The Dentist’s Chair
J
ane closed her book and settled
back into her deck chair. It was
a pitch black night and starting to
become chilly. She switched off
her torch and pulled her gloves on,
waiting for her eyes to adjust to the
darkness. In the distance she could
hear the sound of a barking dog
and the rumble of traffic. She knew
she would have to get up early
in the morning—for the last day
of work experience at the dental
practice in town. The dentist was a
friend of her mother.
“You could be a dental nurse or
even a dentist,” her mother had
said. “You like science and dentists
earn lots of money.”
Reluctantly, she had agreed, just
as she had agreed to do biology
A-level, even though she hated it.
“There are lots of opportunities in
medicine,” her mother said.
But Jane had other ideas. She
wanted to be an astronomer and
had insisted on doing physics and
maths as well.
The arguments with her mother
would continue but at the moment
she had only one aim: to find the
Andromeda galaxy. Her book, a
constellation guide, said it was
‘visible to the naked eye on a clear,
dark, moonless night.’ Tonight was
just such a night and it didn’t happen
very often, so she was determined
to find Andromeda. Pegasus was
easy enough—it was a big square
of bright stars—but how could
anyone imagine that it looked like
a horse? And a horse with wings at
that! But there it was, with a sort
of triangle of stars attached to the
bottom right hand corner and a
Happy Anniversary
line of three stars sticking up from
the top left hand corner—that was
Andromeda, just three stars—
whoever dreamed up those
names? She knew that they were
characters from Greek legends.
Was it Plato…? No, he wasn’t much
of a scientist; he believed in the
spontaneous generation of frogs.
Democritus…? No, he invented
democracy, didn’t he? Aristotle…
yes, it was him. His star chart was
used for hundreds of years and
he named the constellations after
mythological characters. ‘But they
don’t look anything like a horse
and a beautiful young princess,’
Jane thought. ‘More like a dentist’s
chair, with a footrest and a tall
back.’
Then, finally, she saw what she
had been looking for. It was much
fainter and larger than she’d been
expecting, just an oval smudge
of light, really. But she knew it
was made up of billions of stars,
spinning round like a slow motion
Catherine wheel, and so far away
that you could hardly see them.
“Jane! Come in now. You’ve got
to get up in the morning for work
experience.”
Her mother was calling into
the night from the back door.
Tomorrow, Jane would arrive
bleary-eyed at the dentist’s surgery.
She would be there for one more
day and it would soon be over, but
her journey through the universe
was only just beginning.
H
e’s sitting in one of the chairs when I arrive. It
takes me two seconds to realize this—one second
longer than it should have. He knows I’m aware of his
presence as soon as I know I’m aware of his presence.
As if to prove this, he leans forward, and half of his face
sticks out around the chair’s high back. It’s the good
half.
“We had orders, Steven,” I say. “If the target had
escaped, an entire city would have been destroyed. I
couldn’t save you and complete the mission. You would
have done the same in my situation.”
“Hey there, Jimbo,” he says. My name is not Jim. It’s
not James, Jimmy, or Jimbo. But he calls me Jimbo
nonetheless. “It’s been a while.”
Shortlisted Story
Michael E A Lyons
[email protected]
Michael Lyons writes fiction, nonfiction, and occasionally, poetry.
He lives on the south coast of
England in a small cottage with a
large garden. When not writing,
he teaches mathematics and
his leisure activities include
astronomy, running and compiling
his family tree.
“Well I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Steven says.
“But one thing I do know is that I’ve lost everything. And
that’s why I’m going to take everything from you. Not
today. Not tomorrow. But some day. So go on living this
fake little life you’ve built. Pretend you’re some sort of
dentist. We both know what you really are.”
“It’s been five years, Steven,” I say. Five years to the day.
An anniversary I never planned to celebrate.
He turns to leave, but I know he’ll be back. I should
shoot him. My gun’s sitting right there in my work bag.
“Did you think one of these low-grade security systems
would keep me from getting into your office?” he asks,
pointing to the numbered keypad on the wall. “At
least you stepped things up at home. Went with the
Andromeda Maximum Home Security System, huh? A
tougher nut to crack. Good choice, Jimbo.”
Problem is, shooting your brother is easier said than
done.
I say nothing.
“Not that I couldn’t have gotten into your house,” he
continues. “I think we both know that. And I think we
both know I woulda had no problem walking right up
the stairs to your precious daughter’s room, tossing her
yipyap puppy out the window, and giving her a good
look at what her daddy did to me before throwing her
out too.”
Steven stands up fully, and for the first time in five
years, I see the damage that was done. Not that I could
have forgotten. I see his face in my dreams regularly.
Not nightly anymore, but still more than I like. The scars
have neither gotten worse nor better. They simply are
what they are. My eyes flicker away, only for a moment.
But it’s a noticeable moment.
Shortlisted Story
Mike Billeter
[email protected]
Mike Billeter is a writer living in South Dakota. He’s
worked as a marketing copywriter for six years and is
in the process of publishing his first children’s story,
Samuel Sporter, The Bravest Reporter: M