MOVING ON

by Rachael Calloway

Right then Stan. You're probably wondering who I am. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm no angel or Saint or anything. I'm just a plain old Death Administrator. You are at 'The Pearly Gates' Sir.

Yes I know there are no gates or pearls but you lot on Earth have got quite a few of your facts wrong when it comes to dying. For example there is no Heaven and Hell. The choice is Oblivion, or going back down to Earth to have another go and see if you can do any better.

Any way, enough chattering Stan, let's see where you'll be off to. Right then, this is my checklist of criteria for Oblivion, lets see if we can get them all ticked off. Number one... charity. Yep, that monthly donation to 'Alcoholics Anonymous' should do the trick nicely.

Number two... kindness. Well my record states that you gave Brenda down the road a weekly lift to Bingo, so I suppose that gets a tick. Although we are aware that she paid you back in kind... nudge nudge, wink wink, know what I mean? Nothing escapes us you know. But I'm feeling generous today so you can have a tick for that one.

Number three... Looking after our wonderful Planet Earth. Mmm.. well since the council gave you that black recycling box you have filled it each week with your empty beer cans, empty Scotch bottles and cardboard from your cigarette packets. So, well done. I'd double tick it if I could.

Actually you are doing rather well. Tick... tick... tick... Oh dear... what's this then? Seems you've failed on the 'love' category. According to our records, you have never bestowed love on any other human being.

No, Buster the dog does not count, nor does Tibbies. Brenda wasn't really 'love' either. So I'm sorry, but 'Love' is the only one I can't tick this time. So you're now off to be reincarnated to have another go. At least you've only got the one category to go. Good luck Stan, and remember - all you need is...

LOVE. NIL. NOTHING.

by Rachael Calloway

I had never played like this before. Never. I was well and truly in 'The Zone'. I could do no wrong. Even the shots I mis-hit seemed to steer themselves into corners of the court. Like guided missiles they were annihilating my opponent.

But now I had a problem. A real problem. I sipped at my water bottle and kept my towel over my head. I ground the sole of my trainer into the tarmac as though there was an invisible cigarette stub beneath my toe. I took a deep breath and tried to make my decision. My coach had placed a wild bet at the bookies earlier. If the second set went to tie-break then I had to lose it, and make sure that I didn't score a single point in the whole tie break. I had to score love and then my coach would win an absolute fortune. He'd promised me a big cut too. Way more than the match prize.

I hadn't thought too much about it. I knew that my opponent was much stronger than me, so any tie break had seemed so unlikely. And yet, here I was, about to face a tie-break in the second set. As I stood from my chair I heard my coach behind me, softly singing, "All you need is love, love. Love is all you need."

So here I was, now walking to the service line. Money or pride? Money or the satisfaction of winning? Money or victory? Money or glory? All those hours of practising, would earn me... what? What did I want?

I stood on the eroded paint of the service line and sucked a huge lungful of air through my mouth. I bounced the ball twice, threw the yellow globe high into the air and swung my racket.

LOVE POTION No. 8

by Gordon Williams

Zabrina didn't look like a witch: she looked normal. "All you need is love," she said, smiling as she held up an amber phial. "And this guarantees it. Love Potion Number Eight. Just two drops in any liquid twice a week and the object of your desire will succumb if they drink it."

"How much is it?" I asked.

"The first sample is free. After that you'll have to pay for it. Here," she said, handing me the phial, "Try it."

Would it work on Nicola? I took the phial, surprised that it was free, and put it in my pocket.

"See you again," said Zabrina, as I left her bungalow.

I wondered if the potion was such a good idea, but my record with women needed something to improve it. We would start off so well and I'd be thinking she might be the one, but sooner or later the arguments and crashing lows would follow. Relationships lasting weeks or months - and sometimes less - had left me afraid that, despite a great year together, I would break up with Nicola like I had with all the others.

She was different: bright, very pretty and very practical, too. She liked the same music I liked, the same films, even the same food. And we'd never had an argument. I was crazy about her and couldn't bear the thought of living without her. It was love - the real thing at last.

It didn't seem possible but things got even better when I started putting that potion in her tea, or her Chardonnay. Zabrina had been right: all I needed was love; nothing else mattered. Until Nicola came into the kitchen and saw me putting the stuff in her tea. I thought I'd blown it again.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's a love potion from Zabrina," I confessed. I had to tell her the truth. "I was so afraid of losing you that I'd do anything to prevent it. Anything. I don't even know if it works."

"It works," said Nicola. "I've been giving it you for the past year."