Aoife's Kiss

December 2011

 

Many of you may recall the vampire/cop TV series Forever Knight.  The Master vampire was Lucien LaCroix, played by the Master of Sinister, Nigel Bennett.  In the show, Bennett does a late-night call-in radio show called The Nightcrawler.  Especially during the third [and sadly, last] season, Bennett/LaCroix delved a bit deeper into the philosophy of what constitutes a vampire's mental makeup.  In one episode, "The Human Factor," he declares that "Winter is the kindest season.  The heart does not melt in winter."  This, of course, a reference to the fact that the vampire's heart must be cold.

 

In contrast, this December 2011 issue of Aoife's Kiss--which contains no vampires; for those, you have to go to our Hungur Magazine--contains several stories that will warm your heart and perhaps even your cockles.  Not sure what a cockle is, but if you have one or more, it/they will be warmed.

 

[Hang about . . . just checking . . . ah, there it is.  The American Heritage Dictionary refers to the "cockles of the heart."  Hmm . . . must be located between the oracle and the ventricle.  See?  There's another homonym your spellchecker won't catch:  oracle and auricle.  Anyway, the dictionary says these cockles are the metaphoric equivalent of "warm fuzzies."]

 

For your entertainment, then, we present a story that has less to do with fuzzies and is more concerned with shopping--"Happy Shopping," by Chris Ward.  And we're including the poignant poem "The Stray They Brought Inside," by Shirley Valencia.  For more pieces like these, plus those cockle-warmers I mentioned, please order a copy or even a subscription of Aoife's Kiss--just click on the cover icon below.

 

Have a safe and Happy Christmas, you lot!

 

Tyree Campbell

Editor, Aoife's Kiss

 

 

 

The Stray They Brought Inside

by Shirley Valencia

 

 

They watched the cat with sympathy

when they found it crouched on the back

of the sofa looking at birds in the tree

outside the window, because they

guessed he was remembering

freedom, blood, feathers

and the taste of bird meat.

 

The cat watched the birds with curiosity,

but was puzzled by the fleeting instant

in which he had remembered wind

in his feathers

and what it felt like to fly.

 

 

Happy Shopping

by Chris Ward

 

 

I hated it when the supermarket was busy, and today the queue at the entry-ticket booth outside Getgo’s was practically a riot.

          I also hated entry-ticket days more than ordinary days, because not only did it mean I had to pay just to get in, it meant that everything I wanted was almost certainly going to be sold out.

          I waited half an hour to get my ticket, and had another hour to wait after that before my scheduled entry time ticked around.  The ticket allowed me pre-entry into the supermarket’s coffee shop, where I could fill the waiting time by drinking overpriced coffee, but I chose to ignore this little “perk”, and went for a wander around the town.

          Of course, there was no town, really, not now Getgo’s had a complete monopoly on the entire sales industry, and while I tried to browse through the antique shops and clothing stores, I felt repulsed by that little “GG” logo which was always hiding around somewhere on the door or window.  Instead I just walked up and down the high street for a while, shivering in the cold.

          When entry time came, I headed back up to the supermarket and joined the queue to get into the building proper.  It was just as long, but moved quickly, the security on the door taking just a quick glance at your ticket before ushering you in.

          Inside, I paused to look around me.  A huge cavernous space overhead circulated the perfectly air-conditioned air at 22.5 degrees Celsius, and calming sea-sound music flowed gently out of surround-sound loud speakers.

          As the people in front of me dispersed into the aisles, I realized just how empty it was inside; of course the whole entry-ticket day thing was a con, just like everything else.  Advertise on TV that entry-tickets were required on a particular day, and all the sheep assume there must be some special reason.  Cue queues, queues, and more queues outside, and miles of empty space inside.

          I hated being a sheep, but I was a consumer, after all, and we all were.

          Inside, I strode purposefully down the fifty-meter Cereals aisle, past the nine-kilogram cornflake packets and the 50-pack pop-biscuits towards the endless sea of frozen goods displays where freezers were dotted haphazardly around the floor like a Arctic archipelago.  It was believed that this racecourse of a shopping area appealed to the more adventurous of trolley-pushers, who would no doubt add to their loads as they spun and swerved their way through the chicanes and hairpins before emerging, victorious and overloaded, at the dairy products aisle on the other side.

          Today, though, I negotiated Frozen Goods with barely a sideways glance, a woman on a mission.  For some unknown reason, this morning I’d woken up and felt a terrible desire to buy T-bags.  I had T-bags, of course, but today I needed more.

          The Coffee & Tea aisle rose up before me, overloaded with teas and coffees from all over the globe.  And off it, actually, the various varieties of Moon Tea taking up a decent chunk of shelf space, though it was overpriced and under-flavored, the synthetic soil and glass domes on the Moon not really an adequate replacement for the fertile soils of the Indian steppes.  Still, I’d bought it by the trolley-load when it first came out, just like everyone else had.

          There was another commotion here today.  I groaned as I saw a crowd bunched into the aisle, pressed around a new product, maybe.  For some reason, that just made my blood simper and froth.  Sometimes the overly blatant consumerism made me want to start smashing things.

          With a growl I stepped into the back of the throng and elbowed my way to the front.

          The crowd surrounded two middle-aged women shoppers, standing close to the shelves, discussing something.  One of them held up a metal jar.

          ‘And this, I just can’t believe the wholesome flavor.’

          ‘Oh, yes,’ the other replied.  ‘Its full, tantalizing aroma just breathes new life into my bones, makes me feel young again.’

          ‘And you can really taste the seawater, can’t you?  All the goodness of the sea, mixed with a tea.’

          ‘Yes,’ the other nodded, turning to the crowd, flashing a smile.  ‘Ah, “Sea-Tea”.  Just the thing for me!’

          Sea-Tea, I thought.  Jesus Christ.  When would it ever end?

          The crowd began to clap.  One or two people nodded their agreement.  I clenched my fists tight.  Watching these sheep so sucked in by such utter bullshit sent me into a frenzy.

          I shouldered the last shoppers out of the way, until I was standing at the front of the crowd, facing the two women.  I reached out, grabbed a jar of coffee off the shelf close by and smashed it into the nearest woman’s face.  She made a little computerized yelp and her head swung sideways, breaking off at the neck.

          The crowd gasped.

          Of course, these were nothing more than advertising robots, designed to look like middle-aged shoppers discussing a bargain new product.  Overhearing someone else’s assertion of a product’s quality was the best advertising possible, and the crowd was testament to this.  No one was supposed to realize they were just robots, but I’d been around this supermarket enough times to realize which people were glassy-eyed advertising robots and which were just glassy-eyed shoppers.

          ‘Just shut the hell up!’ I shouted, swinging the coffee jar at the other, who actually deflected the blow rather deftly, as it brought up the metal jar of Sea-Tea in order to begin another dialogue with its now decapitated partner.

          ‘And this, I just can’t believe the wholesome flavor.’

          ‘Ahh!’  I aimed a haymaker at the robot, and was sure it would have connected if someone hadn’t grabbed me first.  I felt rough hands land on my shoulders and I turned to find two big security guards behind me, the crowd pressing behind them, gossiping in hushed tones.

          ‘This way, please, if you don’t mind,’ one of them said, steering me away from the crowd.

          ‘Get your bloody hands off me!’ I shouted, pushing away from them, at which point one of them grabbed me around the arms and lifted me off the ground, the other taking hold of my legs.  Together, they carried me through the store, the crowd following at a distance.

          ‘I think you’d better come for a chat with the manager,’ the one holding my legs said.

          ‘Let me the hell go, you pig!’

          ‘No need for that,’ he replied.

          I tried to look over my shoulder to see where we were going.  I could see past the cash registers to the large coffee shop and the front windows.  People were looking over and shouting, peering in through the windows to see what was going on.

          The guard holding my legs let go for a second, and I kicked out at him, but instead stuck the side of a stand of candy and batteries, which fell forward and emptied its load across the polished floor.

          ‘Take that!’ I shouted, as the guard got a new grip on my feet, preventing me from doing any more damage.

          Across the front of the store we went, in full view of everyone, until finally we came to a small door behind a cigarette counter.  The first guard pushed it open with his foot and they carried me inside.

          Another man was sitting behind a desk.  As they carried me in he began to clap.  ‘Bravo, bravo.  Great job.  Word’ll get out on to the streets and the store’ll be full by this afternoon.’

          ‘Shut up and tell these morons to let me go!’

          The man raised an eyebrow.  ‘Ok, you can calm down now.’

          ‘Want me to switch it off, sir?’ the first guard asked.

          ‘Do what?’ I shouted.

          The man behind the desk was smiling.  ‘My my, Disturbance Robots are really quite something.  You really do look just like a miserable old woman!’

          ‘Quite a bit stronger, though,’ the second guard added.

          ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

          ‘The switch is on the side, Joe,’ the man behind the desk said, pointing at me.  ‘Watch out for her arms, though.’

          ‘You’re crazy –‘

          Still holding on to me, he reached down and pulled up my top.  I stared at the mesh of wires and metal casing beneath.  In the midst of it all was a silver dial.

          ‘This is ridiculous!  What have you done to me?’

          ‘Two clicks to the right, Joe,’ the man behind the desk, said.

          ‘I won’t ask nicely again!  Let go of –‘

*        *        *

I hated it when the supermarket was busy, and today the queue at the entry ticket booth outside Getgo’s was practically a riot….