Nick Oakden

postcards to strangers (2)

[Postcrossing is a website where you send postcards to people you don't know, and then some other people send postcards to you.

I've been sending some along with this message:

"A few years ago, in the basement of a new house I'd moved into, I found a box of postcards. They were all to, and from, completely different people. I think maybe somebody who used to live there was a collector, or something. It's strange, though. None of the postcards were ever addressed, or ever sent.

I've started sending them out on Postcrossing. I don't know who the writers are, but at least they'll finally get sent. I don't know who was meant to read them, either, but at least now someone will.

I hope you like it." ]

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James, by the time time you read this, I should be camping somewhere up in those mountains! It got a bit hairy taking my ice axe through customs, but it turned out okay. I've still got the package, of course. Now let's just hope that your map was well-drawn! Speak to you in a few weeks. Nick.

Hi Julia. I arrived on the island today. See the plants? The forests here are out of this world. I'm told that the gold dust on the leaves is made by a special kind of insect - a bit like a silk worm. Julia - it's real gold! They harvest it every morning and ship it abroad. I know what you're thinking, but please don't. I'm a changed man now. I'd never dream of taking any. Back soon. Nick.

Joe, this view reminds me of the hill we used to sit on. The one overlooking the city. Just a few beers and a guitar - I'll never forget it! Hey - did you ever take Mary-Lou up there in the end? This is my city now. A few rocks, and not much else. To tell the truth, I can't wait to come home. 'til then, Nick.

Fuyuko, does this remind you of home? I still feel kind of guilty that I'm the one here and not you. You're still saving money though right? You'll be out here soon? Email me. Nick.

Holly, this is the outpost I've been billeted at. Strange they've got postcards of it, right? I got it from the only shop in the village, just a few miles down the hill. Work starts tomorrow. It looks like it'll be pretty intense, but I'll try to keep writing. By the time I've finished, those red flowers will be blooming. I'll bring you a bunch of them when I come home, okay? Nick.

my wind-up mother.

the naughty robot.

read me.

[Flash fiction: stories in mere handfuls of words.]

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Among the bushes and the leaves, I crouch, waiting. It's night, but dawn is just showing on the horizon. There's not much time left.

I'm waiting for the golden stag. It only comes out once a year, and only when the sun is down. It's said that one look at it will change your life forever. But I've been here all night, and I haven't seen a thing.

As dawn breaks over the horizon, I mutter a curse. I head home and go to bed - I'll need rest for tomorrow.

If only I knew which night of the year the damn thing appears.

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"Democracy isn't working," it was announced yesterday. "Instead, one person will be in charge of everything. We'll have a lottery, with everyone having an equal chance."

The selection was done that very night. On every TV and computer monitor in the entire country, on every billboard, in every headline, on every posted on every bus stop, in magazines, flyers, leaflets and handouts - there was my name.

That was a whole 24 hours ago now. I made it to the woods before everyone found me. It's cold here; cold and wet. I'm hungry and alone.

But I'm never going back.

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When he heard about the approaching forest fire, Gerald fetched the gasoline.

"Don't worry," he promised his family. "This is truly for the best."

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"Can I have a go?" he asked.

"No, of course not," she said. "Utterly out of the question."

"Oh come on. Why not?"

"Some things are just impossible," she said firmly.

"Please?" he begged, "I really want a go. Can't you make an exception?"

She looked at his eager face, and couldn't help but cave.

"Well, okay," she said. "But just this once, alright?"

He nodded, grinning ear to ear.

They found the aeroplane's wreckage three days later, washed up on a beach in Mexico.

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I see Charles writing in his diary every night. He went to work one day, and I guiltily looked inside. Every entry was nearly the same. "I didn't do anything today," the first one said. "Today was a blank," said the second.

I was shocked at first, but when I thought about it, I realised that he was right. Five minutes later, when I left the flat for the last time, I felt pretty bad. But then I thought - maybe today's page would finally be different.

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"Wake up! You're late!" I yell.

The door opens and something that looks like Robert walks out.

"Hi," it says.

"Umm...."

"Isn't it cool?" the real Robert calls out from within the room. "It can do everything for me! Work, walk, eat, talk. Living, loving, everything. I'll never have to get up again!"

The new Robert smiles.

"So you're just going to stay in bed?" I ask, but there's no reply. He's already gone back to sleep.

The new Robert stares at me, beaming incessantly.

"Hi," it says.

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My disease: whenever I fall in love, I turn completely invisible. This causes terrible problems with the women in my life. They always leave; every single one. It's OK now though - I have a new girlfriend.

She's totally blind. We're getting along great. It's perfect because she has no idea that I'm still there.

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The genie zooms out of the lamp. "You get three wishes," it says. "But they have to be things that no-one has wished for before."

I think hard. Money, fame, immortality - all already taken, of course. I try smaller, simpler things. A sandwich. A free haircut.

"Already taken, I'm afraid," says the genie.

I'm there for hours, racking my brains. At last, I think of something.

"I wish I was more of an individual. I wish I had a bigger imagination, with more hopes and dreams. I wish I stood out. I wish my mind worked in a different way to everyone else's. I wish I was special."

"Already taken," the genie says, yawning.