( Image is from my wedding invitation, many moons ago, 1999, designed by a young artist, Annette. Interesting how Midir and Etain were with us even then. Check out her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/artbyannettecorkery/ )

Sipping pints of the dark stuff they contemplated the news that was invading their peace. It was blaring out from the television that sat precariously balanced on a rickety shelf over the bar. There wasn’t many in the pub, there never was anymore in this small town bypassed by the motorway to Dublin.

“Teresa May, UK prime minister, has lost the vote in Parliament. The troubled exit of Britain from the EU is likely to result in the return to a hard border for this island”

Images of car bombs, crying children, men in balaclavas and soldiers flashed across the screen.

Eochy looked over at his companion, her blond hair glittering in the dim light of the bar, her bright blue eyes glued to the screen while she pursed her ruby red lips in anger.

He coughed to get her attention.

“Do you remember that film, ya know the one with the students from Scotland stealing back that rock thing from the English? Do you remember?”

“You mean The Stone of Scone?” she replied absentmindedly.

“Scone? Scone? You mean like the bun you eat with butter and jam or like the English eat with cream, that Scone?” he half said to himself while she continued watching the news.

“Well it’s spelled the same. Why?”

“I was thinking about that stone. They thought it was the Stone of Destiny, An Lia Fáil. You know what? It wasn’t. They were mad wrong, it never left the Hill of Tara.” He looked at her waiting for her questions.

“How do you know that? Oh who cares?”

“ Well, I do know and.you should care, because with that stone and you we can sort out the whole English Brexit shite once and for all. I dreamt about it last night and I know exactly where it is. In my dream a cloaked person led me right to it. I googled it and there are loads of rumours that’s where it’s at. My dream is true, I’m being led to it.”

“You’ve lost me completely now. I haven’t a notion what you’re talking about.” he was exasperating at times.

Eochy didn’t give up.

“The feckin’ English are going to bring the troubles back if we don’t do something about it and our gobshites of politicians are just bending over backwards for their EU lords and doing nothing about it so, SO, we have to. We have to go to Tara, dig up the real Lia Fáil cos the penis stone they have there now isn’t it, it’s just like a headstone or whatever. The real one is buried somewhere beside the mound of hostages. We need to get the real one and you need to stand on it and Bob’s yer uncle, United Ireland, sorted.” He sat back, delighted with himself and downed his pint in one.

“Right, losing me again” Etain had to admit she was more interested now.

“You’re always telling me you’re 100% Irish and your line goes right back to the Kings of Ireland so there is a pretty good chance if you stand on the Stone it will screech with Joy because you’re the rightful heir to the throne and we won’t need to worry anymore about a hard or soft border as there will be no border!”

“You, my friend are most likely mad, polluted drunk definitely, and while I’m loving the idea, there is a problem, I won’t be the King of Ireland, I’m a woman. Ireland is a woman and the King is married to her, that’s how it works” Etain sat back and looked at him.

Eochy looked puzzled. “Don’t get you, why? We can have a queen, sure it’s 2019 for feck sake and didn’t we vote in same sex marriage. Queen of Ireland, let’s get the stone!” He stood up unsteadily and made his way to the bar.

All that night, Etain couldn’t get the conversation out of her head. She had a romantic head on her shoulders and she really was a direct descendant of Niall of the Nine hostages and therefore of the last great king of Ireland, Conn of The Hundred Battles. Legend said he was the last king to make the Stone of Destiny sing out in joy as a true King who could unite the country. The next morning she was still seriously contemplating it, though she couldn’t believe it herself. She rang Eochy who was only waiting for her call and they agreed to meet back in the pub and trash the crazy plan out over lunch.

She greeted him with “It’s an archaeological site of international importance, I don’t want any damage done. Is there any non invasive way we can locate it first before we start digging, like maybe echo sounding or a drone or something? And, we could get in trouble, big trouble. Could end up in jail”

Eochy smiled, delighted this was happening.

“Aye, Maybe we’ll be fined or something which is a crying shame and us only trying to save the country for feck sake. Trouble will happen only if It doesn’t work”

“Yeah, only if it doesn’t work. We will need more help with this but who can we trust?”

Eochy couldn’t stop smiling “I was thinking Aengus, well he has a drone and a good understanding of how to excavate without damaging the site.”

“ Oh yeah, he should do, he is an Archaeological student. Oh he won’t agree.”

“I think he will.” answered Aengus himself as he wandered into the bar. “Eochy already sold the whole idea to me. We should do it as soon as possible. I’ve the drone outside and there was very little growth so we should get a good look at the land, if there is anything there we will see it.”

They discussed it more as they ate their lunch and then drove to the sacred site to have a look for themselves and plan the raid. Etain was worried Aengus doing a drone flight might be traced back but he assured her there were plenty of drones up there all the time and in fact he had, in anticipation, already put a rumour out about a naked pagan ceremony either today or tomorrow so there will be lots of activity. They’ll be lost in the midst of all the air traffic and no one will be suspicious of them being there too.

“There are always prayer circles up there, The other drones will have plenty to look at while we work. It will be like we have a cloak of invisibility over us.” he laughed.

“Misdirection.” agreed Eochy.

When they got to the Hill there already was a bit of a crowd gathered in wait for the mysterious naked pagan ceremony just as Aengus had said so no one noticed them preparing their drone nor did they see that their drone was focused on one small area a little away from all the activity. They were taking detailed coverage over the mound of hostages while the prayer groups, who hadn’t got naked yet, nor would they, were over at the phallic pillar.

Etain decided to take a closer look while the two men were playing with the drone. She wandered up to the entrance of the mound and stared into the darkness. A cloaked man approached her and asked was she joining the group. She said she was only having a look, having never been there before. His accent was Northern Irish, Antrim, like Eochy, she thought. He wandered off up the Hill.

The entrance was gated and locked. She had noticed despite being an important historical site, there wasn’t much other security about the place. The hill was accessible at all times, they would just need to be careful they weren’t conspicuous, weren’t followed up the Hill, bring something to cut the lock and dig. How do you carry a spade without drawing suspicion she wondered as she watched the eccentric group on the hill chanting.

When Etain came back down the two men had put away the drone.

“We took as much footage as we could and thermal imaging as well so if the stone is there we will see it.” Aengus said. “How did you get on?”

“I think I know how we get our shovels up there without looking suspicious, in the funniest way really, as anyone dressed like this would be suspicious anywhere else. We dress in cloaks and we carry our shovels in plain sight in our hands. Keeping the shovel part hidden under our cloaks and a candle on the handle we will walk to the mound in a procession as if we are performing a ritual. No one seems to pass any heed on that sort of carry on here.”

Aengus laughed, “Great idea. We’’ll go back and examine this in detail, I’ll enlarge it up and we can decide when we are coming back then.”

“The sooner the better I think” said Eochy, just to say something as he was feeling a bit superfluous.

“Imbolc” Etain said.”Imbolc, First of February, day of the goddess Brigid, there will be activity here day and night just like there is at all the sites, no one will notice us.”

Aengus nodded “That’s less than a week, we better get back and examine these now so. You two ok to come over to mine?”

Eochy nodded, “Yeah grand, will we stop by the pub and pick up our cars now or will you drop us in later?”

“I’ll drop you there now and you can go home and pack a bag and come over to mine, we could be at this all night, you might as well stay over.”

When they all gathered again, excited with a little trepidation at what they were planning, each of them was afraid to say to the others that this might just be a risk not worth taking. No one in Ireland would appreciate them damaging the site. The authorities would most certainly frown at it. They may be arrested and all for a story, a magical legend that couldn’t possibly be true but they just couldn’t help themselves. It had turned into a quest, a mission, they felt obligated to follow now they had thought of it. Crime or no crime, they had to do it.

“Aengus, this is is very impressive” said Eochy as he looked around at the tech gadgets everywhere. One big screen was in front of the keypad with two smaller ones each side. Aengus was pointing at a spot he had circled on all three screens.

“See here, this darker patch in the photo, there’s something solid there and here over in the thermal image you can see it more clearly. I’ve enlarged it in this one. It’s rectangular, it’s not as big or as phallic looking as the one they have up on the hill but if you look closely you can see a big crack down the middle, where, according to legend, it split when Cú Chulainn hit it in anger. It could be it, maybe.”

Etain looked closely at the image

“It’s flat, you could stand or sit on it. I think it’s worth a try. By the looks of it we have to break in through the entrance and follow the tunnel until we come to the back wall and dig into the left. It looks like there may have been a passage there before. I think we can do this without much interference with the site.”

“We don’t know that for sure but we’ll be years looking for permission and if the legends true well better now than never.” Aengus said against his better judgement.

Over pizza and a bottle, or two, of wine they discussed it more and had a plan of action for the next Thursday night, 31st of January, the eve of Imbolc. Eochy went over to close the curtains as it got dark and noticed a hooded figure standing under the lamppost across the street. While it was odd, he didn’t mention it.

Dressed in cloaks the three gathered their tools from the boot of Aengus’s car, set the battery powered candles on the top of them and made their way up the Hill. They passed a few other cloaked and unusual individuals muttering chants as they wandered up and down the Hill. No one passed much heed on them. They got to the mound of hostages and Etain snapped the lock. Looking around to ensure no one noticed them they slipped inside and pulled the gate behind them. Down the dark passage they went to the end and started to dig at the wall on the left of them. They worked quickly and quietly, each taking turns to keep watch at the gate while the spiritual people outside wandered about their business. Aengus kept a close eye on what they were doing and anything of interest they found he noted its position, documented it and photographed it. It slowed the process down but he insisted.

The night went on. Eochy was on watch and Etain and Aengus were working away when Etain hit a large hard rock. They both cleared all around it and pulled at it until they had it out and were preparing it to drag out of the mound. They were so excited they never noticed that Eochy had returned and he wasn’t alone. Etain recognised the man from the day she had been here before and she looked at Eochy.

“I’m sorry, I had no choice. I owe them money. They were going to hurt you, kill you and me. I didn’t have a dream. I made it up. I had to get you here, they wanted to make sure they got the stone so it can never happen, never come to pass and only a true queen could find it.”

“But it was your idea!”

“No it was mine.” The unwanted visitor stepped out and smiled at Etain. “We can’t take any chances now can we? There won’t be a United Ireland in my lifetime or ever, not when we’ve disposed of you and the stone.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her!”

“I did, I lied.” He pointed his gun at Etain ready to shoot.

While they were talking, Aengus, unnoticed, had been cleaning the stone and reading the Ogham lettering on its side in a low whisper. He pulled Etain onto it and finished reading. A guttural roar of deep joy vibrated through the chamber. Eochy and the intruder fell to the ground. Gusts of whirling wind surrounded them whispering “We are released, our time has come.” Aengus and Etain looked at each other wondering what they had done, They knew there would be a United Ireland but they didn’t know under whose, or what, rule.

Competition Feedback:

” An heir believing in returning proper order with a stone is good stuff. The characters are wonderfully smart, misguided and remarkably brave….. I thought the writer did a great job writing dialogue that was fun to read and moved the story forward….. Interesting premise and usage of history and legend.” 

Kevin was watching the couple from his spyhole in the ceiling. They had completely forgotten about him as they whispered fervently to each other while bending over a document. They seemed to be very anxious about something. He hoped it wasn’t his bill. He had spent too long in this ramshackle old house undoing all the wrong that had been done in the past forty years or more. He wished they would go. He was getting a cramp in his leg and he really didn’t want them to find out that he was above their heads all this time. He should have made a noise when they came in at the start. It would be more than awkward if they found him now.

They left the room after rolling up the page and shoving it into the filing cabinet below him. Finally he could stretch his legs. He eased his way across the tight attic space and lowered himself down through the tiny gap in the ceiling. Nobody ever thinks of the workmen when putting in attic openings he thought. Just as well he was thin and wiry. He jumped down quietly and went to the door to peep out. He could hear the wife putting on the kettle as her husband said goodbye and headed back to work. The baby swinging in the bouncer gurgled and laughed as he saw him peep out and Kevin smiled back at him. His curiosity got the better of him and he went over to the filing cabinet and pulled out the paper to have a good look at what the pair were so secretive about.

It seemed to be an old map of the site they were on. Nothing spectacular about that except for the notes and number markings along the side of it. What could they mean? He followed the numbers and found they led to a spot just where the new extension foundations were to be dug.

“Kevin, Kevin, do you want some tea?” the wife shouted. He shoved the map back in and came down the hall smiling at the baby bouncing up and down in the kitchen doorway.

“Indeed I do, I never say no to a cuppa, Catherine.” he said and smiled at her. “Cake too. Sure you spoil me.” he said as he sat at the table. She sat down across from him, hardly noticing him looking at her as she cooed at her baby.

“Did you know I’m a Diviner” he said.

“Really? Water Divining?” She turned around interested.

“Oh it’s more about energy. Everything has it’s own energy field, you know. For instance, you have gold in the ground of this house. I can feel it.”

“You are an intriguing man, Kevin. Gold, I wish.”

“Ah yeah it’s probably a thread of it very far down. Everyone can feel it if they try.”

“I suppose that’s why you are so good at your job. Currents and energy lines, same idea really.” she said absentmindedly.

“Are you OK?” He said. “You seem troubled.”

“Ah yeah. This build is just taking its toll on me, and I’m not sleeping. Tell me, do you feel vibrations all around because I do and it’s keeping me awake at night, suppose that’s more energy fields. Hey, maybe I’m a Diviner.” She laughed. He looked at her strangely and she looked away feeling silly for mentioning the vibrations. Her husband thought she was nuts so she tried not to talk about it.

She went quiet for a moment as if deciding on whether or not she should tell him something. Kevin waited patiently. She got up and went to the dresser, took a grubby stained letter out from the drawer and handed it to him to read. The writing was beautiful and the eloquent manner in which it was written was of an earlier age. Kevin read it as she babbled on about it.

“See, it says there’s something really important buried here. It’s marked on an old map that was with it. We found it today in the old office. Isn’t this exciting? Maybe it’s treasure or deeds or a big secret to be revealed. If you weren’t having me on about the divining I would say it must be that Gold! Do you see where it says” (She couldn’t resist deepening her voice for more impact for the next part.)

“If this letter is found before one hundred years have passed please do not open the chest. It must rest a while longer.”

“There must be something important in it. Oh Thomas will kill me for talking about it. He told me to keep quiet until we find it. You won’t say anything Kevin?”

Kevin was reading the letter intently and hardly listened to her. The baby let out a cry and she stood up to get him. Kevin went off out to finish the rewiring job, phone in hand.

When Fr. Reilly read the text he was uneasy.

“Chest found. Meeting Urgent. Need to stop the digging. K”.

The priest forwarded it to the necessary recipients along with “Hall at 8pm.”

Kevin soon received a text back.

“Meeting in hall at 8pm. Full attendance.”

The town meeting went on unnoticed by the newcomers to the area as the summoned few all went up the dark avenue at the back. It was so seldom used everyone forgot about it. Fr. Reilly sat smoking his pipe as the people spoke.

“It can’t be dug up. Curse that man and his writing. It’s only fading in people’s memories now that the old generation are gone and this pair with their big fancy ideas of an extension are going to bring it all up again. Knew they were trouble, just like the ould fella”

“Families are only beginning to heal. It was an awful time in our history. That Fecker is still causing trouble from the grave.”

“What do you suggest?” said the priest. “that we steal it? It is theirs after all, they own the land, they are descendents of him.”

“We have to stop it.”

Kevin watched and listened and said very little. The meeting went on into the night as they planned their strategy to get the couple out of the house while they dug the chest up. Catherine and her husband,Thomas, slept soundly in their bed.

Kevin arrived bright and early the next day and resumed the rewiring of the building. He was uneasy about the woman noticing the vibrations. It was too soon, he would have to adjust it. He had days of work left here because of all those stupid sunken ceiling lights she insisted on upstairs so plenty of time to get it right. What was wrong with the old fashioned one light hanging from the middle of the room anyway? Nonsense. Mind you, he was raking it in because of it. His vibration scheme got him lots in commissions too. Wouldn’t be long before they were selling. He had a buyer waiting for this house at a good price. Nobody would ever figure that one out because most people were too ashamed to mention vibrations except for Catherine today. Nothing embarrassed that one.

He had been told to keep an eye on the build and find out exactly where the chest was located so they could dig it up and replace it before the couple even knew what was happening. He had the replacement in his car. A battered old chest with some old, day to day, untraceable items from the local pub. Part of him was sorry for Catherine, she was so animated when she talked of the chest. That was why he had insisted on putting a gold brooch in so at least she would feel she found treasure. It wasn’t a cheap one either. He had to buy an antique one so as not to arouse suspicions. Fr. Reilly was not pleased about that one but sure wasn’t there loads of money in the parish fund and wouldn’t that be the end of it then.

While the young woman and her baby were busy with each other in the playroom, Kevin examined the map in more detail, snapped some shots with his mobile phone and sent them. He went out and checked how the build was going. The men were digging away. They were very near the spot in the map. The chest would be revealed very soon. He texted the group “It will have to be tonight” and went out and chatted to the men about irrelevant politics in order to slow them down. Sean, the local handyman, was one of the men and he would help him there. He was always ready to stop work and chat.

Catherine picked up her ringing phone.

“Oh hello Jane. Tonight? Oh I don’t know. We haven’t a babysitter. That sounds like fun though. Could do with going out. Here, I’ll text Claire and see if she is available. School night though. Still it’s quieter here than in hers so she might do it. Call you back in a bit.”

Catherine smiled to herself, she hadn’t been out in a while. She texted her ‘sitter and looked at the time. Nearly eleven, Claire might just see it at break.

Beep Beep.

“Y, Time?”

“8?”

“Grand”

She rang her husband and told him they were going out and had a ‘sitter. “Wow” he said. “That was quick arranging.” “I know!” said Catherine smiling.

Eight came and the pair got into the taxi and left for the restaurant with their new friends from the village. They were looking forward to the meal. It wasn’t often they were taken to dinner and certainly not to anywhere as fancy as that.

“Baby sleeping, it should be quiet for Claire. Is everything in the build secure?” “Yeah” grinned Thomas.”All sorted”.

While they were enjoying their meal, a group of five people were wandering in their back gate to the site of the digging. Kevin, Fr. Reilly, Tom the local publican, Oliver from the garage and Sean. None of them were ever usually together but on this occasion they were definitely a team. Shovels in hand they went over to where Kevin directed them and started digging. Claire watched them out the window, keeping an ear out for the baby.

It wasn’t long before they reached their target. It was an old gun case. They pulled it out of the ground and laid it down. The outside was covered in leather which was fortunate as it meant the wood and the contents were dry and unexposed. Fr. Reilly rubbed the dirt from the top.

“Well, we better bring it back to the presbytery. We can’t be found here. Kevin, put the replacement in and cover it up exactly as you saw it. Sean, help him.”

The two men did as they were told, both mumbling under their breaths as they didn’t take kindly to orders and they didn’t enjoy being in each others company for long either. Oliver and Tom went with Fr. Reilly back to the presbytery to investigate the chest. Sean and Kevin settled the site, nodded at Claire and left to join the others.

When the chest was cleaned down. Fr. Reilly opened it and pulled out two rifles, some boxes of ammunition and a list.

“Well, now” said the priest. “This is what we were afraid of. Let’s have a look.” The list was a comprehensive list of who had been given what arms and who was targeted. It wouldn’t take much of an investigation to find exactly who had killed who from this list.

They read down through it looking at each other. “Nothing there we didn’t know already” said Sean. “Indeed, but better it isn’t in the papers none the less.” said the priest. “We don’t want all that hatred rising again now do we?” They all agreed, each in their own mind remembering the stories they had been told as children about brothers against brothers and sons slaughtering fathers.

“Well,now, that’s that. Tea?”

“Have you nothing stronger, Father? “said Oliver as he sat down.

The next day, Kevin arrived to Catherine dancing from foot to foot over a hole with small chest in it. It was about the size of a jewelery box. She picked it up and showed it to him. The workmen were as interested as she was and watched while Sean and Kevin looked at each other. “We have to wait. Thomas is on his way. He wants to see it too.” She brought it into the kitchen.

“Funny I thought it would be bigger. I guess I wanted it to be treasure. Probably nothing much in it really. Tea lads?”

They sat and waited. Thomas pulled in the driveway and ran in. “Well, where is it?” He came over to the table “Well, open it, open it. I haven’t got all day.”

“We were waiting for you!” growled Catherine. She opened the box and took the items out one by one. A clay pipe, a pair of spectacles, an inkwell and quill, an old timepiece on a chain.

“Rubbish, rubbish” said Thomas. “All this over rubbish!”

“Oh look at this brooch, I think it’s gold.” said Catherine. “At least that’s something. This must be the gold under the house Kevin!” she laughed.

“That’s a bit of a disappointment. I thought with the 100 yrs there would be something there about the Rising. Some big secret we could reveal. What a pity. I better get back.” Thomas left and they all went about their business while Catherine fondled her new brooch.

That evening when the workmen were gone and the baby in bed, Thomas and Catherine sat down in the sitting room, wine glasses in hand, laughing as Catherine stroked the brooch on her lapel.

“Let’s watch it now.” said Thomas and he turned on the screen. They sat and watched the men on the screen digging in the dark and carrying the chest out.

“What will we ask for?”

“We’ve done nicely already, with the brooch and the free dinner” laughed Catherine.

“Sure send it to them and see what happens. Don’t forget to make sure they know we have a copy of the list. We might get this build for free yet. Make sure it comes from you. Best let them think I still know nothing anyway. I want to keep this brooch. Cheers Granddad.” She raised her glass to the photograph on the wall.

“Tell me, can you feel the vibrations or is it just me? It’s really beginning to annoy me. I’m not sure if I even want to stay here.” Her husband looked at her. What vibrations? He married an odd one alright. No doubt she was edging to move again. Neither of them noticed the silhouette in their garden walking slowly up and down with hazel rods in his hands.

” I like the story’s mystery element. The surprise finale ….. is clever. The final image …… is powerful………….A layered mystery with exposition nicely planned, plotted and paced.  The double reversal at the end …. promising even more mystery was very good and it let the story live on beyond the ending in the imagination of the reader. “ Competition feedback.

The siren alerted her that she hadn’t much time to gather her things if she was going. She hadn’t fully decided, although the alternative had little hope to it. Her rations were nearly gone. There was the rest of the rations of her people but only enough for a year or so. Not enough time to create food in this desert that was her home. She stopped digging and looked around at the rubble, decay, dust and little evidence of life that had been her vibrant city. She listened. Once the siren had stopped the silence was deafening. Nothing was moving, not even the dust.

She was desperately looking for a memory to bring, her mind was so tortured from the events of the past month that she knew she couldn’t rely on it. She needed to bring something with her, a connection to home. She didn’t want to forget. If she forgot no one would ever know, remember her people, their history, their lives. Her room had been here on this spot. She could see glimpses of the curtains, the painted ceiling, broken furniture in the rubble.
“There must be something left, anything”
she whispered to no one. She could have shouted, it wouldn’t have disturbed anyone. She spotted something metal, shining, reflecting the hard strong sun back at the clear blue sky.

The clear blue sky that never was before, not in her time. She had only known cloudy days, gritty dusty air and black night skies lit up by the streetlamps. She had been fascinated by the stories of sun, moon and stars but it was bittersweet when she finally saw the magnificence of them, alone. She stood for hours in the dark of that first night staring, talking to her dead father in her head.
” It’s even better than your painting, Dad. Who’d have thought it. Everyone loved my ceiling so much, beautiful sunny sky by day, shining glittering stars by night. It was magical. Everyone was so jealous of it. Isn’t this beautiful dad, are you looking? It seems not real, somehow, like a massive, big hologram. Your work was more real than this, Dad.”
She talked to herself a lot now, in her head and sometimes out loud, long conversations with her family. Mostly her sister, her beautiful, sweet, little sister.

She shook herself out of her reveries and got down on her knees in the rubble again to search. She dug at the spot from where she had seen the glinting metal glaring at her and revealed an antique silver picture frame with her family inside. Yes, that would do. The frame was too heavy so she took out the picture, kissed it and put it in her backpack. She cast the frame aside and made her way back to her tent to pack for the journey away from this place, her life, her world.

She hadn’t been fully alone after the fallout. She wasn’t the only one who survived. There were many that had, just not here. She heard them on the broadcasts stating their names, listing their relations, hoping for family. Some were lucky to find relations, just not her, yet. She kept telling herself, yet. Some distant, far out cousin might still be alive.

The vaccine had worked for 1% of the population. She was the only one of her family that survived, as far as she knew, yet. Talk about being scared when she found out she was alone in this world, no family, no ties, alone. Her history, heritage and home wiped out in a moment. She was terrified despite all the preparation The Company had given her, the scenario role plays, the counselling, the training for the inevitable.

The inevitable. She hadn’t really prepared her mind and heart for the inevitable. Like all the generations before her, she had blocked it out, lived day to day, ignoring the mess they were making of this world. Many in her family had taken the vaccine. There should have been more survivors. She had known early on that her immediate family would be gone but all her relations had been wiped out, all her people. All her known relations, she kept correcting her thoughts.

Her little sister had reacted horribly to the vaccine and died a painful death long before the bomb and her mother was broken from her grief. She was guilt-ridden over whether she should have let her take it. She hadn’t had it as only the younger generation were given it. Those without it all died, including her parents, not even knowing if it had worked so they took that pain to their graves. Maybe they were the lucky ones. Many of those left had taken their own lives, unable to deal with their survivor’s syndrome. She hadn’t, she wasn’t sure where her survival instinct had come from, the vaccine perhaps? It was made from cockroach genes after all.

Cockroaches are among the few creatures able to survive a nuclear fallout intact. Some bright spark scientist fixated on this fact and worked on it throughout his whole career to find a way to use it for humans. Lucky for her, or was it really? If he hadn’t created the vaccine would the war have even happened? Knowing that humanity would survive meant the powers that were had less responsibility to ensure the world itself survived. Corruption in governments throughout the world had led to pollution laws being overturned, genetically modified foods being accepted as the norm, global consumption increasing at such a rapid pace the planet could not contain it. Species died off, became imaginary creatures for new generations. The lion became her generations unicorn, the humble domestic dog became their food until they too were gone. Rubbish was everywhere, incinerators, landfills, boats sailing around the plastic floating islands, full to tipping point going nowhere, paid to drift with their content. Sea life was the first to disappear. Living in the city, she hadn’t ever seen any living creature apart from insects and humans, just moving holograms and old recordings.

Then The Company had taken over, ran the world with it’s Global Government. This was another reason for her survival. The underground Chosen Ones group had agreed to dismantle The Company from within. The Company had already set up base and was ready to begin again but the survivors would be ready. This revolution would succeed. It had to. It had been agreed, those left with no family would take the more dangerous roles, they would be more likely to succeed, no family for The Company to use against them. They made a vow to not attach if it was found they were completely alone in the world. That was why she hoped to find a cousin, anyone. While she knew this battle was necessary she was afraid as it seems others had been too. They took the easy road and joined their loved ones in death. Family would mean a more normal existence for her, whatever normal was going to be.

There it went again. The siren stopped her wandering mind. She packed the small few items she had gathered and left The Company issued fallout tent prepared for the long march north to the ship. She had the map, she knew the drill. They had all learned it long before. Part of her was excited thinking she would soon meet other survivors, other Chosen Ones, despite her fear. She glanced back at her home, her past and made her way. Eve was heading to Mars, a new world, a new horizon, a new war.

2017

(image by Gene Rhatigan, check out his art work on http://www.generhatiganart.ie/ )

Jason had arrived. He stood by the oak doors in the cut-stone gateway admiring his future. He breathed in the smog of the city, coughed and smiled. This was a moment he wanted to remember. He was entering the Alma Mater of so many of his heroes, the Harvard of this small isle, the place where all the change-makers came.

No one gave him a second look as he stood there while they bumped and jostled him on each side making their way to and from the cobbled quadrangle courtyard. They knew he was soaking up the atmosphere, they had all done it too but only a few understood.

He knew the bulk of the alumni were well off and he had the privilege of coming here only because he had planned his life thus far with great precision. Always top of his class, he deserved his place amongst Ireland’s elite even if he had come from the arsehole of nowhere. He was the first in his family to go to third level education. He had endured the ridicule of his gang as he persisted in going to school while they bunked off to sell cigarettes or worse.

Bram Stoker had attended this establishment, now that was someone who would understand him more than most he thought as he dared to have another scan of his surroundings. Walking in with the crowd, voices of tourists and students, lecturers and bag snatchers mingled around him, each with their own important purpose of the day.

He made his way to registration, breathing easy. Thankfully, he was alone today, no one was following him. As long as he remembered, he had been followed. She was there with him, silently watching him and waiting. His first memory of her was from before he could walk or talk. He couldn’t properly see but he had already sensed her presence. Every time he became aware of her a chill ran up and down his spine. As a baby he had cried and cried until his mother held him close as if she too could feel her close.

“What do you want?”

He always hesitated before he got to that stage, the asking it out loud stage, just in case she answered him. While always there she only visually appeared when something bad was about to happen. She was there for all his injuries, of flesh and pride, his near misses and there were quite a few though none were fatal. He grew to dread her, she brought mayhem and destruction into his otherwise organized life. She would materialize, he would get hurt and she would smile at him and leave.

As soon as he could talk he named her. Maybe that is why she was still lurking in the background, chilling his bones. If he hadn’t named her and acknowledged her presence would she have left? Naming her made her stronger, more intimidating. Those around him began to speak of her.

“What is it Jason? What’s wrong? Is it Trinity? Tell her to go away.” .

They would speak to her. “Go away Trinity,” but he knew they didn’t see her, feel her, believe in her. They very rarely looked in the right direction. Sometimes he thought his mother knew she was there as she shivered and held him close.

“What does she look like? Is she pretty? Is she sad?” She would ask. “Where is she now?”

He hadn’t words to tell her so he would just whimper on her shoulder until she faded away.

When he was able to describe her they had stopped asking so he stopped talking about her. She grew as he grew, from baby to toddler to teenager to young adult. A female version of himself. They thought she had gone away but she was always prowling in the corner waiting and he knew she would be until he died. Today though, she wasn’t there. He breathed easy.

Registration went well, he met some friendly souls as lost as himself and they went together to check out the dormitory situation and head for the obligatory pints of celebration. They followed the crowd to the Uni bar and as they relaxed into their second pint they became mates. Jason had expected to be put in a dorm with other Literature students but had found himself with Media, Science, Law and Politics students. He hadn’t expected to get along with them but the alcohol had loosened all their tongues and they found they had more in common than not, being scholarship students like himself.

They wandered back singing, arm in arm to their rooms and said goodnight. Jason pinched himself as he sat on his bed. She had left him. Maybe she didn’t know where to find him. He mentally planned the next day, first lectures and a visit to the famous library. He visualized future students coming to his lectures and standing in the ‘Quad’ courtyard remembering that he went here. Life was good.

His good fortune didn’t last the night. He woke in a cold sweat to find her leaning over him in the bed, staring at him. He almost felt her hair brushing off his cheek.

“Go away, leave me alone. Please. Not here. This is a new start for me.”

She didn’t speak, she never did but he felt her sucking his joy from him, he felt the usual sense of dread. There would be no sleep tonight so he got up, dressed and went out and she glided along beside him. As he grew accustomed to her presence again his mood lightened and he started to enjoy exploring his surroundings while the world slept. He wandered in the moonlight, pretending she was gone. She moved nearer and nearer to him, reading his thoughts and rejecting them. She would not be ignored. He moved sideways into a doorway to get away and as he did he heard the voices coming in his direction. He froze. He did not want to get in trouble on his first day here.

The voices moved nearer so he made himself as small as he could and hid in the shadows. She stayed right beside him. He shivered involuntarily.

“These new recruits should be easy to manipulate,” laughed a mature male voice.

“Indeed, I have picked out our future puppets, I mean leaders, already.”

Jason had heard that deep lilting voice earlier today, his future professor of literature.

“Have you now? From all the strands? Politics, Law, Science, The Arts, Media?”

“Yes, them all. Let’s have a wager on them, will we?”

“I don’t think I should wager any more with you, you have already fleeced me over these thirty odd years, two Presidents and a Minister cost me a fortune.”

“Ah, but you did well out of the Poet and Journalist, not to mention the current State Pathologist.”

“True, true. Let’s see now. I particularly like that young earnest Literature student from the bog. He might become instrumental in a revolution the likes of no one has seen in quite a while, or at least another little rebellion to divide the population.”

They both laughed, the sound lingering longer than their steps.

“Ah the little people, if only they knew what power we hold. Our founders knew what they were doing.”

Their voices drifted away and he heard no more. She swooped over and back from them to him making his heart race every time she came near. He wandered back to his bedroom and was going over the conversation in his head when he realized that he had not been hurt on this visit. The fact that he was now no longer awestruck by his future professor and college was hardly an injury. It was a warning. He would have to be very careful here. These men had his future in their hands and he was not prepared to be a puppet for anyone’s agenda. His reason for striving to get here in the first place was to be his own master. Well, if there was something he excelled at more than academics it was strategy games. He couldn’t help but feel that there was probably something even more sinister going on in this arena than what he had overheard but now he was prepared.

She was still beside him, so there was still time to get wounded. He would probably fall in a big hole or be found outside after hours and expelled before he even started. She brushed up against him again and he rushed back to his room to get away. He was just in time, shutting his door before a stray dog woke the slumbering doorman. She didn’t leave him all night but he managed to drift off to sleep not caring anymore that something bad was bound to happen, He would need his sleep, he had a secret war to win.

When he woke she wasn’t there. He was surprised but quite relieved to know that he was safe for the moment. He readied himself and went out to join the stream of party tired students on their way to the canteen for a coffee breakfast. They parted ways to get to lectures and so it continued in much the same way for all of the first semester and the next. They ate together, chatted about their various lecturers and classes, philosophized on life, drank together but not too much. Time flew by. She only disturbed him once throughout that time. She appeared in front of his face as he was about to be tackled at rugby practice and of course he received an injury despite his quick reaction. It wasn’t too serious, no bones broken just a sprain. He soon forgot all about it. He had even forgotten what had happened on his first night until he overheard two men talking in the bar. They didn’t say anything particular but he recognized the two voices together.

“That man, talking to my Literature professor, do any of you know him?” Jason asked his friends.

“Oh yeah, that’s my Bio-med lecturer, a pure genius” said Mark. “He is on the brink of a major breakthrough, I wish I could tell you all about it but we’re sworn to secrecy”

“Who’s we?” piped John, “the chosen few?”

“You can talk, Mr. A student in Politics. Heard you are off to meet the President on a one to one to discuss the catastrophe that is Syria, you’re so clever.”

Jason asked “Seriously Mark, not even a little hint?”

“Well all I can say is it will solve the world population crisis but that’s all you’ll get from me.” He laughed and staggered to the bar shouting back at them “I’m off to get another pint and sow my wild oats before they sterilize the barley.”

That was when Jason saw her floating beside his professor who was whispering to his colleague and nodding in Mark’s direction. Jason’s thirst for beer was suddenly quenched and he announced he was heading back as he had an early start. He left the rest to their loud talk, telling John to keep an eye on Mark.

She followed him to his room, too close for comfort, freezing the air around him but when he turned the key in his door she smiled and left. He felt his limbs to check they were all there, nothing was broken so he rolled into bed and didn’t stir until the morning when he was woken by a piercing scream in the Quad. He fell out of bed and ran to the window to see what was going on and to his horror he saw his friend Mark impaled on the gate below the science lab. He fell backwards into John as he came running into his room. Jason wretched and vomited on the floor, shaking and crying.

“He went to bed, I swear, he went to bed and was in flying form, I don’t understand. He was all excited about the breakthrough they were making in the lab, he wouldn’t shut up about it, bored the tears out of us. Why would he do this? He had such a brilliant future.” John threw himself on Jason’s bed.

Jason sat down beside his friend. So now she was hurting others as well as him. She had never done anything as bad as this before. A sense of foreboding hovered over him. He stared down oblivious to the mess he had created on the floor.

“We all have to go for questioning. I met a lecturer in the corridor and he said we have to go. The State Pathologist is on her way. They have it all under control. Oh Jason, I swear he was in the best of moods, I can’t understand” John said as he stepped over the vomit and waited by the door.

Jason didn’t remember what he said while being interviewed. He went through the motions and sat waiting for John wondering how to deal with Trinity, his malevolent unborn twin. She was getting out of hand. Then he heard Mark’s lecturer laughing in the corridor with his own professor,

“I said that he was failing his course and couldn’t take the pressure. That John fellow will break and leave without knowing what he has been told by the idiot, no harm done. The others heard nothing much, your young revolutionary writer is safe so all bets are on. Nothing has changed.”

“Still, it is a pity, such a great mind gone.”

“We already have another to replace him, don’t you worry.”

This was all part of their game. They were responsible. Jason slid to the ground in a faint.

He woke up with her by his side and he thought he felt her hand on his shoulder. It surprised him that it comforted him. He tried to recall all the times she had appeared. He had never been badly hurt. He thought he had been lucky, avoided her wrath. All this time he had thought she was jealous and angry, trying to ruin his life because she didn’t have one.

3As if she was transferring her thoughts through her touch he saw all of the accidents as they would have been, they would have increased tenfold without her presence. He recalled the warnings. He would never have heard them talking the first night, he would have stayed out last night and they would know he knew more than he should. She was protecting him. She was not an evil presence but his Guardian. Evil was alive here, he knew that now but at least he knew he would not fight this battle alone.

2016 Competition feedback:

“ Revealing only at the end that Trinity is a protective instead of a malevolent force in Jason’s life was a smart move and well done. The atmosphere and goings on at the university are well rendered. The story is ultimately unsettling in a way that is appropriate for a ghost story……………….This story has a very interesting premise: that students at this particular university are manipulated by the professors like puppets. It’s a creative spin on the ghost story conceit…….A very good story about a protective ghost. “

“If we keep going this way we will never get back” he mumbled under his breath as his mother kept walking. “I didn’t ask you to come with me. Go home if you want.” She pounded on angrily. “Not much point turning back that way either. I’ll still be late.” “Fine so, come on, just over this hill to the turn.” He preferred her when she lounged in front of the telly.

“Sure I had to come with you. It’s still dark” he shouted as she raced on faster than before. “I’m not a baby you know. I can mind myself”. He sometimes thought otherwise. He snorted. She stopped and turned her angry red face on him. “What’s funny?” “Just wondering who’s the adult” he laughed. “Why are you killing yourself mam?” “I’m not. I’m saving myself so you’ll not be alone.” “Ah mam, sure there’s years in you yet.” “That’s what we thought about him and he’s gone.” She turned back to the road and went faster.

“Exercise wouldn’t cure what killed him.” he whispered. She was gone too far ahead to hear. Just as well. Better for her to think he was unhealthy than stressed. Ironic how all that stress left when he went. That’s why they all went. He read only yesterday. “Almost 500 additional suicides linked to recession.” He hadn’t done that. At least it wasn’t proven. But that stress left then. The banks were no longer ringing aggressively. They left them alone in their home. He spotted his bus coming over the hill and he ran past his mother to pick up his bag at the wall and get on. He watched her pound on from the window. He preferred her when she lounged in front of the telly, with Dad.

Flash Fiction, FInalist Maria Edgeworth’s Literary Festival 2015

A response to the photographic art piece, “Displacement” by Shelley Corocoran. http://www.shelleycorcoran-photography.com/index.html

Erika was now submerged in silence, after deploying with force the anguish she had contained for so long. The depth of peace she felt must surely equal the volume of anger they were now displacing.

The fluid she was immersed in muffled the vile language they were throwing at each other, each blaming the other for their lack of understanding and knowledge. They were both equally hurting from the pain she had just revealed, pain that was hidden for quite some time. Their perfect child, their ‘A’ student, high-flyer prodigy, hated it all.

She was lulled by the soft music of their voices which through the water had a lullaby effect. She sank deeper and deeper into the warm rising liquid that wafted calming lavender over her tired limbs and she realised that they were both wrong of course. They were, neither of them, to blame. She was the villian of her own piece. Now that she knew this, the softness surrounded her being as she lay there with the despair dissipating.

She concentrated on watching the bubbles form around her nostrils, admiring the colours and shapes as she felt her limbs floating, gently bobbing up and down, the water rising and ebbing with each movement. Her hair spread over her and out like seaweed, moving softly over her face as her vacant eyes stared at the bubbles. She felt her pulse slowing and her lungs closing.

Time to rise, she would burst if she didn’t surface. She sat up and gasped a long and beautiful breath. She stepped out of the water and watched it settle down to the level it was before she entered. She stopped, dripping droplets of now cold water into the bathtub and listened to the almost silent whispering outside the door. The fire in their anger had gone out and they were ready to talk. It would be a long goodbye.

4^th November 2014

Rosebud had her first encounter when she was about four years old. It wasn’t actually her first encounter but clumsys tend to forget most of what happens before they are four unless they try really hard to remember. On the sunny summer day that Rosebud had this encounter she was standing on the top of her world which was a little shed in her back garden. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have been on the shed roof, she was only four but her mother was standing beside it watching her. She was “keeping an eye” as big clumsys say. Her mother lifted Rosebud up there because she wanted to see the top of her world. She nearly put her right on top of mine. That’s the thing about the clumsys. When they get big and clumsy they notice less and do more silly things than when they are small and neat. Rosebud was small and neat but still much bigger than me who she was about to meet.

That sunny summer day she was standing on top of her world singing a silly rhyme that went something like this:

“Ladybird, ladybird fly away home,

Your house is on fire and your children are gone,

All except one,

And her name is Ann,

And she hid under the frying pan.”

She was dancing as she sang and I got a bit worried she might step on me. I didn’t much like her song either so I gave her my death stare. To my surprise it worked. I was just about to go to plan B and run away as fast as I could when Rosebud stared back at me.  She had spotted movement out of the side of her eye, or perhaps the bottom of her eye as I was at her feet. She bent down to take a closer look and then much to the disgust of the big clumsy who was keeping an eye on her she reached out to touch me.

I was surprised, clumsys normally don’t want to touch us. In fact they often scream and run or throw things at us. They sometimes even spray nasty stingy stuff on us that makes it hard to breathe. Rosebud, it seems, was different. I knew immediately I had to take this opportunity to introduce myself. I would be Rosebud’s first encounter that she would remember. I climbed onto her hand and scurried up her arm before she got a chance to flick me off. Then I stopped and looked straight at her, this time without my death stare.

Rosebud stood very still, quite an achievement for a clumsy so young, and she looked at me intensely with her big blue eyes. I stood up on my back legs which isn’t an easy task for me and invited her into my world. My world is a zillion times smaller than hers. She nodded and just as I heard her mother shout

 “Urgh put down that woodlouse!”

 Rosebud entered my space and I began to show her around. 

“Everything is so very, very  big!” she thought and I agreed. 

“I thought everything was so big before this now everything is even bigger.” 

I smiled. 

“You’re very pretty aren’t you?”

 I was slightly embarrassed but I agreed with this too because I am quite wonderfully handsome.

“You’ve so many colours” she said and then she looked closely at her own hand and laughed

“Oh, so do I, I’m not just one colour either, I’ve many too!”

 “What do you do all day?” she thought. 

At this I scurried away to the scrumptious meal I had left in order to meet with Rosebud. She watched me go.

“You are so fast, like lightning” she thought and then she gasped. 

“There are so many of you!”

I agreed with this observation too, she was a clever little clumsy. I wondered if she would count us. Clumsys spend a lot of time counting. They count everything when all you need to know is there are many or there are none at all. With all of their counting of numbers they often don’t see what it is that they are counting.

I brought Rosebud over to my family. Some of them were frightened and curled themselves up into a ball.

“Like tiny little armadillos” thought Rosebud. 

She knew a lot about armadillos and not a thing about us. Yet thousands of us live right under her nose. Did she ever even see a real armadillo?

“I never saw a real armadillo, but this is like a city of tiny little armadillos on the top of the world!” thought Rosebud.

“You’re very busy aren’t you?” she whispered.

She was looking at me again. I was hungry at this stage and had forgotten for a moment she was with me. I nodded as I munched through the rotted wood left on the top of her world. 

“This looked yucky from up there but down here it’s full of lovely colours. It’s not a dirty mucky brown at all.” 

Rosebud watched us for a while and then I heard her again.

“That’s a very important job. Mammy always says Mother Nature will clean up the rotted stuff if we leave it where it falls. Mammy says it to Daddy when he wants to brush up all the leaves I like to play in and you like to eat. He brushes them up for no reason, no reason at all.” 

She left me then because I was quite busy with my family and I heard her mother speak.

“You were miles away there Rosebud.”

“I was, I was with William.”  said Rosebud smiling down from the top of her world at her mother.

“Who is William? Was he the woodlouse you were looking at? William the Woodlouse, what a good name. You were looking so closely at him.” said her mother smiling up at her.

“William is a nice name but I don’t like the name woodlouse. I’m calling William and his family The Tiny Armadillos from now on.” announced Rosebud.

“What a good idea! People might be nicer to them if they called them that.”

Her mother lifted her off the top of her world and into her arms. She hugged her tightly. Rosebud whispered in her ear.

“I grew really, really, tiny and I went with William to see his family and you know Mammy they do a wonderful job for Mother Nature. They eat up all the wet and slimy stuff. They are very important. William said so.”

Her mother agreed.

“They are, and so is every creature and plant. They all have very important jobs.” 

“Did you ever go really, really, tiny Mammy and visit a tiny armadillo family?” Rosebud asked her mother who laughed and then replied in a quiet whisper,

“Why I believe I might have shrunk once or maybe twice. I do remember meeting a lovely ladybird on a tiny rosebud who taught me how everything is so very, very big.”

“But I am Rosebud” said her daughter.

“Yes you are and I am Ann” her mother replied.

“Like the ladybird who hid under a frying pan, you’re a ladybird, Mammy” laughed Rosebud.

“People like ladybirds, that’s what the rhyme is about. It is telling the ladybirds to fly away if the grass starts to burn like it sometimes does in hot summers”  Ann told her little daughter.

“We will make up a rhyme about Tiny little Armadillo woodlice so people will like them too then.” said Rosebud.

“Yes we should. Good idea, let’s do it during lunch.” said her mother.

Rosebud had her first encounter when she was about four years old and she helped her mother remember hers. Rosebud wrote a rhyme about Tiny Little Armadillos and her Daddy left the leaves to rot for us to eat. They may be clumsys who sometimes don’t notice us and do silly things but now they know we count as many and not as none at all.

“You’re not in Longford now, John!” snorted James, spitting beer all over John’s shirt.

Everyone joined in the taunting of John who wiped his shirt and drank his beer, smiling as was required.

“Ya bogger”

“Sham”

“Nothing good ever comes out of Longford”

“Except for the road out of it!”

The explosion of laughter from the table attracted stares from the rest of the bar.

“Students” said the barman to the old man sipping his pint of Guinness, a shot of whiskey waiting beside it.

“Loud” he said.

“Yes, always. Up for the day?”

“Free travel, might as well, though a bar is a bar wherever you are.”

He paused, lifted his whiskey in the air and examined the golden colour. He inhaled the smell and put it down again.

“Think I know that young fella, the butt of the joke.”

“Who, John? Ay they give him a hard time. He’s from Longford.”

“Says it all.”

He finished his pint, drank down his shot and walked out past the group, muttering under his breath. Only John noticed him. They were ready to party. John was planning a celebration of his own.

That summer he had been stuck at home, working in the local pub by night and cycling the roads by day. Cycling, the national pastime. Nobody noticed him. It was on one of his journeys that he came across the sign to the Dolmen. He opened the gate and walked up and over the slight rise. He passed sheep and cautiously watched the bullocks in the adjoining field. There it was. It was huge, bigger than any he had ever seen.

“Another secret” he said to no one in particular.

He walked around it, afraid to touch it at first and then he placed his hands on the cold stone, closing his eyes, imagining a time gone by. He opened his eyes and walked through the opening expecting to be transported to another time but the bullocks who had decided he might be there to feed them were still making their way over. Nothing had changed. He lingered a while before stepping away from it, downwards. He walked around the base of the mound, looking up at it in awe. He never noticed the old man coming towards him.

“Interesting, isn’t it? Did you think you would go somewhere?”

John was embarrassed so he didn’t reply and ran out of the field, onto his bike and down the hill.

It wasn’t long until he forgot the man and was off on one of his cycles again. He headed northwards to The Motte. He climbed it and joined St. Patrick for lunch. He liked it up there because you could see for miles around and hardly anyone ever came up so no one saw him re-enacting his battles.

“At it again I see”.

He turned from his battle with redcoats to see the same old man sitting behind him, watching him. “At what?”

“Attempting to cross again. I wouldn’t pick that one. They lost.”

“Lost what?”

“That battle.”

“How are you there and here, this is miles away?”

“Only if you are walking. You’ll manage it yet and we’ll talk more then.”

The man wandered off while John watched, battle forgotten. The rain came down to remind him he should be going and so he left.

The next trip he went southwards, a shorter spin as he hadn’t much time before his shift. He cycled up to the top of Brí Leith and enjoyed the view of the county below. His curiosity got the better of him and he wandered down to the Farrell Castle to have a look, ignoring the cows and the muck. He climbed in through the ruin and upwards, remembering the story of the cow that went up and got stuck. That explained the destruction in parts he supposed. He climbed up as far as he could and sat down where he had a view of the entrance. He didn’t want to be surprised again.

“I like it here, myself”.

He looked over at the man sitting across from him.

“Are you in my head or real?”

“Both, let’s go now.”

He came over and held John’s hand. John felt himself falling downwards, backwards. Flashing before him were celebrations at a new St. Mel’s Cathedral, tears at it burning down, hunger while it was being built, brother kings, one meeting and welcoming St. Patrick while the other turned his back and continued to worship the Sun. They flew through times and age and stopped when the world was young.

“I brought you here because this is my home. I have been here and will be here. My name is Midir, king of these parts, father of this place. You are of me and me of you.”

John spent the rest of his summer with his guide. He watched castles being built, canals being destroyed, great men being born, great women being torn down, battles being won but mostly lost. The more he did the more power he gained. Tonight, he was ready to let the party begin.

They partied all night, drinking and smoking, dancing and snorting. The night ended quickly. As the morning sun started to rise they all fell asleep. James noticed that John seemed to be watching them.

“Stop creeping me out, go to sleep, go back to yer bog.”

James and his gang looked around in disbelief at their surroundings. They were in a fort on the top of a hill looking down at a cluster of thatched, mud cottages and forests for miles around. It took a while to register their predicament. They were tied together around a pole on top of an unlit bonfire. John was smiling at them, dressed in a tunic of purple with a picture of the sun embroidered on it. Standing beside him was a tall old man in white.

“You’re in Longford now, James.”

Note: This was part of a project called Respond 2. The following short film was inspired by it.