Novocastrian Tales
Close Encounters VIII
Ignorance was walking down the street when he met Knowledge. ‘I am very strong,’ Ignorance said. ‘We are the majority.’ ‘I know that you think that,’ Knowledge said, ‘but when you multiply ignorance you get divisive weakness rather than unifying strength.’ ‘Says who,’ Ignorance demanded. ‘Knowledge,’ Knowledge responded. ‘I’m avoiding you in future, mate!’ Ignorance declared. ‘Listening to you is like being mugged.’ ‘So, you don’t like the sound of my VOICE?’ Knowledge challenged. ‘I’m voting NO to shut you up!’ Ignorance blared through his megaphone. ‘And I’m voting YES to give Knowledge a VOICE!’ Knowledge quietly replied.
Close Encounters VII
Ignorance was walking down the street when he met Knowledge. ‘A YES vote would divide us, mate,’ Ignorance said. ‘We’re all equal here in Australia, mate, even the Aborigines.’ ‘So, you’re voting NO to maintain your equality with Aborigines?’ Knowledge asked. ‘Well, when you put it like that …’ Ignorance hesitated. ‘I’m a little bit more equal than they are.’ ‘So, you’re voting NO to maintain your superiority over Aborigines,’ Knowledge observed. ‘You’re not hearing me, mate,’ Ignorance responded. ‘Well, what are you afraid of?’ Knowledge persisted. ‘I don’t want them to take my house and backyard,’ Ignorance admitted. ‘So,
Close Encounters IV
Ignorance was walking down the street towards his car when he met Knowledge. ‘You should always drive on the left-hand side of the road,’ Knowledge advised. ‘There’s nothing left about me, you woke, leftie bastard!’ Ignorance declared. And that night, Ignorance woke in the hospital thinking that he really should have said YES to Knowledge’s advice. Copyright Paul F Walsh 2023
Close Encounters II
Ignorance was walking down the street when he met Knowledge. ‘You think you know it all, don’t you?’ Ignorance said. ‘Well, yes,’ Knowledge replied. ‘You don’t know what I don’t know,’ Ignorance challenged. ‘I do, actually,’ Knowledge declared. ‘Well, what I don’t know is in charge of my decision-making.’ ‘I know that too,’ Knowledge noted. ‘Let me ask you a question.’ ‘What!’ Ignorance shouted. 'Are you proud of not knowing?’ Knowledge asked. ‘Hell, YES!’ Ignorance replied. ‘So, I now know that you can do it,’ Knowledge observed. ‘Do what?’ Ignorance was confused. ‘Say YES!’ Knowledge said. ‘Of course, I
Close Encounters I
Ignorance was walking down the street when he met Knowledge. ‘Gidday!’ Knowledge said. ‘Don’t speak down to me,’ Ignorance replied. ‘Well, I’d have to be on my knees to speak up to you,’ Knowledge smiled. ‘I’m just being friendly, mate.’ ‘Don’t mate me, mate!’ Ignorance declared. ‘You wouldn’t give me the shirt off your back, even if I was naked and cold.’ And that evening, Ignorance walked back home in a YES shirt. Copyright Paul F Walsh 2023
The Clock
Time should be ticking like a bomb. But time was not ticking. This Seth Thomas clock had died at the exact moment that this Seth Thomas was born. And this Seth Thomas was named after the clock. His mother had been struck by the apparent coincidence. The clock preserved the time of her son’s birth much as a dinosaur could be preserved as a fossil encased in stone. 8.21 pm, or was it 8.21 am? Now that his mother was as dead as the clock, Seth could only speculate as to whether he was born in the morning or the
Communion – Celebrating the 25th Birthday of Novocastrian Tales
He had been watching me from a distance for some time. Silent. Still. Wary. Ever vigilant. His approach was slow and sinuous. Stalking. Ever closer. Silent. Still. Wary. And then he was standing beside me, looking down at my seated figure. Silent. Still. Wary. Curious. He touched me on the shoulder. ‘Cambai,’ he said, ‘cambai.’ I later learned that ‘cambai’ meant brother. ‘Me’, he said, ‘me Wepohng!’ He had a smattering of English words. He was perhaps twelve years old. ‘Me Browne,’ I said. And then there was silence. He sat beside me as I tried to capture a preliminary
Magpie
Copyright Paul F Walsh 1997
The Fridge
This tale is a chiller rather than a thriller. The fact that I survived this encounter is evidenced by my continuing existence. Or … is it? Am I really the same person now? Is Lord Staffador, Chester the Jester himself, still the same doggo? He is resting on the end of our bed like a small horse, but he is saying nothing. And yet, this chilling tale begins and ends with him. It was a dark, chilly, moonlit night. Chester began barking at 3am. This was unusual. Lord Staffador could have been the inspiration for the dog that did not
The Prime Minister
1 ‘The Prime Minister has disappeared in New... (static, static, static) …’ ‘Strewth!’ Tracker reacted. ‘Did you hear that?’ ‘What?’ Bluey was studying his form guide. ‘The radio! Holy smoke! They reckon the Prime Minister’s done a runner in Newcastle.’ ‘All bets are off, then,’ Bluey said. ‘I wouldn’t have backed her anyway.’ The Federal election was in full swing and the disappearance of the Prime Minister was inspiring a frenzy of media speculation, but the patrons of the Fleapit Hotel knew only what they could glean from each other and Fatso’s 1960s transistor. ‘… (static, static, static) …’ Fatso