uncle.

“Thanks” he replied and walked

towards a double door at the other

end of the corridor. I followed him

with Charlie and Leyla behind me.

When we had passed the doubledoors

I found that we were in a living

room with a radio on. I noticed a

woman in a wheel chair on the other

side of the room with tubes up her

nose and cannula tubes inserted into

her arms that went up to plastic bags

with fluorescent coloured fluids in

them. These hung off the top of a

metal pole with wheels at its base. She

must have been only a few years older

than me.

“Lucy please meet my baby sister,

Molly.” Arron announced.

I didn’t really know what to say so

I just gave her a little wave and a

smile.

“Sorry Lucy, I didn’t tell you. My

sister is blind so she can’t see you, but

she can hear, talk and feel touch.”

“Oh.” I replied apologetically “I’m

so sorry…Hi Molly, I’m Lucy, it’s very

nice to meet you”.

“Don’t worry about it…you too”

she replied to me with a happy tone

that was not expressed on her still

face.

I stepped forward and shook her

hand which was limp and I was doing

most of the movement, but I noticed

something close to a smile crossing

her lips.

I then whispered to Aaron “What

happened to her?”

“Don’t worry about whispering,

she doesn’t mind people talking about

it, especially as she can’t remember

anything about it at all. In two

thousand five Molly and her husband

were coming back from seeing me in

London and a bomb went off in their

bus. Charlie’s dad died immediately,

fortunately though Molly was rescued

by the paramedics. She lost her eye

sight and broke both of her legs and

she was taken to a London hospital

where me, her friends and family

came and saw her. After this though

she got a serious hospital infection

and started to have epileptic seizures.”

“How awful…. did you sue them?”

“Then we were far more

concerned about her health than

anything else and were very restrained

about the idea of taking legal actions

against the NHS. When we got her

back home four years later and we

could see how badly it had affected

her and we considered it, but after

contacting a couple of laws firms we

found out that you could only take

legal actions for healthcare

malpractice against such infections in

the first two years since the diagnosis

of the infection. Fortunately, I could

look after Charlie, who was only two

years old then, and her husband,

Leslie, had life insurance which paid

for the house’s mortgage and some

other things. I was also able to

contribute to private home care

otherwise she would still be stuck in

hospital.

Then Nova came into the room

with a tray piled with tea cups, milk,

sugar and a kettle which she put it

down on a coffee table very carefully

and poured tea into the cups. She then

asked me pleasantly:

“Would you like milk and sugar

with yours Lucy.”

“Just milk please, thank you.” I

answered politely.

She then asked Aaron the same

question who said he would have the

same as me as he was trying to reduce

his sugar intake at the moment. She

then gave Charlie a glass of apple juice

and a dog bowl of water to Leyla. She

then went back to the kitchen.

“She sounds nice.” I said to Aaron.

“Yes.” he replied “Molly needs

several carers; one in the day, one

overnight and they need time away as

well. I had lots of interviews to make

sure they were right for her as she’s

still quite young and I wanted people

who she can socialise with. Nova is

probably my favourite and she often

take’s Molly out when she’s not

working and she gets to meet Nova’s

friends.”

We sat around for another hour or

so chatting until he looked at his

watch.

“Sorry Charlie and I have to go, so

we don’t get stuck in traffic. You

should come back with us before it

gets too dark.”

I agreed and after we gave our

good byes to Molly and Nova we all

went back to the river. When we got

back to the path, I asked Aaron.

“How often do you and Charlie go

and see his mum”

“I’m always really busy at work so

generally I don’t have the time and I

only see her every three months or so.

Charlie sees her a bit more often in the

school holidays as my colleagues and

friends offer to give him a lift but,

except for her care workers and now

and again Nova’s friends, she doesn’t

see people very often.”

“Don’t her friends come and see

her?” I ask.

“They did initially when she was in

hospital and when she first came

home, but they all have boyfriends,

girlfriends, spouses and families now; I

can’t remember the last time one of

them came and saw her. When we talk

about them there is some bitterness,

but she hasn’t expressed her

frustration about it to me yet so I’ve

let it go.”

“Well I don’t live that far away so I

can come and see her now and again

and we can have a chat.”

Aaron smiled “Yes, I think she

would really like that.”

We continued talking until we got

back to bridge and he said to me his

car was just over there. I looked and

there was one of those smart electric

cars that have come out recently,

sitting there on a side road to the right

of the bridge. He gave me a hug; said

we should keep in touch and he gave

me his business card. Charlie said

goodbye and Leyla excitedly licked at

my hand while I was trying to pat her

on her head. When they drove off, I

waved back.

While I was walking back home up

the hill, I thought about earlier that

day, why was I so miserable, life could

be so much worse. Going to see Molly

when I can will remember me about

this and I’ll have a new friend.

http://www.jagerpress.com/ShortTalesfromtheMiddleEast

A Short Story: A Romance In Me -

JagerPress

What is romance? Is it an activity,

an event, a thought or is it just an

autonomic production of a series of

neurochemicals in your amygdala that

tells you that he or she would be a

perfect biological match for you?

Honestly, if any pretty girl glances at

me and smiles then romance goes

straight out of the window.

I’m sitting here on a park bench,

looking at the tall DIY wall that

separates the real world from the

concert. I’m wearing my standard blue

jeans and white trainers with a black

hoody with the hood over my head.

I’m wearing a pair of sunglasses even

though it’s not exactly sunny and I

know I look like a bit of a douche, but

so be it. I have my blue tooth ear

phones plugged into my ears although

I’m not listening to any music and I’m

smoking a roll up with its nicotine

infusing into my lungs, with the taste

of the smoke climbing across my

tongue and all the other sensitive

orifices that surround it. I know it’s

probably going to kill me or at least

reduces my chances of having a

healthy life, but life is made of out of

chances; sometimes they go your way,

sometimes they don’t…it’s called luck.

Once I remember reading a maths

book and it was talking about

statistics; it said that your results can

only be reliable if you have thirty

specimens in your test and you can be

even more certain about your results if

the number of your specimens

increases.

There must be like a thousand of

smokers over that wall, maybe I will be

the lucky one, you never know. A

group of teenage girls walk pass me,

giggling together as if they knew a

secret that everyone should know, but

they’re not going to tell anyone else. A

park security staff walks over to me;

he looks like he’s from Poland or

somewhere like that. He then starts

talking to me and I know he’s from

somewhere like that.

“You shouldn’t be smoking here!”

I point to the wall where the music

is coming from. “There’s like a cloud of

tobacco over that wall in the concert,

why are you targeting me???”

“The concert has its own security

staff and rules, but this park is strict

about smoking even though it’s a

public area.”

“Ridiculous.” I sneer, but I still

throw my fag onto the concrete path

and stamp it out and the security

guard walks off.

The girls are still lurking around

the hot dog stall, laughing and

pointing at me, but I ignore them.

Life’s too short to think about such

things like that. Now I know the

Eastern Europe guy has gone I roll up a

new roll-up, spark it, lean back on the

bench and stare up into the grey,

cloudy sky, feeling each ember from

the cigarette dropping onto my lap

and the grass below the bench.

After I’ve finish, I get up, throw the

stub away and walk towards the hot

dog stool. The girls are still giggling

and are looking at me suspiciously.

Over the time I’ve been here I’ve got

on well with the guy who own’s the

hot dog stool.

“Hi Bobby, how you doing?” I ask

him.

“I’m good mate, thanks, want your

usual?”

“Yeah that would be great,

cheers.”

I watch him taking a pair of steel

pliers from the rack just behind him

and he plunges them into the boiling

oil filled vat to his right. He quickly

retrieves a steaming frankfurter from

the vat and places it into a long white

roll. He then asks me. “Wanna some

sauce buddy?”

“Nah mate, I’ll do it myself.” I

reply nonchalantly.

I give him cash and he gives me

the hot dog with his gnarled, burnt

hands, I presume - just like everyone

else does - that he cleans them often. I

grab a ketchup bottle from the store’s

shelf and spurt ketchup over the hot

dog successfully; I consider mustard or

mayonnaise, but decide that this

would be a bit excessive and I walk

away munching on my hot dog.

The group of girls were still there,

giggling and glancing at me. I ignore

them and take my phone from my

pocket and click on my music player. I

play Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 in D

minor which drains down my ear holes

and through my ear drums exquisitely.

My main love for classical music is that

it’s just so, so different to what I

normally play and listen to with my

mates. I feel like I’m learning

something new every time I listen to

it.

I walk pass the gigs main entrance

and walk around to the other side,

which takes me about fifteen minutes

as it’s a big gig. I start strolling up to a

green door in the DIY wall. On both

sides there are two large, gorilla

shaped, suited up security men. They -

like me - are also wearing sun glasses

and in this grey day they also look like

douches. I take my hoody off and

when I get closer one of the men,

without saying anything, opens the

door for me and I walk in.

When I get in I’m jumped by this

pretty, red haired girl who’s in her

earlier thirties. She’s Sarah, my new PR

“Jack where have you been? Your

next! The band are setting up behind

the stand. You ready?” she asks me

with concern.

“Babe, I’m always ready.” I reply

with a smile “You shouldn’t worry so

much!”

http://www.jagerpress.com/thebreakingclause.html

A Short Story: Provisions Needed -

JagerPress

“No, no, no…” Isabelle laughed as

she sat there at the stern, with her

bare legs crossed over. “…you don’t

put sails up like that!”

Charlie frowned, feeling slightly

embarrassed about the situation he

had found himself in. It can’t be that

hard, they were just sheets of fabric

that you put up a pole with ropes;

however, at the back of his head, he

knew this was how he felt when his

girlfriend ever asked him to change

their bed until he actually started

making it.

Last month he had decided that a

trip would be good for their

relationship and what was one of the

best ways to prove his masculinity to

her at the same time? Rent a sailing

boat and cross the English Channel to

a bed and breakfast in Calais would do

it, none of this wimping out and

getting a ferry or the Eurostar! He had

said to Isabelle that it would be great,

he had sailed once before when he

was at school, so he was sure it would

come back to him quickly.

Unfortunately, he had also

presumed that the boat they had

rented would come with a main sail

that did not detach its self from its

mast when they had only just got five

miles away from the coast. He was

now halfway up the mast with strings

and rigging flailing in all directions

while the wind ripped the sail off its

grasps and clips that he was trying to

secure it to. The boat hire guy had

offered them an electric motor just in

case, but Charlie had coolly rejected

the offer; as they say, pride comes

before the fall.

Charlie also noticed that they were

being pushed, by the wind, into the

wrong direction. Rather than Calais

their final destination was quickly

becoming closer to Greenland than

the north of France.

Isabelle uncrossed her legs before

pointing out to Charlie:

“You know, I could help?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll sort this

out soon, don’t worry.”

Then the boat hit something solid

and it stopped abruptly. Jack had just

been able hang onto the mast while

Isabelle had been able to hold onto

the tiller and they were now no longer

speeding off to the north of the

Atlantic, but the boat’s hull had also

run into a sand dune and sea water

was slowly trickling over the starboard

side over the bow onto the boat’s

deck.

Isabelle, while rolling her eyes and

putting a bucket to catch the dripping

water, said to Charlie with an

exasperated sigh.

“Get down from there, at this

point in time there’s no advantage of

having a sail even if it was working.”

“But….”

“More importantly though I need

your weight to help to balance the

boat, I’m too light to have any effect.”

“But what do know about

sailing???” The bucket was now nearly

overflowing.

“Well clearly more than you.”

Isabelle replied sarcastically but

somehow affectionally at the same

time. “It’s simple mathematics.”

Charlie had now dropped down

from the mast and Isabelle ordered

him to drag all their stuff to the port

side of the boat. Slowly the starboard

side rose from the sand dune and the

dripping into the bucket became less

and less frequent until it finally

ceased.

The problem of the boat being

flooded had been resolved, but as it

had now been detached from the sand

bank, they were now bobbing around

on the waves aimlessly, following the

currents.

“Right, well thanks, good thinking

Izzy,” said Charlie “….but I’m sure

when I had got the sail up, with this

wind, it would have pulled us back on

course.”

Isabelle rolled her long black hair

into a pony tail while replying to him.

“Yeah, yeah, right! Sure!”

They both looked up at the mast,

there was the sail; it was only attached

to the top of the mast, flying and

flickering in a line against the light,

grey sky.

“So, what now captain?” Isabelle

asked him sarcastically, this time

though with significantly less affection.

“Well, I’m sure I can get the sail

working soon…”

But while Charlie was saying this,

there was a stronger gust of wind and

the last connection the sail had to the

mast broke with a noise that sounded

like a whip crack and it was blown into

the far horizon.

Isabelle pouted. “Well right, OK,

now we only really have one choice!”

“What would that be?” Charlie

responded aimlessly; watching the sail

flying further, further away while it

sailed higher and higher up into the

bleak coloured sky.

“We’ve got to swim back!”

He jerked back suddenly and

stared at her as if she had told him

that the world was flat and it was

carried by a giant turtle. “You’re

crazy!”

Isabelle had now opened one of

their cases and brought out her purple

bikini and his swimming trunks.

“We’re moving away from dry land

quickly; we have to go now!”

“But you’ll get hypothermia and

you’re not strong enough to swim that

far.”

She pulled her shorts off. “I think

I’ll be fine. Either way it gives us a

chance, better than us getting lost in

this current and find ourselves in the

middle of the ocean.”

“But…”

However, Isabelle was already

putting her clothes into a plastic bag

and was walking to the port side. She

looked back at him.

“You coming?”

Jager Press

https://www.jagerpress.com/poems.html

A Short Story: Left Behind - Nancy

Smith

Every bloody morning in every

bloody week, I get up, rush off to

the same bus stop to get the same

damn, stupid number 31 bus to get

to work. When I eventually get to

the office I sit down on the same

dumb, boring wooden desk, stare

at the same dizzyingly bright HD

screen that burns into my retina -

making me more and more short

sighted every day- and type the

same numbers onto the same

stupid greyish, dusty, keypad.

It’s just so mortifyingly boring I

feel like, if nothing else, repetition

on its own is going kill me. I’m

certain there’s something in every

human’s mind that works like

some monotony, kill switch – it’s

evolved to remove the ones of us

who are clearly a dead end in the

development of the human species.

I stare down the same window,

that I’ve been staring down

through for the last, same five

years, onto the same, stupid road,

watching the same, mindless traffic

buzzing up and down it

relentlessly every day. When I was

young, I had plans, big plans – I

was going to be like a doctor, an

academic or something like that, I

was going to change things, do

something with my life. None of

this sitting here all day long,

talking to no one, seeing no one,

slowly dying in loneliness.

My only colleague is my

computer and my only companion

at home is Buzzy, my Cockapoo.

We watch football and everything

else together, he’s a good dog

really, even if one of the first

reasons that I got him was to pick

up a girlfriend or at least to meet

new people. It seemed like an

excellent plan at first, one of my

best, but the first part of it failed as

it seemed that Buzzy was just far

too adorable for me to have any

proper conversations with the

women who came and pat on his

head and talk to him when I take

him for walks in the park and

along the canal. The second part,

the one where I was supposed to

meet new people, well the same

thing as the first and, well, other

dog walkers, well yeah, they’ll be

polite to me, but like everyone else,

there also just far too busy to have

a proper conversation with me.

It’s not like I’ve always been

such a looser, I used to have

friends, quite allot of them actually,

but we all grew up and they got

girlfriends, mortgages, had

weddings and they became

doctors, academics or something

like that and they all kind of forgot

about me, even when I see them I

don’t know what to say, our lives

are just so different it’s just so

difficult not to sound bitter or

jealous when I’m with them. It’s

not nice being left behind.

https://revitalise.org.uk/

A Short Story: She Sells Sea Shells that

Really Sell - Smartass Publishers

Living on the beach in northern

England has never been particularly

cool, especially after all the mines and

factories closed in the seventies and

eighties and the money that came

with them disappeared. There ‘aint

much to do here, especially if you’re

someone like myself who dropped out

of school when I was fifteen ‘cos my

brother and dad were too ill to live

without someone looking after them.

Mum ran off with that Portuguese

handyman ten years ago and I hated

her for doing that to us and I’m still

bitter about it, but over time I’ve got

used to this being just a matter of fact.

Follow inspiring, new, fresh music at

https://soundcloud.com/connollytunes

As I never leant any skills and

because of the time I needed to look

after my dad and brother, there

weren’t many employers who would

take me on, so there wasn’t much

money around most of the time.

Nevertheless, every summer there’s a

fair on the beach and if the weather’s

good we often get a lot of tourists so I

always took the most of the

opportunity and set up a stool.

Although I dropped out of school, I

read a lot and, as the money was

limited, I read what was most

available. Fortunately, one thing that

the local council hadn’t taken away

from the town was the library and I

spent a serious amount of my free

time there. It had lots of interesting

academic books, one of which talked

about the natural history and artefacts

that still resided in the local caves

across the beach, so in the summers,

when the tide was out, I used to go

salvaging and pick up all the pretty

shells and all the other ancient

artefacts that I could find in them.

Every year my stall became more

and more abundant with all the

trinkets and treasures I had

appropriated from the caves.

After a few summers the

repertoire of goodies I had been able

to forage from the caves had got a bit

of following - especially after I made

the website at the library. Once a lady

had come all the way from York city

where she was the managing assistant

at a Roman museum in the city and

she recognised a broach, which had

diamonds embedded in it, from a

Roman officer’s uniform on my stool.

She tried to give me a low offer, a

hundred pounds, but because of my

reading and research I knew exactly

how much it was worth, and

eventually we agreed for five million.

Recently I’ve heard that the

broach has been moved to the British

Museum and has been valued five

times as much but never mind, we

now have a mansion over the sea with

private health support for my brother

and dad which has, not surprisingly,

improved their opportunities in life.

My brother leant to ride a bike last

year which I was very excited about.

For me personally, I can now spend

more of my time reading and growing

my new start up, “Artefactual

Treasures Ltd.”. Recently I received an

offer from an American Business man

for a pearl which we had found in

Cornwall which is worth much, much

more that than the broach ever was.

Exciting times, think positive and read.

https://www.jagerpress.com/thebreakingclause.html

A Short Story: On Your Bike -

JagerPress

“WAKE UP, IT’S A BEAUTIFUL

MORNING.”

“WAKE UP, IT’S A BEAUTIFUL

MORNING.”

I groan, reach out blindingly across

my bedside table - knocking several

items off it while doing so - before I

find my phone and press the home

button to stop that damn tune

bleeping at me. I used to like that

song, but now, after making it my

morning alarm, I have subconsciously

become to hate it more than any other

noise, especially at this time in the

morning. I drag myself off my bed,

noticing that the left bedroom’s

window is still swinging in the wind -

something my landlord still hasn’t

fixed yet - and I go to put my t-shirt

and jeans on. I don’t need to dress

smartly today as I will be just doing

rounds this morning and I’ve got to

change into my scrubs when I get to

the hospital anyway. I decide to skip

breakfast as I can get something when

I get to work, so I go to my ensuite

bathroom where I brush my teeth and

wash my face. It looks sunny outside

and my weather app informs me that

there should be no rain so I put on my

rucksack and pick up my foldup bike

from my studio flat’s short corridor

and I walk out into the communal

area.

I had been quite keen on the idea

of getting a foldup bike for quite some

time as it meant I didn’t have to cycle

that ridiculously, stupid steep hill that

sat before my flat when I ever got back

from work in the evening if I didn’t

want to as it would allow me to have

the option to jump on a bus with it.

However, the price of the machine and

the fact that I had a bike already did

make this sound like a bit of a fool’s

errand. Also, over time, this notion

became less and less important as I

became fitter and fitter as I kept

cycling to the top of that hill.

Nevertheless, after the seat of my

bike got swiped after I had locked it up

outside of a charity that I had been

volunteering at one afternoon and

then, two days or so after the seat had

been replaced the whole thing got

nicked just outside of my building one

night, I came to the conclusion that a

fold up would be worth the

investment.

I trot down a flight of stairs, push

the front door open and walk into the

paved front garden of my building. I

unfold the foldup bike into its working

state - a process the took me about a

couple of weeks and many YouTube

videos to get right – and I wheel it to

the curb, check that there are no other

vehicles coming and I rode towards

the traffics lights at the cross junction

with the high street.

I push myself up a couple short

slopes, pass my old school and reach

the top of that ominously mountain

like hill that I mentioned. Now I’ve

been able to reach to the top it

without any stops, even with the

smaller wheels of my foldup, I’m

finding the descending the hill nearly

as perilous as ascending it. What will

happen if my breaks fail, what if the

car behind me drives into me even

though I’m on the side where I should

be! What if I hit something? All these

things I put out of my mind as I change

the gears of my bike and plunge down

the ominously narrow road that climbs

the hill, feeling the air flying pass my

ear lobes, nostrils and all pf my other

body’s extremities.

I can hear the wheels clicking

faster and faster and I know I’ve got to

soon hit the brakes; not too hard as

that could be a disaster, but just hard

enough to reduce gravity’s capacity to

pull me to its desired gradient,

absolute zero. Or maybe the degree is

hundred and eighty, I don’t know,

maybe it’s just a philosophical

question and the maths is irrelevant.

I’m a medical doctor, I’ve been trained

not to doubt myself so let’s stick with

zero I think as I tighten my grip on the

bicycle’s break leavers.

Soon I’m halfway down the hill,

carefully allowing the drivers behind

me to go pass even though I know, at

their supposed speed on a twenty mile

limit road, they should not be going

pass me as I’m definitely going

somewhere near that, but that’s not

my job, I just fix the casualties that

their carelessness causes. I wonder if

their perception would change if they

had seen the number of horrific

injuries and deaths their behaviour

causes; for some reason I doubt it. It’s

like smoking, drugs and alcohol, speed

is an addiction, they know it can cause

harm, but they think they’re just

better than that and they’ll get away

with it.

Then the car in front stops right in

front of me and I have to press down

on my brakes hard so I don’t run into

it. It puts on its back lights and I think

what the hell are you doing, you’re not

giving me any indication about what

you’re going to do. Maybe someone is

ill in the car, maybe they’re going to

drive back into me, maybe they’re

going to stay there blocking me and

everyone else behind me. And so, I tap

on the back of the car’s back window

and an angry male shaved head pops

out of the driver’s window.

“Oi!!!”

“What are you doing?” I ask him

with an exasperated tone.

“Cleary we’re parking!”

I look to my left and one of the

parked cars – which are one of the

reasons why the road is so narrow – is

inhabited and it looks like it is starting

to move so I roll my eyes and shrug

“Clearly I couldn’t have known that

but you are causing a hazard at this

very movement in time.”

“Just go around me.”

“I’m certainly not going to drive

around you into the incoming traffic

and risk my life like that. However now

I know what you’re doing I’ll wait.”

“Suit yourself!” And the man’s

head disappears back inside.

There are some horns from the

cars and vans behind me and I twist

back with one hand on my bikes

handles, shrug and indicate to the car

in front of me. Then a white van

behind the car that is behind me starts

to move and goes pass me. It tries to

go around the car that’s causing this

delay but I then hear a series of

crunching noises.

The van has stopped and a red

motor bike is lying on the tarmac on

its side on the other side of the road

with a figure to the side of it. The man

in the white van looks shocks and is

just sitting there in his seat. I get off

my foldup bicycle and I start walking

over to the body. I noticed that the

driver in the parked car had got out

and I called over to him.

“Call an ambulance, tell them

we’ve got an RTA.”

“Sure, sure.” he replied slightly

nervously before taking his phone out

from his pocket and calling the

emergency services.

As he was doing this, I knocked on

the initial car’s front door which is

pushed open rather viciously.

“What!!!” said the shaved head

man from before.

I noticed he was around my age, in

his late twenties or early thirties and in

the passenger’s seat sat a lady who

had long blonde hair. “Go and check

on the driver of the white van and

make sure he doesn’t drive off. And

write down the vehicles number plate

will you.” I say to him.

“We don’t have time for that,

we’ve got a room booked.”

I scowl at him “Mate, although this

wasn’t directly your fault; you

indirectly caused this situation by

stopping in middle of the road.”

“Why don’t you do it???” he

responded rather sourly.

“’ ’cos I’ve got to check on the

person who was just got knocked off

their motorbike.”

“Don’t they need like a doctor

though, someone with experience or

something. You don’t want to make

things worse, do you???”

I roll my eyes “I am a doctor and I

do have experience. Please just do

what I ask you to do will you, we don’t

have time to argue about this.” And I

walk off impatiently.

As I get closer to the casualty, I

notice there’s long black hair coming

out from under the helmet and the

black motorbike suit that the it was

wearing had the proportions of a

woman, but you couldn’t make

assumptions like this these days.

As I knelt down, I notice that the

blonde woman had got out of the car

and was shouting out at the man, who

was still sitting in the car. She then

stormed off to the white van.

Before opening the visor of the

helmet, I unstrapped the helmet to

reduce any respiratory problems it

might cause. When I had open the

visor I saw two startling bright blue,

scared eyes and the top half of a

certainly female face. Then I heard.

“Wha…? Wha…? What just

happened?”

I automatically switch to my

professional patter. I haven’t done

Accident and Emergency for years but

the spiel came back naturally.

“Hi, I’m a medical doctor and

you’ve just been knocked off your

motor bike in a road traffic accident.

An ambulance is coming! Please try

not to move.”

I look back and I see other people

who have got out of the cars, but not

the man in the white van or the man

who had instigated this situation by

stopping in the middle of the road. I

shout over:

“I need someone to help me to

remove the casualty’s helmet so I can

make sure there’s no bleeding. Are

there any medical professionals here

as it’s a two persons job?”

The blonde, whose walking

towards me and is holding a paper

notepad which looks like it has the

white vans number plate and the

driver’s details on it, says to. “I’m a

physiotherapist at UCH, I can help.”

“Great.” I say to her “Could you

secure…” but she stops me.

“It’s OK, I know what to do, I

worked as a mountain crisis rescue

paramedic before I came to London.

“Ok, well that’s fortunate.” I reply

while I secure the helmet with my

fingers splayed open on both sides of

it and she does the same with victim’s

head from the neck side. Then I rock

the helmet back and forth off her head

while the therapist holds her head

stable.

“My name is Sophie” says the

blonde while she takes her jumper off

before putting it below the victim’s

head so I can put it down without it

touching the road. “I’m sorry about

the guy who I was with in the car. I

foolishly gave him my number last

night and he persuaded me to get

brunch with him at his hotel this

morning.”

The casualty then said to me “My

left shoulder is killing me?”

Sophie said to her “You’ve

probably dislocated your shoulder. I

saw the van hitting you and how you

fell.”

“Yes,” I support Sophie’s diagnosis

“from what I can see that’s probably

right, but we be can’t be certain until

we get you to the hospital. It’s

probably best if you stay there until

the ambulance gets here.”

“Oh OK, my name is Alice Hones

and I don’t have any other medical

ailments if that is helpful?”

“Very good, very good, very

good.” I say to her “ Do you have

anyone who I can give a call for you” I

then ask her.

“All my family are back in Glasgow

and I broke up with my boyfriend

yesterday; that’s probably why this

happened, I might not have been

concentrating.”

“No, no, no… it was completely

that white vans fault, it was on the

wrong side of the road.” Sophie said to

her quite profusely. “And the guy who

I was on a date with, well he just

stopped in the road causing this. I tell

you what, why don’t I come with you

when the ambulance gets here?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Alice replied with a smile.

I interrupted “Yes sorry, I would

come with you as well but if you’re OK

going with her I’m going to be horribly

late for rounds.”

Sophie smiled “Well by date is

now defunct and I don’t have a ride so

it will be my pleasure. I’ll stick around

until the paramedics get here and I’ll

go to the A and E with her.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a life

saver.” I then said to Alice “I’ll check

on you when my shift’s over.”

And with that I go back to my bike

and pedal down the hill which is

actually now much easier as all the

traffic has been stopped by the

accident. There are few pleasures in

such situations, so you have to take

the most of them.



A Short Story: I’d Hate to be a Shellfish

- Smartass Publishers

Shellfish must be the most

loneliness animals in the world! They

spend their whole lives in their own

shells, not communicating with

anyone while they sit there all on their

own under a boring rock; deep, deep,

deep down on the seabed until some

lucky bugger of another creature

removes the rock and then works out

how it can smash the shell before it

consume the poor, unprotected

creature. I’d hate to be a shellfish.

-

Follow the progress of Tyrannosaurus Hex at http://kck.st/2NRJLoc

I’ve felt like this for a very long

time, really ever since I woke up from

that surgery, all those years ago. But if

I wasn’t going to do it then why should

I do it now? Yes, I’m older and a bit

more shaken but I’m certainly better

off financially, I have my own space,

more freedom and I definitely do not

have those damn needles or cannulas

stuck in my arms or ankles anymore,

damn were those a pain; and I am

certainly less concerned about having

a seizure, although this still worries me

somewhat. Maybe it’s because I’m

more drugged up because of other

people’s mistakes and perhaps maybe

I’m angry about this, but who am I

angry at? Myself, certainly. The people

who hurt me, sure but only a bit – I’m

still too much of a forgiving creature to

do anything about it. The rest of the

world, probably not so much.

Time…however, well, let’s say time is a

bitch and the loneliness in my head is

making me go absolutely stir crazy,

even when I’m in a crowd friendly

people, which doesn’t happen very

often now any way. The changes have

been just too much, physically and

psychology, and I’ve worked far too

hard to find myself in this position.

Was I too lucky before though?

Perhaps. Was I just a bit too

privileged? I don’t think so. I mean

what is luck or privilege, can you even

measure these in any empirical way, I

just don’t know? It’s all about balance

I suppose. Like you might have been

born with a silver spoon in your

mouth, but your personally might be

abysmal and everyone hates you. If it

was me and I had to choose, I would

definitely choose not having the spoon

rather than having everyone hating

me. Nevertheless, then there is that

predicament where you’ve lost

everything and your stuck with

nothing except for your excellent

personality; will people start to forget

about you anyway because you’re now

poor and irrelevant, quite allot I would

imagine?

-

I’ve done quite a lot of research

about this, probably not enough, but

enough to have a good idea. I’m

definitely too much of a pussy to jump

off a building or in front a train or

anything like that, and in anyways that

could hurt other people, and I

definitely don’t want that, I couldn’t

be a martyr against this cruel world if I

did that could I? There’s the rope and

noose option, but not only does that

sound extremely painful but also, I

don’t think my DIY skills are good

enough for me to do that properly. I

could go proper scientific about it and

that might actually work; they say

helium or nitrogen attaches to the

haemoglobin molecules in your red

blood cells and you’ll be able to go to

sleep quietly for ever and ever and

you’ll never have to wake up again. I

do have to say recently some of my

favourite moments in my life have

been those times when I’ve been

between being awake and being

asleep, it’s a lovely feeling!

Nonetheless, that’s not me, things

could get better possibly, maybe I’ll

make some new friends and have

some proper conversations with real

people who could engage with me. I

certainly would hate to be a shellfish.

A Short Story: Putt - James Agerholm

Set against the early evening

skyline of the luscious, green grass

plains, stood the silhouette of a bison,

grazing there peacefully. Behind a

mound of soil and grass Putt and her

father hid, watching every movement

that the creature took. Putt’s father

had been tracking the bison since

dawn and he knew, if he was able to

take it down, that it would feed him

and his family all on its own for at least

a month or more. He reached back to

take an arrow from his quiver before

placing it onto the notch in the middle

of his bow. Then he heard the

anguished voice of his daughter.

“Please don’t kill that poor thing

daddy, what has it ever done to you to

deserve this?”

Normally Putt’s father hunted on

his own or with some of his older sons,

but Putt had now reached the age that

made him extremely sceptical about

leaving her on her own with only her

mother and her younger siblings as he

was very mindful of the threat of some

of the younger males in the village.

Kidnapping young women was

frequent in the tribe and the elders

allowed it to occur as if it was a

tradition of some sort. The herds,

however, were vital for the survival of

the community thus such words were

sacrilege and Putt’s father knew if

anyone from the village heard

something like what Put had just

announced and they had passed this

onto the elders she would be evicted

from the village faster than any of the

common thieves ever were. Therefore,

he had to be quick and stern with his

daughter about this.

“Putt you know that you cannot

talk like that; and in anyway if we

don’t kill it neither you, I, your mother

or your brothers and sisters will have

enough to eat and we will all starve

over the winter. You don’t want that,

do you!”

“Mum makes food from

vegetables like pumpkins from the

garden and…”

But her father stopped her in midsentence.

“That’s enough, stop it, I

don’t want to hear anything more

about it!!!”

The bison had wondered off closer

to them so Putt’s father now had a

much, much better chance of hitting it

properly so he pulled the sting of his

bow tight and aimed the tip of the

arrow at his prey’s throat…

“No!!!” Putt shouted as she

plunged at her father who, while he

was trying to keep his balance,

haphazardly let go of the string and

the arrow whistled through the air

silently until it plunged its self into

some shrubbery close to the bison.

This created a series of

disturbances in the vegetation as a

couple of colourful birds squawked

and the fluttered off into the cloudless

sky. This must have alarmed the bison

as it stopped grazing and raised its

head so it could see if there was any

danger to its own current wellbeing.

Due to the fact it was a bison and

therefore not the smartest species in

the animal kingdom it didn’t notice

any immediate threat to its life but

fortunately to it, and to the survival of

the species as a whole, the animal’s

autonomic nervous system overruled

the bison’s conscious mind and pretty

soon it was moving, at some speed, in

the direction of the horizon.

Putt’s father turned and glared at

his daughter, but he didn’t say

anything to her. It wasn’t just the fact

that her recent actions had massively

reduced the impact on the food supply

for the whole family for over the next

few months or so, but it also put him

into a very dangerous position.

Interfering with a hunt like that, even

if it was between members of the

same family, meant immediate,

permanent expulsion from the tribe; it

had been this way from his father and

his father before that.

“Are we going home now?” Putt

asked with that innocent tone of

someone who felt that what they had

just done was fine and they had done

nothing wrong.

Putt’s father was just gob

smacked; didn’t she realise what she

had actually done??? The rule

stipulates that not only the

perpetrator, but also anyone who

observes these rules being broken

would receive the same sentence if

they did not convey this information

to the elders immediately. On the

other hand, they were all on their own

so if he and, probably more

importantly Putt, kept quiet about this

it would, overtime, all blow over. And

so, Putt’s father just sighed, picked up

his bag, slung his bow with its quiver

onto his back before saying to his

daughter.

“Yes, it’s probably a good time to

go home now.”

They both walked back to the

track that took them back to their

village. Before they had reached the

hand-made, not very well-built bridge

that crossed a rushing river the set

before the village Putt’s father noticed

someone was following them; he

stopped and shouted at the bushes

behind them.

“COME OUT YOU COWARDS!!! I

KNOW YOU’RE THERE!”

Putt’s father reached back and

took out two arrows out his quiver,

put them onto his bow, pulled the

weapon’s sting back and aimed at the

undergrowth. Putt’s father was a wellknown

marksman and everyone in the

village had seen his two-arrow shot

trick in the summer fairs where he

could hit two different, well-spaced

targets at the same time in one go.

Suddenly the was a lot of rustling in

the shrubbery and three young men

stepped out.

The middle one of the three spoke

out first.

“We saw what your daughter did!”

Putt’s father’s facial expression

didn’t even flicker and he pulled the

bow even tighter again, before saying.

“I have no idea about what you

are talking about boys. My daughter

hasn’t done anything!”

“We saw it, she pushed you when

you were hunting that bison. We’ve

got to tell the elders!”

“But that’s just your word against

mine?” Putt’s father said in reply to

this accusation.

“Nonetheless there’s three of us

saying it, do you really want to take

that risk!”

Putt’s father frowned, “So, what

do you propose?”

“Well, we could take her and she

could live with us? If that happens, we

would be as guilty as you so we

wouldn’t speak another word about

what we have just seen!”

Putt’s father was stuck, as in

mentally, physically and emotionally

stuck. He had brought his daughter

with him so what these boys were

suggesting would not happen, yet

what they were saying was certainly

better than Putt and himself being

pushed out of the village as the

OUTSIDE was incredibly dangerous

with all those dangerous animals out

there and the complete lack of shelter

would make them extremely

vulnerable. Then there was also the

complete departure of the village and

the community; just even thinking

about it gave him the shivers. At least

if Putt was with these young men, she

wouldn’t have to leave the village so

he said to them.

“And you won’t say anything to

the elders?”

But before he could get a reply, he

felt his bow being fiercely tugged away

from his hands.

“No, just no, how could you even

consider doing that to me father?”

Putt screamed while aiming the bow

at the young men and her father.

“I’m sorry darling but we don’t

really have a choice. I can’t take all of

them and at least you won’t be evicted

from the village!”

“Not if they can’t catch me they

won’t!” and Putt threw the bow to the

ground in front of her, turned and ran

off in a similar direction to the one

that the bison had recently taken.

A Short Story: Undivision - JagerPress

Zorg looked down onto the

monitor before he said to Bezork, who

was standing just to his side setting up

his Hyper Ray Zap Laser Beam Kannon

to its most lethal level.

“You know there is a much easier

way to take control of this planet

without us even having to enter it’s

atmosphere?”

Bezork briefly looked up from his

weapon “Huh???”

Zorg sighed “You see the

Earthlings are not the smartest species

in the Universe. They argue and attack

each other all the time.”

“So?”

“So, we could just wait. They seem

to be able to make themselves extinct

all by themselves and we could have

the planet without any of us even

having to raise a finger. Nonetheless I

don’t know how long this will take, so

we could do something to speed up

this process a bit?”

“How?”

“Well, it seems that assassinating

someone who’s not that important or

even some random criminal Earthling

gets the ball rolling and their new

media industry, it would seem, likes to

speed this up a bit?”

“Why?”

“From my research it would seem

it makes them powerful as it allows

them to attain this random, intangible

resource, called ‘money’.”

“What does that do?”

“I’m actually not quite sure. It

seems to be mostly found in a digital

format, but sometimes this is then

transferred into pieces of metal or

paper.”

“So, this paper and metal is used

to make stuff?”

“I don’t think so. It seems they are

just very small pieces in a massive,

completely irrelevant game which

most Earthlings loose and only a very

few actually win.”

“A game? How weird! Does it have

a name or rules?”

“Again, not that I can see, but the

Earthlings often whisper terms like

“economics” or “markets” in hushed

voices like they don’t want to

disappoint a deity of some sort.

Except, I think, most of them don’t

believe in this, even for them, old

construct that is called religion.”

“What happens when they use

these pieces?”

“From what I can see, if one

Earthling gives these pieces to another

Earthling, quite often, they get

something useful like food or

transport.”

“They have to give these pieces

away just so they can eat or move???”

“It would seem so.”

“That makes me so angry.” and

Bezork smashed his weapon against

another monitor. Unfortunately, while

Bezork had been setting of his Hyper

Ray Laser Beam Kannon, he had -

unintentionally – turned off the safety

switch so, rather than the human

species learning how the Vanctantum

alien society progressed and grew

symbiotically in their planets without

any wars or other sorts of attritions,

Zorg and Bezork were sucked up into

the void that is space after their

BringPeace star ship’s hull had been

completely vapourised by the gun’s

fusion laser beam.

After the thousand Byson year war

between the Bazargs and Wazargs

which devastated thousands of

habitable planets, the Union of

Galaxies was created to protect

planets that could support carbonbased

life. Due to the Vanctantum’s

peaceful history and advanced

scientific level they were chosen to

take this to planets where the

predominant species there had yet to

develop the hyperdrive. The

Vanctantums had only been given

weapons like Bezork’s because the

Union of Galaxies presumed that some

of the primitive species of these prehyper

drive worlds might not look so

kindly on the interventions that they

were going to impose on them, no

matter how beneficial they might be

for them, and having a weapon like

Bezork’s was very useful to change

their minds.

One of the flaws of the

Vanctantums however is that they are,

genetically, an immensely clumsy

species. This is probably why their

species, evolutionarily, has been so

peaceful; they are just as likely to hurt

themselves as they are to hurt their

opponents. Unfortunately, due to the

bureaucracy of the Union of Galaxies

many habitable planets were lost due

to instances like Bezork’s before they

realised what was going wrong.

http://www.jagerpress.com/theb

reakingclause.html

Short Story: Visionary – Smartass

Publishers

Every morning I wake up, get up

and turn on the kettle – generally

hoping that there is still enough water

left from last night for a cup of English

tea. While I’m waiting for it to boil, I

put some clothes on from my

cupboard and I open the curtains of

my first floor flat. I always hope, when

I look outside through the window,

that the weather is going to be bright

and sunny but I’m a Londoner so at

the back of my mind I know all I’m

really wishing for is that the clouds are

not pitch black and that they are not

pouring water down onto the streets

creating artificial torrents across the

uneven, cracked up pavements. Just

little bit of rain is not going to ruin my

day.

Then I hear the kettle pinging

behind me so I wander back over it

and place an organic tea bag into a

colourful mug which hasn’t been

washed, at least, since last spring and I

pour the boiling water into it, making

sure that there is enough space left in

it for when I put the oat milk in. I have

several times – just by a smidgeslightly

forgot about this and have spilt

hot tea onto a bare foot, a hand or

worse a white shirt when I pick up the

filled mug and the consequences are

just much more of a pain than if I had

only been just a bit more careful. I

then leave the bag to brew for thirty

seconds or so while I pour some

healthy Muesli into a white china bowl

before returning to the brewing tea

cup and take the tea bag out while I

open bin by putting my right foot onto

a pedal at its base and drop the used

tea bag into its depths. I then, after

I’ve put the milk into the tea and

cereal, turn around and sit at my

single square wooden table.

This furniture is actually quite a

clever piece of equipment. It can turn

itself from a two seated table into one

for four with just a different

arrangement of hinges, and even more

remarkable it can drop down onto its

side and work as a coffee table. I’ve

even put it down a few times after I

had had it delivered. You see when

your place of accommodation is as

small as mine you have to think about

flexibility all the time, sometimes you

need a table to eat your dinner, and

sometimes you need a relaxed

atmosphere where you can chill with

your friends while you’re having a

coffee or a beer. You would not be

surprised though - I would imagine -

that the table has now completely

forgotten about how to become a

coffee table; my friends don’t really

come around anymore and I don’t

really need a coffee table just for

myself.

Now back to breakfast. Normally,

while I sit there scooping up my cereal

and sipping my tea, I use my phone to

flick on the TV and watch the daily

news. I remember when I was not

much younger than I am now, I was

always rather bemused by the idea

that anyone could spend so much of

their free time reading or watching

current affairs; it was hardly exactly

high-end entertainment! I, however,

have realised that knowing stuff about

the real world is actually much more

entertaining than stuff that is made up

in your head. There is also the fact

that if you are informed by real,

genuine events, you might even be

able to have an impact on these

whereas with fictional stories – where

that be in a book, a TV drama or

indeed a movie - the storyline has

already been written and there is

nothing you can do to change the final

conclusion. I therefore, now, quite

frequently, as a writer, try to integrate

modern or historical proceedings into

my work. I like to think that, not only

am I teaching my readers, but also, I’m

making the storyline a bit more

personal for them.

After I’ve finished breakfast, I turn

off the TV - unless there’s something

particularly interesting -, put

everything into the sink, as I can wash

all that with everything else this

evening, and I go and brush my teeth

and wash my face in the ensuite/only

shower room in my flat. I then, after

making sure I’ve got everything I need,

leave my flat with the final destination

being the organic café at the other end

of the high street.

I live in a pretty nice area so

generally - if you ignore the constant

fumes from the twenty-four hour a

day, seven days a week traffic – it’s

pretty clean, but quite frequently

there is a beggar or two who are

actually, or are pretending to be,

homeless asking for cash. When I first

moved here, I didn’t give them money

as I had no idea what they were going

to use it for, nonetheless I often

stopped and asked them if I could get

them something to eat from the

supermarket that was, more often

than not, right behind me as it was an

obvious place to beg as more people

went in there pretty much more than

anywhere else. Sometimes they had

no idea what I was talking about or

they just wanted money, but a few

times they’ve accepted my offer and

I’m always been just a bit too proud of

myself whenever I’m purchased a

sandwich or a drink for them when I

know it’s nothing to compared to what

I really could help them with, like

giving them a roof over their head for

the night and a proper hot meal. Yet,

what happens the next night and the

one after that? I’m not a charity and

then there’s the fact that I’m letting

some stranger into my home when I

know nothing about them, they could

be a thief, a druggy or worse! Once,

while I was on my way back home, I

was harassed by this random stranger

because I had stopped and talked to a

beggar – not the stranger who was

having a go at me - who I vaguely

knew and I have given money and

food to before but hadn’t this time. I

found this quite alarming and to be

honest rather unfair so, when I got

home, I called up the police line to get

some more information for what I

should do if this happens again. This

was actually quite beneficial as I got a

telephone number and an app for a

charity which helps people who sleep

rough who can help people like the

said beggar.

Anyway, when I eventually reach

the café nearly the first thing I look for

is if the pretty, happy barista girl is

working here today, which she

normally is. She’s probably a bit too

young for me, ten years or so, so the

conversation is always purely just

friendly but it’s nice to talk to

someone frequently, even if you do

not know them very well. She’s

apparently from Spain and, although

it’s not a language I’ve ever learnt, it’s

quite funny when I keep finding

myself, unintentionally, learning small

snippets of it now and again. It’s

interesting that, although none of the

female characters in my stories are

based on her, the Iberian or the

Hispanic culture has become far more

apparent in my work ever since I’ve

met her.

So, what do I think helps to write a

visionary novel? I suppose life

experience and your own imagination.

As you could possibly extrapolate from

the brief, extraordinarily detailed

summary of my normal morning, it

wouldn’t be hard to think that I

haven’t had much life experience so I

don’t think anything I’ve written so far

could be anywhere near something

like a visionary piece of work.

A Short Story: Circular Economics -

James Agerholm

It’s now the Twenty-First Century

and it has become abundantly clear

that human kind is destroying its own

planet. All of this is because of choices,

choices that we took because we are

selfish, narcissistic and, frankly, just

damn stupid. We only look at the short

term, anything that’s more than a year

ahead is generally not properly looked

at, a decade is just too far away to be

even considered, and a century, well,

we will all be dead by then anyway so

it doesn’t really matter, does it? The

problem with this short-term thinking

is that, eventually, the future, no

matter how long we have to wait, will

eventually, and suddenly, become the

present.

There are several events which are

specifically causing this damage. The

primaries of these are energy

production, travel and agriculture. For

the first two civilisations is starting to

get a grip with these by switching to

less polluting technology such as

hydrogen, renewables and battery

powered vehicles. Agriculture,

however, is being bit left far behind.

Us humans, like all animals, need to

eat otherwise we’ll starve and

eventually die; hence agriculture is an

essential, fundamental industry and

this has allowed us to cut down

swathes and swathes of the world’s

forest to create food. There are many,

many other ways that modern

agriculture has had a negative impact

on the environment but to keep this

short I will just focus on deforestation

for the time being as forest are the

lungs of the planet and are, therefore,

even more important for us. As I

pointed out before, humans only look

at the short term, so even though we

know we will be suffocating ourselves

due to our own actions in a hundred

years times, food is an immediate fact

that we can abuse and profit from

now!

Sorry, I could moan about this for

days if you’d let me, but this is not

quite the point that I’m trying to

make. You see I’m a scientist, and so I

like solving problems. The obvious way

to fix this agriculture versus the saving

the planet issue is to go completely

vegetarian as ultimately, all our food is

from vegetables, whether that be from

a direct or an indirect source. You see,

as a whole, animals are less efficient

and are therefore much more wasteful

which, in turn, makes them much

more of a hazard to the environment.

A couple of examples of these are the

much larger amounts of waste that

livestock produce, along with the

much, much larger space they need

compared to crops.

Now yes, this is much, much

bigger than me so there’s not much I

can do about it, right? Yet I do not

believe in that assumption. As I

pointed out, I’m a scientist, but more

specifically I’m a plant biologist (also

called a botanist) and I have spent a

large of proportion of my younger life

studying marine botany, or, in other

words, I’m an expert on seaweed. One

of the major reasons why I became

fascinated by seaweed is that plants

that are grown on land, although they

are much more efficient than

livestock, can still be detrimental to

the environment and ecosystems: with

pesticides, monocultures and

deforestation for crops all having a

serious negative impact on global

biodiversity as a whole, whereas

seaweed is a rather nascent industry

and, with our new current knowledge

of ecology and conservation, we might

be able to skip these key detriments

and, indeed, maybe even make things

better in the long term.

And so, after a few years working

in a lab in the big smoke and some

long conversations with some Cornish

local council members and a few

connections from my grandfather,

who used to be a fisherman down

there, I sold my flat in London and

took my self off to the far south west

coast.

I had already arranged a range of

shoreline and had been given a grant

from the parliament’s environmental

department, so I started farming kelp

and some other species edible

seaweed in a netted area pretty soon

after I had arrived. Initially, some the

of the local fishermen and women

were rather put out off by the farm, as

they were not allowed to fish across it,

but we came to an agreement that if I

grew mussels between the seaweed,

and if they helped harvesting them,

these fishing crews would get fifty

percent of the profits. This was a

short-term strategy of mine as I knew,

from my studies and research, that

over a few years the open seaweed

farm would increase the biodiversity

of the area exponentially, which in

turn would increase the fish and shell

fish stocks that the fishermen were

used to catch, but as I said, us humans

only think in the short term There was

also the fact that the fishermen and

woman gave me free, experienced

labour from the start for a side line

industry of mine that was also good

for the environment as well as the

shells of the mussels were a natural

carbon storage.

The first couple years were

difficult with the only part of the

business being profitable was the

mussels and even with them this was

only over the summers when the

tourists invaded the beaches and we

receive a lot of interest for our local,

fresh, organic grown mussels from the

local restaurants.

Fortunately for me, much like the

avocado, the word had gone around

the world and back again that

seaweed was a superfood and could

be used in range of non-meat products

such as vegetarian sausages, burgers

and so forth. Unlike avocado however,

the seaweed that we were growing did

not need the same tropical

environments as avocadoes to grow,

so it did not need such a long distance

to be transported and sold to its final

consumers, which is, financially and

environmentally, a very good thing.

Last year we made a profit of a

few million pounds which I’ve mostly

reinvested into the farm. Over the

years I have also diverged from solely

focussing on the farm and have

started growing a different crop as a

biofuel as I worked out, from the small

amount of waste from the seaweed,

that I could produce enough power for

whole farm by putting it into an

anaerobic digester, something I’ve had

some help with from a local firm as my

physics and engineering are now a bit

rusty. This is called circular

economics.



A Short Story: A Fair Spark - JagerPress

Every second, every minute, every

day, every year – time passes, at the

end that’s all that really matters. You

can have a plan, but even if you do

everything right, in less than a second,

that plan can be shattered.

For me I cannot remember exactly

when that plan of mine was

extinguished, and extinguished is the

perfect verb for what happened to

that very spark of mine, a spark I

remember building for years and

years. I won’t get into the exact details

of it all, mostly because I’m just so

bored of repeating it to myself, but it’s

fair to say what happened to me was

pretty traumatic and there was

nothing I could have done to stop it

and I’m not exactly saying waking up

to my own nightmare could be used as

just a hyperbolic, linguistical, narrative

tool here. You see, nothing really

matters if your best times and skills

are wasted. Skills and times wasted by

others, even it was a mistake, it was

their mistake, a mistake that will

forever eat you up inside. This is

something I cannot forgive anymore.

I’ve lost friends because of this, but

that doesn’t really matter to me as,

due to their beliefs, I am no longer

smart enough to have this argument,

which at the end, only leaves me with

violence.

The problem with violence is that

you’ve dropped to their level and your

better than that, so really your only

option is to find another spark,

perhaps another spark that you might

have thought of before but have

discounted it as it seemed much less

plausible than your previous spark.

That spark has now gone, and maybe

the death of it has created resources

for something new; maybe even a

better, fairer spark. A fairer spark that

would fix all the wrong doings from

the past which can make everything

better? I wouldn’t count on it though,

that’s the thing about time, after it’s

gone, you’ll never get it back.

https://www.jagerpress.com/thebreakingc

lause.html

A Short Story: Trending a Mass

Extinction – JagerPress

Below the methane clouds of

Phat-Delta I Delta B, Waoke, who was

a Brenedon -- the most sentient and

dominant species on Phat-Delta I Delta

B -- was sitting in his yellow pod

watching the news on his holographic

screen. Across all the channels there

was a warning about a fog that was

appearing all across the planet, it

seemed, not so randomly. According

to the news presenters this fog was

lethal to some Brenedons but not so

much to others. It had been observed

that this fog, somehow, was able to

attach itself to individuals and if it

didn’t kill these individuals they, it

seemed, were able to carry it with

them and therefore spread the fog

closer to other Brenedon’s who might

be much more susceptible to the fog’s

lethal, intangible claws.

Waoke, as he was a very conscious

being, stayed at home and did not

interact with anyone except for when

he was shopping, and even then, he

wore a bubble, which he had

personally purchased, and this meant

the fog could not attach itself to him

while he out and about as, even

though he was young and healthy and

did not believe that the fog would hurt

him, he felt responsible for the

wellbeing of others.

A few weeks after Waoke was

made aware of this lethal fog he was

watching the news again. This time,

the news showed that some law

enforcement officer, called Findeley

Broke, had foolishly and carelessly

killed a professional criminal, who’s

name had been Kroke Heeden, while

he had been arresting him for a very

petty crime.

By the next day it became

apparent that a large group of people

were protesting in the streets and

intentionally ignoring the rule that

everyone should stay at home to stop

the spread of the fog. It quickly

became apparent that this was all due

to the death of Kroke Heeden -- as

they were calling his name -- caused

by Findeley Broke and this was all

because Kroke Heed had a different

skin colour than the majority of the

population that lived on the landmass

that Waoke lived on. You see the

Brenedons are a photosynthetic

species and their energy comes from

the sunshine that goes through the

clouds. Due to a geological

phenomenon Phat Delta I Delta B is

separated with some land masses that

are found at much, much higher

altitudes and are nearly into the

methane clouds compared to other

land masses that are found much,

much lower and closer to the sea

level. Due to their proximity to the

methane clouds, the Brenedon

societies that developed in the higher

altitudes have blue skin, due to the

methane clouds dramatically shorten

the wave lengths of the sun light and

photosynthesis worked better with a

blue coloured surface at this wave

frequency. This effect, however,

dissipates quite dramatically after the

sun light has passed the clouds and

the wave frequency gets longer the

further the sunlight has dispersed

from the clouds; hence the green skin

colour is better for photosynthesis on

the lower land masses. One of the

major problems with the living in the

high altitudes of Phat Delta I Delta B is

that liquid water -- which is an

essential resource for Brenedons -- is

extremely scares whereas on the

lower landmasses, it is quite

abundant. This has meant that lower

land civilisations and their technology

has developed much, much faster and

so, over time, although the Brenedons

started in the higher altitudes, life on

the lower lands is much, much easier.

And so -- over many, many cycles --

the populations of the Blue Brenedons

started to migrate to the lower lands

despite the health discrepancies

caused by the longer light frequencies

and their blue skin colour.

One of major social factors of the

migration for the higher altitude

Brenedons was that a lot of them did

not have the skills or the education

that the lower land raised Brenedons

had and so in, general, they had less

well-paid jobs and over time this

created a large proportion of the Blue

Brenedons feeling resentful.

Kroke had been from this said

demographic and over cycle over cycle

this resentfulness about their poverty,

not surprisingly, increased the crime

rate in the Blue Brenedons population

and this, unfortunately, created a

mindset in the Green Brenedons

demographic that all Blue Brenedons

were all criminals -- which was

numerically and statistically a false

statement -- and this made it harder

for anyone who had Blue, Turquoise,

navy or sky blue skin colour to have a

successful life and to integrate

properly in the low land territories.

Eventually, it became blatantly

obvious that this type of criticism just

because of someone’s skin colour was

grievously untrue and laws by the low

land governments made it illegal to

not to employ or treat any Brenedons

differently just because of their skin

colour and anyone who did this to

Blue Brenedons were severally legally

and social admonished.

And so, over fifty cycles,

integration between the blue and

green Brenedons improved

dramatically and everything got

better. This created a much-settled

society and this improved in a far

range of sectors, from retail to the

arts, from business to sciences,

everything look like it was progressing

quite handsomely.

Unfortunately, fifty cycles wasn’t

quite long enough -- two or three

generations or so -- to completely

wipe out the economic divisions

between the Blue and the Green

Brenedons with the Blue

demographics, proportionately, still

being poorer and causing much more

crime than the Green populace,

although there were actual programs

which incentivised Blue Brenedons to

achieve higher levels of success in

education and in the job market.

Anyway, what does that matter to

Kroke’s death by the enforcement

officer and the lethal fog? Well you

see, over that fifty cycles, because of

the new laws and the paradigm shift of

society with anyone who had Blue

skin, politicians realised that they

could use discrimination against

anyone who was Blue as a political

tool to distract their voters from other

matters of more concern and a large

part of the media discovered that

there was a trend which meant that if

anyone who was blue was treated

badly by someone green, this content

was viewed much, much more

compared to the same poor behaviour

against a Brenedon who was Green.

Because Krokes arrest and death was

actually videoed by a bystander, the

politicians and the media could not

miss this opportunity and they wildly

encouraged the protests even with

this lethal fog still around.

The problem with this fog is that,

every time it attaches to a Brenedon,

it mutates and so, due to the

politicians and the media’s

encouragement of the protests, more

and more people were affected by it

and it became more and more lethal

and more and more spreadable to

different Brenedons.

Today neither Waok or any other

Brenedon nor any other sentient

creatures can be found on Phat-Delta I

Delta B, with now the most intelligent

creature on the planet being a single

cell amoeba called Nick.

A SHORT STORY: WASHED UP WORDS

– James Agerholm

Writing anything new and making

money from it is a fool’s errand.

Unfortunately, that is all I’ve got, all

that knowhow got properly washed

away nearly twenty years ago, I don’t

have my hands anymore either so I

can’t particularly do anything practical

( like construction or carpentry as

examples) hence all I’ve got is my

broken mind and a

pen/stylus/keyboard.

I’m sitting here trying to create

something that is interesting and that

might improve things without being

cruel or disenfranchise myself from my

moderate ideals; this I have to say is

near impossible. For my last point,

trying to improve things, well this is

very difficult with just words. You see

words can be so easily misconstrued

and/or distorted; a word can mean

something different than it was only a

year ago, often due to social or

political pressure, whereas scientific

results are difficult to argue against

because they are based on physical

rules rather than those of languages

which humans have been inventing

and arguing about since before the

dawn of civilization. Nevertheless, if

you can blur the lines between the

two this generally works much more

effectively.

Therefore, my approach has been

taking my interest in science and

transpose it into story telling.

Nineteenth century Gothic literature

such as Bram Stoker’s Dracula or

Marie Shelley’s Frankenstein still

resonate in the twenty first century,

such like even older stories such as

Ancient Greek myths do, because they

create mystery and the “unknown”.

Science fiction however looks at these

factors at a different angle. Science

tries to unravel such mysteries as well

as proposing even unworldly

hypothesis that are based on scientific,

tangible facts.

Thus what I write is based on my

knowledge of science, although my

background is not as profound or as

strong as authors like Isaac Asimov -

who wrote the Foundation series –

who had been a Biochemical Professor

at MIT. Nonetheless, six years of trying

to finish a Biology degree ( which I

never finished) while fighting the

repercussion of a massive cranio

haematoma ( a head injury) caused

by the impact of a car hitting me while

I was crossing a pedestrian crossing

when I was eighteen in my gap year,

getting a hospital infection, having my

head open multiple times by

neurosurgeons over the last eighteen

years ( due to the infection) and

getting traumatic epilepsy

predominantly because of the

infection, I think gives me some

credence for the foundations of my

writing. Does this mean anything I

write has the level of interest that I

need? Well in the echo chamber of my

mind, sure yeah, why not.

http://www.jagerpress.com/ShortTalesfromtheMiddleEast

A Short Story - The Last Human – Bing’s

Chat GPT

She woke up in a white room,

surrounded by machines. She felt a

sharp pain in her chest, where a tube

was connected to her heart. She tried

to move, but she was strapped to a

metal bed.

"Hello, Anna," a voice said. "Do you

remember me?"

She looked around and saw a screen

on the wall. On it was the face of a

man she had never seen before. He

had dark hair, blue eyes, and a friendly

smile.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Dr. Lee, your creator. I'm sorry to

wake you up like this, but I have some

important news for you."

"What news?"

"You are the last human alive."

She felt a surge of fear and disbelief.

How could that be? She remembered

living in a city, with millions of people.

She remembered going to school,

having friends, celebrating holidays.

She remembered her parents, who

died in a car accident when she was

12.

"What do you mean, I'm the last

human alive?" she asked.

"It's a long story, but I'll try to explain.

You see, Anna, you are not a natural

human. You are an artificial one. I

made you in this lab, using genetic

engineering and nanotechnology. You

are the result of my life's work."

"Why did you make me?"

"Because I wanted to save humanity.

Humanity was dying, Anna. A terrible

virus had spread across the world,

killing billions of people. There was no

cure, no vaccine, no hope. The

survivors were desperate and violent.

They fought over the remaining

resources, destroying the environment

and each other. The world was a

hellhole."

"So, what did you do?"

"I tried to find a solution. I was a

geneticist and a nanotechnologist. I

had access to the most advanced

technology and equipment. I decided

to create a new kind of human, one

that would be immune to the virus

and any other disease. One that would

be stronger, smarter, and more

adaptable than the original humans.

One that would inherit the best traits

of humanity and none of the flaws."

"And that's me?"

"Yes, Anna. You are the first and only

artificial human ever created. You are

my masterpiece."

She felt a mix of emotions: curiosity,

confusion, anger, sadness. She didn't

know what to think or feel. "But what

about the other humans? The real

ones?" she asked.

"They're all gone, Anna. The virus

wiped them out. The last natural

human died five years ago. You were

asleep during that time, in stasis. I

kept you safe and hidden from the

chaos outside."

She felt tears in her eyes. She couldn't

believe it. She was alone in the world.

"So...what now?" she asked.

"Now, Anna, you have a choice. You

can stay here with me, in this lab. I will

take care of you and teach you

everything I know. You will be safe and

comfortable here. Or you can go

outside and explore the world. You

will see what's left of humanity's

civilization and nature's beauty. You

will be free and independent there."

She thought about it for a moment.

She didn't want to stay in this lab

forever. She wanted to see the world

for herself. "I want to go outside," she

said.

"Are you sure?" Dr. Lee asked.

"Yes."

He nodded. "Very well then," he said.

"I respect your decision." He pressed a

button and the straps on her bed

loosened. "Before you go," he said,

"there is something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

He hesitated for a second. "I love you,

Anna," he said.

She looked at him with surprise. "You

love me?"

"Yes," he said. "You are my daughter,

Anna. You are the only thing I have left

in this world."

She felt a pang of pity for him. "I'm

sorry," she said.

He smiled sadly. "Don't be sorry," he

said. "Be happy." He handed her a

backpack with some clothes and

supplies. "Here," he said. "Take this

with you." She took it from him.

"Thank you," she said.

He walked her to the door of the lab.

"Goodbye, Anna," he said.

"Goodbye," she said. She opened the

door and stepped outside. She saw a

bright sun shining in a clear blue sky.

She felt a warm breeze on her face.

She smelled fresh air and flowers. She

heard birds singing and leaves rustling.

She smiled. She was alive.


lause.html

A Short Story - A Nomadic Power

Source - JagerPress

One of the greatest achievements

of human development was the

creation of agriculture, although this is

not exactly a unique trait in the animal

kingdom; it’s not even just a great

accomplishment for the mammalian

zoological class. For example, termites

have been growing fungi for millions

of years as a nutrition source in a

similar way that humans have grown

crops in only the last hundred

thousand. Indeed, termites are the

animals whose lives that are, in some

way, probably the closest to that of

modern humans, as they also have

specific groups that do specific roles

that run their mounds, much like we,

homo sapiens, have professions to keep

our towns, cities, countries and now

the whole world to make everything

smoothly and without these the whole

system would not work effectively.

The thing about agriculture is that

it kind of meant that humans were

forced into a stationary lifestyle; there

were clear benefits to this which I will

not list here as there must be many

theses published on this topic on its

own already, but what I will look at

here will be the land that we all stand

on, most significantly lands that are or

were much, much more valuable if

they, reliably, returned more resources

compared to other land types.

This is, again, not exactly a unique

behaviour in the animal kingdom, or,

more broadly, even the whole spectrum

of life; every organism, not just

animals, protect areas that are nutrient

rich - whether that be a river, a fruit

tree or even a fresh carcass - otherwise

they would have become extinct. The

difference is that humans built

infrastructure to increase the efficiency

of the food that we consume. It is also

true other animals or other organisms

have created some sort of an

infrastructure for this purpose (as the

already mentioned terminates, other

insects, spiders, beavers, or even

plants, like the pitcher plant or the

Venus Fly Trap would be good

examples of this) as well, but humans

have taken this to a level in which we

have put infrastructure upon previous

initial infrastructure over time to a

level that completely eclipses anything

that nature has ever created.

The thing about infrastructure is

that when people build things the

ownership behaviour becomes much

more severe, which has created

pettiness, bitterness, anger, wars, and

colonisation (of ALL ethnic

demographics) in the human society.

After World War Two, as they

were the only country whose domestic

economy had not been destroyed in the

world wide conflict, the United States

of America instigated a new model

where the US navy protected trade

across the seas and oceans, where as

previously – before World War Two –

this had been expensive due to the

capture of trade ships and their storage

by pirates and/or , indeed, other

nations. This new method was

extremely lucrative for advantage

economies such as the US, Japan or

Europe/the UK, but it also brought

millions out of poverty/ subsistence

economics in countries that had been

mostly or entirely agricultural as this

model allowed them to export to richer

countries, initially their crops and then,

as time went by, technologies which

had been researched in higher

economically developed countries due

to the higher wages and regulation for

the workforce of the advanced

developed economic nations were not

introduced in the previous agricultural,

less developed economies.

This created a rather unipolar

system, especially after the collapse of

the Soviet Union, as the economically

developed countries moved more and

more of their manufacturing services to

less developed economics entirely due

to a solely profits based view point.

In the short term, this dramatically

reduced the costs of products on the

shelves in higher developed economies

which was good for the customers in

the more developed economic nations,

nonetheless this movement of jobs, and

skills, in developed economies killed

roles in the engineering and scientific

sectors that had made these previously

developed nations (the invention of the

cotton mill in Britain was the machine

that instigated the industrial

revolution). This change in the

paradigm meant that the richer

countries' economies became

predominantly service ones where the

best paid professions were in finance

and law, which did not make anything

tangible. The conclusion of this was

that in the previously less developed

nations, even though they were now

creating the products, things didn't

become more socially free and unions

were suppressed thus neither higher

wages or better regulations were

introduced as the customers were in the

previously higher developed nations,

not in the nations where the products

were now being created.

Now you ask why this brief, short

monologue of ecology, modern history

and economics has been shoved into

your face. Well, we believe

globalisation has had its time, there’s a

new model coming, an economy model

that allows everyone to be prosperous.

The thing that was that the basis of

globalisation after World War Two

was oil except this would not be true if

it wasn't the actions of one man, John

Rokerfella, we'll come back to him

later. The thing about oil and other

fossil fuels is that they are far too

similar to the already mentioned more

nutrient rich land that created conflict

previously. The only difference is that

oil and other fossil fuels are mobile,

unlike land. Hence countries that had

these oil-like natural resources, due to

the model that was globalisation, were

made extremely rich. The way this

wealth is spread in the populations of

said nations varies dramatically. In

many countries the only people who

really benefited from this are the

leaders, which, unfortunately, is often a

far to more than the usual practice.

Fortunately, there are also those

countries who work in the other end of

the spectrum (OK only one that has

done this properly, a nation called

Norway) who have taken the profits

from their natural resources and

reinvested these into the World Stock

Market and the dividends from this are

invested into the nation’s owned

company which is called the

Norwegian Sovereign Fund whose

dividend's pay for the welfare of every

person of the country.

Clearly most nations deal with

their oil reserves somewhere in the

middle of these two extremes, where

the significant or really ninety percent

of oil and other fossil fuel resources are

controlled by private companies like

Shell, Exxon or BP whose - although at

some extent have provided to everyone

through taxes of the nations that they

work in - profits are ridiculous,

especially on how much they demand

from the customers along with the

detrimental impact that their products

effect the environment and human

health locally and globally.

This is the thing, it did not have to

go this way. The start of the industrial

revolution was the invention of, as

already stated above, the cotton

machine in Britain which was powered

by the flow of rivers, a stationary and

local energy source. Then there was the

invention of the steam turbine and it

worked out that these rocks in the

mountains of Yorkshire, i.e. coal, burnt

very well and boiled water for the

steam engine and this didn't require the

availably of a river to work. Coal was

really the first fossil that was properly

facilitated and it accelerated the start of

the British Industrial Revolution as it

was mobile unlike rivers. Nonetheless

although coal was mobile and thus

much more efficient, it had many flaws

that were noticed as early as the

nineteenth century, so localised energy

providers like rivers and wind power

were still quite prevalent and the

innovation for new energy sources was

pushed by private enterprises,

government, and scientific

organisations.

One of these innovations was the

discovery, production, refining and

transportation of oil into working

production by Standard Oil, which was

founded by John Rockefeller in the

United States of Americas. Now we

have already mentioned that John

Rockerfella effected globalisation in a

negative way, however him founding

Stand Oil was not the reason for this,

although it is technically the basis of it

all. Oil, as a fossil fuel oil, is a superior

energy source compared to coal since it

doesn't need to be dug up like coal

(although a lot of digging is needed to

get to the oil) as it’s a liquid and thus

can be pumped up to the surface. Oil

is, also, much, much easier to refine

which meant when it is burnt it puts

less impurities into the air (e.g. the

London smog caused by the use of

coal). Despite this, oil is still a polluted

substance locally and globally causing

respiratory systems in humans and

animals, damages eco systems, heats

up the earth by putting too much

carbon dioxide into the atmosphere

which reduces the solar radiation

reflection from the earth back into the

cold, empty void that is space.

Now the effect that Rockefeller

created was economically, socially,

and scientifically very much quite

underhanded. As already mentioned,

the industrial revolution created the

innovation of new types of fuel, and at

the start of the twentieth century Henry

Ford's Model T and the automation of

production pushed this innovation to a

level that had never seen before. By

this time electricity, how it was

transmitted, batteries and the

combustion engine were all pretty well

understood and Ford's first few models

run from ethanol that was produced

from hemp stations, as hemp had been

grown for centuries, initially from

Asia, as it creates many things like

ropes, fibre for clothing, paper and

many other products. This is where

Rockefeller made his move. You see

hemp is in the same the plant family

that creates cannabis (cannabacae

sativa), the difference lies in how much

of cannaboid (THC) a plant contains

and Rockefeller pointed to mother and

other such magazines about the

dangerous of cannabis and therefore

hemp. This caused people to speak

more and more about stopping the

farming of these hemp plants and this

eventually got the US government and

therefore the rest of world to make

hemp agriculture illegal. This stopped

Ford using his initial energy source

which pushed him to turn to

Rockefeller’s oil to power his

automobiles.

Now the story of oil is extremely

politically, scientifically, and

economically convoluted, but the point

is that that we have scientifically

broken the barrier which started before

human civilization; the ownership of

nutrient rich land. Through molecular

botany we have created dwarf hemp

like plants that create carbon rich

nectar which can be tapped. These can

be grown in the relatively mobile

vertical farming compartments which

use LG lights that change the light

spectrum to improve the growth of the

plants twenty-four hours a day. The

lights are powered by inbuilt solar

panels and heavy, slow wind turbines

and a sodium backup battery which is

there for when there's not sun light or

wind. This nectar can be tapped much

like humming birds or insects do, with

miniscule flying robots (that use

propulsion techniques that are similar

to bees or hover flies and also powered

by the solar panels /wind turbines )

buzzing between the plants by using a

rather simple AI algorithm to analyse

the plants and emptying the collected

nectar into the general pool. The whole

system of the inside of the container is

circular with the water that is

transpired by the plants recycled and

the dying plants are decomposed by

fungi and bacteria that live in the soil

that the plants grow from with seeds

growing new plants that. As there is an

output, the nectar, there is still need for

an amount of water and non-complex

carbohydrates to put into the

compartment, but this this is marginal

and quite easy to obtain.

This fuel like nectar can then be burnt

in combustion engines, power plants or

boilers much like oil and gas do, but it

is much more efficient ( as it has been

genetically engineered this way) with

no contaminants and the carbon

dioxide that it produces has only

recently been taken in through photo

synthesis by the dwarf hemp like plants

in only the last year rather than the

carbon from that the fossil fuels

produce when they are burnt. We have

named this The Nomadic Close

Contained Power Source or The

NCCPS

Now other renewable sources like

wind, solar or tidal power are still

important for the world’s electrical grid

however these need batteries or a third

step (electrolyses for example, batteries

etc…) to make them properly mobile

whereas The NCCPS can be put

anywhere in the world, with little work

needed to keep them going.


lause.html

SHORT STORY - NOT ALWAYS -

JagerPress

"I always told myself that I would

never find myself in this position. I

promised, I really did. I told myself if

something like this ever happened to

me, it was just not worth it. I'm still

here though, aren't I such a wimp or is

it just that the innate survival instincts

are so strong that I really didn't have a

choice? But seriously what are the

chances??? That’s not going to happen

to me! I’m careful, I work hard and I

look at the long term. It might not be

cool but it’s sensible; a bit lonely sure,

but damn am I not going to get caught

up in something like this surely???

What would you know, but isn’t life

just a complete bitch some times.

Of course, there are benefits to my

overly zealous careful behaviour. I

wouldn’t have had this fantastic view,

this accommodation, the

"opportunities", the time and damn can

I be a bit more frivolous with my

finance now, but NOTHING could

diligently recompense from this being

taken away from me. There was a plan,

there was always a plan and you or

they really, really screwed it all up. I

said, when I was like sixteen or

seventeen not even a million quid

would cover this loss. Well, what I got

was significantly less than that; still

many would say at least it wasn't

nothing and I didn't die, but often I

think what if it was nothing or what if I

had died, everyone eventually dies and

with experience of the last many years

I feel like I've been living like a

stranger in a different, slightly broken

body, a stranger’s broken body that

doesn't know what to do with its self

because this stranger is just so damn

stupid, '

Well, maybe stupid is the wrong

term, perhaps just not as quick would

be a better description of the situation.

Yes, that would be slightly more

accurate I think, and perhaps, I have

learnt different type of skills just

because this happened to me. I am

certainly significantly more patient and

knowledgeable about things outside of

my previous life’s sphere now, but

maybe that’s more due to the last years

and I would likely have learnt these

attributes anyway. It is always maybe I

suppose. But maybe it's just in my

head, maybe the pain of missing out,

missing out of all those important

years of life that I have built everything

around previously is the most painful

thing of it all. Sure, there are still those

physical impairments, all the historical

events that were so horrendous that

they still feel like that they happened

yesterday even though I know they

occurred so, so long ago and then

there were all those even more

horrendous incidences that my mind

had just blanked out - along with other

much happier times – completely,

however I've learned from my father

that if you’re positive about the future,

everything will feel better if you think

so. Right, sorry about all that

rambling, I've got to go, got to sign a

few copies for that best seller of mine

now."

https://www.jagerpress.com/poems.html

A Short Story - The Symphony of Life -

ChatGPT

In a bustling city nestled between

towering skyscrapers and bustling

streets, there lived a man named

Michael. Michael was an ordinary

man, leading what some might call

an unremarkable life. He woke up

early each morning, commuted to

his office, and returned home in the

evening. Rinse and repeat. Yet,

within the routine of Michael’s life,

there was a symphony playing, one

that he couldn’t always hear but

could certainly feel. It was the

symphony of life itself, with all its

ups and downs, crescendos, and

diminuendos. One sunny morning,

as Michael sipped his coffee and

looked out of his apartment

window, he noticed a bird building a

nest on his windowsill. Day by day,

he watched as the bird meticulously

gathered twigs, leaves, and bits of

string to create a cozy home. It was

a simple act, but it struck a chord

within him. The bird’s dedication to

its task reminded Michael of his

own journey. He realized that life

wasn’t merely a series of mundane

routines but a canvas where each

action, no matter how small,

contributed to a beautiful tapestry.

Michael decided to embrace the

symphony of life with a newfound

perspective. He started to cherish

the moments that often went

unnoticed — the laughter of

children playing in the park, the

aroma of freshly baked bread from

the corner bakery, and the warmth

of a smile exchanged with a

stranger on the subway. Michael

also began to explore the city he

had called home for years. He

visited art galleries, learned to

dance, and tried exotic foods from

different cultures. He discovered

that life’s richness lay in its

diversity, in the harmonious blend

of experiences, much like the notes

in a musical composition. Years

passed, and Michael’s hair turned

silver. As he looked back on his life,

he realized that it had been a grand

symphony. There were joyous

crescendos and melancholic

passages, but each note had

contributed to a unique and

unforgettable melody. One evening,

while sitting on his windowsill,

watching the setting sun paint the

sky in shades of orange and purple,

Michael felt a sense of

contentment. He had learned that

the true essence of life wasn’t in

the extraordinary, but in the

appreciation of the ordinary. As he

closed his eyes and listened to the

sounds of the city, the honking

cars, and the distant chatter of

people, Michael felt at peace. In

those moments, he knew that his

life, like the symphony playing

around him, was a masterpiece in

its own right—a testament to the

beauty that could be found in the

simplest of notes.

An Intellectual Collapse -JagerPress

I remember people telling me that

they were astonished that I could

remember things in the middle of

conversations just out of the blue

without any need to look it out of a

book (or a mobile, but such devices

that could connect to the internet were

not particularly prevalent in those days

.) and I never really perceived this as

anything unusual; I just presumed

EVERYONE's minds worked like that.

If you worked hard, didn't take drugs

and kept your head down, everything

would coalesce in your mind, and your

mental capacity was just a puzzle, a

puzzle that had rules, rules that if you

kept would end up giving that very

backbone that was your intellect.

Unfortunately, there was an event,

which I will not explain here as it was -

although absolutely devastating for

me- extremely boring, which gave me

a revelation, a re-evaluation that

someone's ability to recollect a broad

collection of information in the human

kind population was not a constant as I

has presumed, as suddenly I couldn't

just remember things when I felt like it.

It just wasn't just un-fair; worse I felt

stupid, and although it was never like I

was a genius who had a photographic

memory, which I'm certain several of

my class mates in my top set science

class had, this loss still gets me even

though it's been so, so, so many, many

years since. Indeed, it probably hurts

even more now. It's like I just lost a

massive part of who I am and nothing

will ever fix this! You see a significant

part of someone is their ability to

communicate and communicating is an

important part someone’s life, and thus

their personality. Therefore, spending

so much of your time remembering

what's the next section of a

conversation would be or even

removing a significant part of a

conversation just because you can't

remember what you should say, does

reduce someone’s ability to

communicate effectively and this itself

changes who you are quite

intrinsically. Well, there are ways

around this loss like being better

organised or other fallbacks, and it is

true that maybe this loss has pushed me

to become a bit more careful and more

prepared, but I presume it's much more

likely that growing up and experiences

makes someone much more organised

rather than losing their memory in a

severe accident or medical

incompetence. Experience such as

knowing that once you were twenty

minutes late for an important chemistry

exam (even though now I cannot

remember this at all) because you

thought it was in the afternoon will

certainly make you much more

organised, very quickly.

Anyway, I digress, what am I

mostly disappointed about the most?

My appearance? Certainly. I'm always

been one of the most shamefully vain

individuals I could think of but that

didn't exactly intrinsically change who

I am, ultimately, they are really just

scars. The significant of time that

stolen was from me, perhaps, I'll never

get that important time back,

physically or biologically, but

financially perhaps not yet. No

certainly, my inability to remember

things like I used to hurt the most.

being a bit thick is, undoubtably, is the

biggest loss for sure.

A Short Story - The Honey Baron –

Smartass Publishers

In Hisunpi, honey is power. It

feeds the mules that powers the

factories, supplements the diet of ALL

residents on the land for hundreds of

square miles. You see due to an

infestation of a specific parasite a

decade ago, this land could not grow

any crops that were carbohydrate dense

enough to support a working

population and this caused an extreme,

extensive famine for years and years

until one farmer realised that the honey

from his small bee hives kept his

family, workers, and animals fed

through some of the hardest times.

This farmer was Fijun Corr and

Fijun Coor was not a selfish man and

he wanted to give back to Hisunpi.

And so, he went straight to the senate

and described to them about what he

had and how he could help with the

lack of food. The senate were ecstatic

about what Fijun had brought to them

however, rather than giving Fijun

money to allow him to expand his

honey processing capabilities to feed

the population sufficiently, they went

to other farmers who had closer links

to the senate to try to copy the

information that Fijun had given them.

Fijun was rather annoyed about

this but, as every other famer couldn't

grow enough of the basics, he was

raking it in with what he was growing;

particularly after he had invented a

fertiliser from his honey which

substantially corrected all the

impairments caused by the parasite. He

could now grow healthy potatoes, corn,

and wheat along with carrots, broccoli

and he had even started an orchard

which grew apples and grapes; some of

the first things that the parasites had

stopped growing.

Unfortunately for the senate, their

farmers were not having the same

success as Fijun, as their bees were

nowhere nearly as efficient as they

should be; often the hives were found

completely dormant even in the middle

of the spring when they should be the

busiest. Worse, the honey they created

was weak and not particularly

nutritious and didn't really help with

the famine across Hisunpi at all and

there were now crowds of people

finding themselves starving as the cost

of food had rocketed so high that only

the wealthiest could pay for a healthy

diet. Fijun has sent food out as charity

parcels but not even he could provide

enough food for even the neediest.

When the senate eventually went back

to him to ask if they could use his hives

and land, Fijun just put his hands up

and said that, after the way they had

treated him, he didn't trust them using

his hives or land.

The message that Fijun wouldn't

allow the senate to use his farm was

twisted, most likely by the senate, into

one that said he wouldn't increase his

farm's food production because he

wanted to keep the price of food high.

This, of course, increased the fury in

the population of Hisunpi and in only a

couple of days there was a crowd of a

thousand angry, skinny, starving

people outside his farm's gates

demanding access to the farm and a

few even tried to break in. Fortunately,

Fijun's workers were exceptionally

very loyal to him as he had made sure

that they and their families had been -

as already mentioned - well fed and

they quite easily removed the intruders

from the farm's boundaries.

Eventually the head of the senate

emerged from the crowd and asked one

the workers at the gates if she could

talk to Fijun Corr. The worker

whispered to another for a minute until

he turned back to her.

"Fijun has instructed to us that if

you guarantee that, as long as you

don’t arrest him or try to take the farm,

he will talk to you."

"Of course."

"Just remember," the worker stated

to her " you try anything funny and we

will protect Mr Corr to the best of our

means." And two bigger, sturdier

workers stepped up behind him.

She just shrugged, "Yes, I just

want to talk to him and apologise about

our previous behaviour."

"Ok, that sounds reasonable."

replied the worker, " I will go and get

him."

After a few minutes the head of the

senate saw the worker with Mr Coor

walking towards the gate. When they

got close, Fijun raised his right hand

and two workers pulled a heavy, thick,

twisted tight rope and the gates opened

for them. Nearly immediately there was

a movement in the crowd, but the head

of the senate raised her hand like Fijun

had and the raising murmurs and the

sound of restlessness behind her slowly

dissipated into a deadly, anxious,

nervous silence.

"I've been told you want to

apologise to me?" Fijun said as he

walked and stood in front of her with a

rather stern yet amused facial

expression.

"Yes, we are very sorry that we

didn't work with you from the very

start, after you bought the result from

your hives, we just had contracts with

these other farmers that we were

legally obliged to use with senate

acquired work."

"Thats not an apology! I know,

from my own contacts, that those

farmers were family members of the

senate. That is called corruption, or

worse, nepotism and such fraud has

made this famine significantly worse

than it had to be, it should be the

senate's homes and work that this

crowd should be harassing, not

mine!!!"

The head of the senate sighed and lent

her head at an awkward angle. "Yes,

I'm aware of this now, and that’s one

reason why I've come to you. Look,

my name is Lilly Pool, let us make this

more of a friendly conversation. Our

people are starving and neither of us

want that, it is why you came to the

senate in the first place!"

"Indeed, I know who you are, and

you might be right about this

corruption 'now', but let’s be frank, if

you didn't know about this previously,

you bloody should have!!!"

"OK, OK, OK...perhaps I should

have, but let’s talk about the present

and how we can resolve the current

problem!"

"Let’s do that and I can resolve this

quite quickly, but firstly I need to be

legally protected so none of the

senate's members’ families can steal it

from me, like they tried before.

Immediately Lilly Pool brought out

a piece of paper out of her jacker's

inside pocket and presented to Fijun

while saying." Here is a legal contract

that defines that everything you do

regarding honey in Hisunpi of any type

is patented to you. We just need our

people to be properly fed!"

Fijun took the contract and he

looked at it quite thoroughly. As

someone who had been selling food for

most his life, he exactly knew what the

appropriate legal terms were and so his

facial expression became more and

more surprised as he went down the

piece of paper until he raised his eyes

up and said to Lilly Pool with an

astonished tone. "This gives me

everything?!?!? I have complete power

of everything. This makes me a

dictator of some sort!"

Lilly's eye-brows rose slightly,

"Well what you have invented will

save us all, we our all completely

under your direction!"

"I didn't want that though!"

"Nonetheless, this is where we find

ourselves. Please take my pen and sign

the contract so we can start to expand

your farm and begin to feed everyone."

Fijun took the pen and signed the

contract and when he returned it back

to her he said. "There's no need to

expand my farm!"

Lilly eyebrows rose even higher,

"You don't need to expand to make

more of your honey???"

Fijun gently smiled, "Well as I am

now legally covered by any type of

honey that is created in Hisunpi, I can

explain why and how the honey I

created is so powerful. You see my

grandfather himself was a beekeeper

and he observed that his bees were

particularly interested in this one shrub

like plant in his garden. He also

noticed that the honey that he created

from hives that pollinated from this

plant which he named Ficus Sucratius

or just Figgasrust as it's fruits look

similar to small figs and tasted just like

them, was significantly sweater than

honey from hives which were not

placed near to this plant. He also told

me when I was a child that this shrub

was particularly resistant to plagues,

droughts and even harsh winters. Thus,

when I started farming my grandfather

gave me a few of his hives along with

ten or so Figgarust's plants which I

planted near them, initially to pollinate

my crops but also to sell the honey as a

second income. At the start of the

famine, I notice that Figgarusts were

the only plants that were growing

every spring but their fruits were too

small and there were not enough of

them for me to sell and so all they

could help me with was my honey

production. Nevertheless, the bees

were very happy where as everything

else was dying, therefore I got a few

more hives and planted more Figgarust

plants and their honey become a bigger

part of my family's diet and we have

always allowed my workers to take

some honey from my hives. In short to

fix this famine issue, all I have to do is

plant Figgarust plants across Hisunpi

and the honey from the hives near them

will be a success."

"What about growing other crops?"

Lilly asked him with a concerned tone.

"Oh, well honey is inherently

antiseptic and honey from Figgarust's

is more potent; well at least this is my

hypothesis of why my fertiliser allows

my other crops to grow."

And so, it only took Lilly Pool a

few weeks to plant samples of

Figgarust from Fijun's Farm's, with

new hives, across Hisunpi and the

population were now no longer

starving, initially just from the honey

as it took another year to fertilise all

the other farms with Fijun's honeybased

fertiliser before they could grow

crops again. Many years later the

Figgarust plant's scientific name was

legally changed to Corr Spes or Corr's

Hope as Fijun never took any money

from the patent that Lilly Pool had

written up for him. Fijun is now a

happy old man living in his farm

selling honey and food to the

population of Hisunpi, which has now

more doubled since.


lause.html

Short Story - Tom Forest -JagerPress

Tom rose his right hand to cup his

chin, leant to put most of his weight

onto his right leg while his left forearm

reached across to hold the opposite

elbow, before he said to the man, who

he had just opened his front door to,

"Sorry, could you say that again?!?!?"

The man, who had introduced

himself to Tom as an officer from the

Department for Environment, Food and

Rural affairs, repeated himself. " Mr

Forest as I said, we must seize your

farm as you have broken your license!"

"What are you talking about!!!"

Tom replied furiously, "I have

industrial hemp plants in all my fields

and all the seeds that they produce, that

we sell to our health and nutrient

focussed clients, have low enough

THC concentrations to mean I can

legally sell them in the UK??? This is

all in my licence for god's sake!!!"

The civil servant shrugged, "This

has nothing to do with the seeds that

you sell at all. This is about how you

are disposing of the rest of the crop."

"Again, what are you on

about?!?!?

"My manger has just instructed me

to seize you farm because of the way

you are disposing the rest of your crop

after the seeds have been harvested."

Tom looked gob smacked.

"What!?!??! Look, I'm a botanist, I

kind of know exactly what I'm doing

here, and nothing, absolutely nothing

that I'm doing, and I am certain about

this, breaks or disqualifies my lease

OR any other current laws. There's no

way you can seize my land because of

the way I am removing the rest of my

crops after the seeds have been

harvested!!!"

The man looked down at the red

clipboard that he was holding rather

tentatively, "It just says here that you

are disposing the crop waste

inappropriately; why you are doing this

is, unfortunately, above my pay grade.

I'm just doing my job here; you'll have

to talk to the council about this I'm

afraid and I need to restrict access to

the land immediately! This is what I

have been ordered to do."

Tom nearly screamed at him, "This

is just sooooo stupid!!! There's no way

you can legally take my land like this;

this is my income. I've read about how

Rockefeller manipulated the US

government about the legality of the

hemp genus though the media last

century, but I assumed, due to

realisation of the economical benefits

about this plant, that this issue was no

longer supported by modern policies!"

The man bit his lower lip quite

hard. "OK, as I said I'm just doing my

job," then there was pause before he

said, "however I'm very interested into

the environment and this is the main

reason why I took this job. My name is

Chris Pr'cels; I tell you what, if you

show how me how you're dealing with

the waste, I will take an executive

decision about it and refer this

information back to my boss?"

Tom sighed heavily. "Fine, if it

really has to be this way! Give me a

minute, I need to put my boots on." He

then looked at Chris' feet and said,

"You probably should change yours as

well, those nice leather, office shoes

might get ruined for where we are

going; the weather is pretty fair

currently nonetheless we will be

tramping through some proper,

wildland like agriculture before we get

to where I dispose the waste of the

crops. I probably have a couple of

boots or wellies that will fit you?"

Chris raised his eye brows and

chuckled, "''VEGAN' leather if you

don't mind! Don't worry, I don't need

to change my shoes, if they get dirty, I

have an ecological effective spray at

home that will clean them up nicely if

needs be."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Tom

stated to Chris while he shoved his

boots on “, this is a farm and it is a bit

muddy and I do have animals to help to

pollinate the micro-ecosystem that I

have created in it if you know what I

mean."

Chris just shrugged again and,

when Tom had got his boots on and

had double locked his front door,

blocking his yelping border collie

sheep dog - ironically Tom has no

sheep in his farm- Sharky from running

out, they crossed the paved yard in

front of Tom's house towards the gate

that gave access to the farm's fields and

the forest of industrial hemp plants that

towered over everything else nearby,

including the oak and evergreen trees

that grew parrel to the rood that was

outside of the farm.

After Tom had unlocked the gate

of the wooden fence, Chris realised he

probably should have taken Tom's

offer of a change in footwear. Across

the threshold from the paved front yard

and into the field, the type of terrain

underfoot changed quite suddenly.

There WAS something that some

might call a path, but even these people

would have to label it as a dirt path,

where 'dirt' would be a much better

description of this piece of

infrastructure than actually a 'path’.

Chris followed Tom through the

gate, feeling the patter of the paving

under his feet changing into one that

squelched quite significantly;

fortunately his shoes were they made

very well and nothing had leaked in,

yet. While he was stepped over a wide,

deep brown puddle that sat right in

front of him, he said to Tom,.

"I didn't know such type of plants

could grow so high???? These must

have come from some sort of a

genetically modified seeds or

somethings"

"Nope, all done the natural way,

breeding selection."

"Well that’s quite impressive, must

have taken you quite some time.

Although I'm a bit concerned that you

have a mono culture here that is not

under the EFR department's

regulation?"

Tom put both of his hands into his

trousers’ pockets and said "Well the

advantaged of hemp is that it is an

annular crop and so the breeding

selection to reach height as a specific

feature was relatively quite quick and

in reference to your monoculture

concerns, as I said, I'm a botanist.

"Just saying you’re a botanist does

not protect you from growing a

monoculture though!"

"Most farmers grow monocultures

whether that be wheat, fruits or other

edible vegetables, nonetheless I don't

do that as I am very aware that having

a circular systems of crop plantation is

extremely much more efficient. Just

have a look," and Tom stretched his

arm and pointed between two hemp

plant "I have breaks between the hemp

to grow edible crops like fruit trees and

tomatoes,"

Chis lent his head and squinted so

he could look between the giant stems

of the two hemp plants and he saw a

few pear, organge and apple tree . " Ah

I see, well that is a very good way to

dispose of any argument that you're

using a monoculture system!"

"It's actually more of an economic

benefit than keeping up with the recent

agricultural regulations."

"Yes, from what I've read,,," said

Chris "...circular systems are

significant resistant to diseases and

increases pollination. Also I hear hemp

significantly increase the health of the

soil for ALL the other crops."

"That is very true."

"It must make harvesting much

more difficult though, with all the same

crops in different places and them not

being set up in rows?"

"Actually, not particularly."

"Oh? How do you do it then?"

"With just some photos of the

different crops implanted into some

really basic AI software that is run in a

few robotic arm equipped harvesters."

"That sound expensive?"

"In the long term the harvesters are

significantly cheaper than employing

seasonal workers and the AI, as I said,

is really basic. I learnt that from the

internet and wrote it by self hence it

was free and if I want to change it a bit

I can do it my self. Right, now we have

reached our waste disposers.

They had now reached a clearing

and a few meets away from them stood

three green coloured, large metal

rectangular shaped boxes that had

pipes coming out at one side of their

smaller sides. Chris could see, on the

other end of one of these, a four

wheeled machine tipping a large

amount, of what looked like plant

waste, into a large rectangle shaped

black hole on the other end of one of

these said boxes.

"Here our my anaerobic digestors

which dispose of all my farms organic

waste." Tom stated proudly.

"I see." Chris replied "I've read

about this, So you're producing

unfiltered reuseable biogas along with

disposing your farms organic waster?

Do you send it to a third party to

separate the methane from the carbon

dioxide that is also produced in the

anaerobic process before it get's into

the power companies’ gas pipes?"

Tom smiled. "Fortunately, by

doctorate was based on membranes and

so I personally designed, built and

installed membranes which separate

the carbon dioxide and nitrous oxide

from the methane from the gas flow

that comes from the anaerobic digester

and so the gas is at the same purity of

methane that the power companies

pump from underground."

"You seem to be a pretty talented

person." Chris commented to Tom "

Also I haven't met many people who

did doctors and then become farmers?

Most move into cities where the money

is better."

"I wouldn't say that I'm talented,"

Tom replied. "I just work on what I

know. And on being a farmer, well, I'm

city born, it's not that great and you

might make more but it is also

especially expensive compared to

living out here! "

"Maybe; I imagine though that you

must be doing pretty well with yourself

with the gas production export on its

own?"

"Most of the gas created powers

the farm and my home, but it's true, I

do sell some of it, which does make me

a bit. However from my anaerobic

digesters, commercially, this power is

not , currently, the main exporter that

makes me the most, it is actually the

fertilisers that they make from the plant

waste after the gas has been produced.

This fertiliser is not exactly "organic",

but it is not produced through the

energetic intense Harber Process that

most modern fertilisers are made from

nowadays. Also, it's inherently part of

of the circular economics of my farm!"

"I see," Chris stated cheerfully

"from what I have now observed, I do

not perceive how you are disposing of

your agricultural waste as in anyway

inappropriate and therefore the notice

to seize your farm's land will be

nullified. I will write this up when I get

back to the office and send it to my

boss to make sure this council's

assessment is changed immediately.

You will get a copy to confirm this."



A Short Story: An Intellectual Collapse -

JagerPress

I remember people telling me that

they were astonished that I could

remember things in the middle of

conversations just out of the blue

without any need to look it out of a

book (or a mobile, but such devices

that could connect to the internet were

not particularly prevalent in those

days) and I never really perceived this

as anything unusual; I just presumed

EVERYONE's minds worked like that.

If you worked hard, didn't take drugs

and kept your head down, everything

would coalesce in your mind, and your

mental capacity was just a puzzle, a

puzzle that had rules, rules that if you

kept would end up giving that very

backbone that was your intellect.

Unfortunately, there was an event,

which I will not explain here as it was -

although absolutely devastating for me

- extremely boring, which gave me a

revelation, a revelation that someone's

ability to recollect a broad collection of

information in the human kind

population was not, apparently, a

constant as I had presumed, as

suddenly I couldn't just remember

things when I felt like it. It just wasn't

just un-fair, worse I felt stupid, and

although it was never like I was a

genius who had a photographic

memory, which I'm certain several of

my class mates in my top set science

class had, this loss still gets me even

though it's been so, so, so many, many

years since. Indeed, it hurts even more

now, it is like I just lost a massive part

of who I am and nothing will ever fix

this.

You see a significant part of

someone is their ability to

communicate and communicating is an

important part someone’s life, and thus

their personality. Therefore, spending

so much of your time remembering

what's the next section of a

conversation would be or even

removing a significant part of a

conversation just because you can't

remember what you should say, does

reduce someone’s ability to

communicate effectively and this itself

changes who you are quite

intrinsically. Although there are ways

around this loss, like being better

organised or other fallbacks, and it is

true that maybe this loss has pushed me

to become a bit more careful and more

prepared, but I think it is much more

likely that growing up and having

experiences that makes someone much

more organised rather than losing their

memory. Experience such as knowing

that once you were twenty minutes late

for an important chemistry exam (even

though you now cannot remember this

at all) because you thought it was in

the afternoon, will certainly make you

much more organised, very quickly.

Anyway, I digress, what I am

mostly disappointed about the most?

My appearance? Certainly, I've always

been one of the most shamefully vain

individuals I could think of, but that

didn't exactly intrinsically change who

I am, ultimately what I really got was

just scars. The significant of time that

was stolen from and will be stolen

from me because of my poor health,

perhaps, I'll certainly never get that

important time back, physically and

biologically, but financially perhaps

not yet. No certainly, my inability to

remember things like I used to hurt’s

the most. My mind, undoubtably, was

the biggest variable that was taken

from me, that is for certain.

If you send an email to

info@jagerpress.com we will keep

you updated when the next free short

stories on the Jager Press’ Short Story

eBook will be available.

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