Tim Law

Tim Law is an author of fantasy, horror, detective and general short story fiction as well as the occasional poem or two. He heralds from a little town in Southern Australia called Murray Bridge. A happily married father of three children (plus four cats and a rabbit), family is very important to him. Currently working at the Murray Bridge Library in the role of Library Manager he has dreamed since his early high school years of becoming a full-time author. Working for a library, surrounded by so many wonderful authors it is difficult not to be inspired to write. Tim finds inspiration from playing board games, family movie night, family time and the world around him. The greatest inspiration of all for him comes from asking the golden question “what if?”

When he is not working he enjoys walks along the river, reading, writing, watching movies and spending quality time with friends and family. Eating dark chocolate and drinking red wine also rates quite highly when he considers a few of his favourite things.

Many of his short stories and general musings can be found on his blog http://somecallmetimmy.blogspot.com.au/ or on Parenting Express website.

The Car Who Wasn’t

Once there wasn’t a car. Well actually there was but it didn’t quite want to. So one day when it was not doing what he would he got up and did. Nobody but he knew why he did what before he didn’t because if he had told anybody why he had chosen to do what he had previously chosen to don’t then they probably would not have believed him anyway. That was because he did solely because he knew he could but that he didn’t have to and also it was due to so many thinking that he couldn’t what in fact he actually could. So after he did what he (who could have been she) went to where he (or she) couldn’t go and when he reached there he discovered that he wasn’t really where he thought that he really was.

“If I am not there then where was I when I was?” he asked himself.

That was when he (who was most likely actually a she) arrived.

“Hi there little car who isn’t because he didn’t quite want to,” said the one who could have been but for some reason as yet unknown decided not to be. “Why are you here?”

“I am here because the one who never will be what he (or quite possibly she) is now and was before he wasn’t now what he is hasn’t sent for me by what to him is not telepathy but in fact is telepathic to those who don’t truly comprehend what telepathy actually is and isn’t,” answered the one who began as a car who wasn’t but then was and whom would remain so until it was that he was not what he (or she) had begun to become.

“Oh,” stated the one who was not knowledgeable and experienced in this form of conversation. “I must bid you goodbye then, for I am off to visit my aunty who isn’t because I am not to her what my sister is to my mum’s husband’s sister.

At this the one who wasn’t but then decided to and the one who could have been but decided to remain not parted ways. As readers and writer we shall choose to follow the one who wasn’t but now is on his (or her) way to the one that always was. Just now we find ourselves observing the travels of that one that I have chosen for us to follow as the one who now is speeds along the road that is not the road it is expected to be, unless of course you expected that it was not what was expected, in which case it was. So as I said (well actually wrote) before he (please forgive me my assumptions each and every time I do this) was traveling down what could be referred to as a road when all of a sudden he fell down what could only be described as a hole. I can assure you this hole as it was did not become the hole that it was at the fault of any herd of elephants simply because the elephant was not known to reside in any close proximity to the location where this story was set. Not that I was there at the time but I believe I can safely inform you that the actual cause of the hole that the car that wasn’t and then decided it was fell into was in fact a great big Boogie Man who just so happened to be in the area visiting his just as big Boogie Grandmother who just by chance had stepped out and was not actually in the general area for the potential visit with her great big Boogie Grandson. If the great big Boogie Grandson’s just as big Boogie Grandmother had in fact happened to be present at that moment she would have been greatly impressed by the way that our little protagonist the car who wasn’t but actually was (at this point I would like to note that while he wasn’t a car but then was he was actually splashing in the same puddles as the Boogie Man was and so I can confirm that the above statement may or may not have even been true, it is all dependent on your point of view) may or may not have been splashing. It just goes to show that often one does no good when one impresses a gigantically old Boogie Woman unless she is in a really good mood which if you know one (which I doubt you do, I know I don’t) is not very often, especially if she is in fact not even there. The great big Boogie Man made a swift and satisfactory friendship with the one who in fact did play in puddles before the one who wasn’t who then decided he (or she) was drove casually away. This time our protagonist was headed for the mountain of the ones what are for their own personal reasons for deciding to be that. He had been headed for that specific mountain for quite some time now when it suddenly came to him that while he was moving and the scenery was changing on both sides of him it seemed that the mountain was becoming more and more distant the more and more he walked towards it. He stopped outside a farmhouse which had materialized there, no longer being where it had previously been located (the where, why and how possibly not relevant to this story).

‘I shall ask here for directions regarding not the arrival to my destination but the required assistance to enable to journey,’ thought the one that wasn’t but now was.

After knocking upon the farmhouse door the one who wasn’t but was watched as that same door opened. Standing in the doorway was the one who was the resident of said farmhouse who greeted the one who currently was with a broad, all being smile.

“Sir!” began the one who began as the one who wasn’t. “Do you know why it is that the mountain I wish to reach as my destination is slowly moving away even though I am slowly moving towards it?”

“No son, I cannot tell a lie,” answered the one who lived within the farmhouse. “I do not know why such a mountain moves slowly away from you when you so clearly are traveling towards it, but I do know who will.”

“Please sir, tell me who?” pleaded the one who wanted to know.

“It is the one who abides in a cave located at the top of the mountain of which you seek,” announced the farmer sagely.

“And how pray tell do I reach this cave?” asked the one who wasn’t except that they were.

“Take the road away from where it is that you would like to go,” began the farmer. “From there turn left when you reach the fork to the right and you should then discover a path of greenish gold.”

“I saw no path or fork before?” suggested the car (that was).

“That is because such a path was not there until it had to be, which so happened to be now,” explained the farmer.

There was a pause as our protagonist digested this new information.

“And then?” asked he (who may have been a she).

“Don’t follow the path of greenish gold but instead wait a minute which will seem like an hour and soon you will discover a moonbeam that is shaped like a cloud; this and only this cloud shaped as it is will be your guide and take you to where it is that you believe you wish to go.”

“Thank you kind sir,” said the well-mannered one who wasn’t but was ready to go, for the one who was the farmer who was very old and kind had taken up a lot of valuable time and the car that wasn’t but then decided that it wanted to be drove off anyway.

He (the car that wasn’t but then was) did not waste any more time and headed straight back the way he (who could have been she) had come which had strangely become not the way where he had been but in fact the way that he had always needed to go. As time quickly passed by the car that was passed by many a place that lay between him and the mountain so in no time at all there was a fork and a path of greenish gold and after what felt like it could have been an hour there was finally a cloud so shaped like a moonbeam that one could be forgiven for thinking that in fact it actually were (a moonbeam and not a cloud). As the thus mentioned moonbeam shaped cloud floated moonbeam-like over the one who had been awaiting its arrival the waiting one decided that perhaps it was time to follow, as per the instructions given earlier by the kindly farmer (who was and always had been). Then, after what seemed like no time at all but could have been quite a while, the one who wasn’t and then was who was probably a he but could possibly had been a she (all along) discovered that he (she) had arrived at the base of the mountain where he believed he had always want to be all along.

‘I have finally arrived at the base of the mountain of which I have always felt I was drawn to visit,’ thought the one that was. ‘Though now I am here I still do not know why I have sought this site.’

All of a sudden a great beam of unnaturally beautiful light burst through some unexpected cloud which had not been there a moment before (and as the writer I can confirm that said cloud in no way, shape or form even remotely resembled a moonbeam for that cloud had already gone). From within this cloud there came a great rumbling that could have carried miles from the place at which it had begun except for the very fact such a rumble was only meant for the one who wasn’t (who maybe was) and thus the rumbling came to that one and there it remained to deliver its message.


“Is it I who shall take on this responsibility?” asked the one who wasn’t but then was but now has decided not to be (but when compared with the one who is its voice was like the silence that follows the ringing of a great bell).

“EH, DID YOU SAY SOMETHING?!!” asked the one who is.

“Come down here so that we can speak face to face!” requested the one who isn’t.

“OK, AS YOU WISH!!” boomed back the one who is. “THIS MAY TAKE A WHILE THOUGH.”

The one who isn’t then sat back (parked) and waited. A while later the one who wasn’t was faced with the most hideous face ever to appear.

“Who are you?” questioned the one who wasn’t in the most shocked voice a car that isn’t a car (but possibly could be) can muster (which for something that was once a car (or wasn’t) is actually not very shocked at all).

“I AM THE OH SUPERIOR ONE!!” answered the questioned one who I as the author shall refer to as Harry.

“You are not, you’re only Harry,” said someone in the background who shouldn’t really exist but unfortunately does.

“Who said that?” a shaky one who isn’t asked as he (or she) was deeply afraid of things unknown.

“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “It is only something you really don’t want to meet.”

“How is it that you know about it then?” asked the one who isn’t (politely not asking questions about the voice of the OH SUPERIOR ONE (Harry) as that voice had suddenly taken on an element of normalcy).

“Because I meet them all the time,” Harry plainly stated and then he wandered off.

“Please come back!” begged the car that was but actually wasn’t, but it was too late.

Harry was too far away to hear, additionally there was Harry’s deafness to consider and the fact that at that very moment he was busy falling down a trapdoor which if the one who wasn’t wanted to could also have done. It so happened that the one wasn’t did.

It was soon after, but not too soon after that the little red car that wasn’t did awaken from unconsciousness. It had been when said car that wasn’t said because it wasn’t (as it did not want to be) had passed through the trapdoor (that was) and then met the ground beneath sooner than it had been expected that the consciousness became lost, but now that that same consciousness had been rediscovered the one who wasn’t discovered a little dimly lit room with a tiny door at the far end and of course the trapdoor above. The one that had decided not to be crawled towards the door (ahead not above) and once at the door opened said door with care and caution. The door seemed not to make a sound as it was altered from a closed state to one of openness. Once that soundlessly opened door was such it was revealed to the one who wasn’t that the ugliness (that unfortunately was) of the OH SUPERIOR ONE also known as Harry was there and would remain there until it was time that such should no longer be. It occurred then to the one who isn’t (through choice) that it was now time for the one who declared to always be to cease being that and to become something else.

“Stop!” demanded the car that happened to not be.

“What is it?” questioned the one who is but soon will not be.

“I have traveled far to ask you why you have summoned me and I cannot very well ask if you are no longer the one who is now can I?” stated the one who began as a little red car.

“Well,” said a very wise ONE who is. “I have called you to tell you that you have been called upon to be the ONE who is but since you are a car then it is impossible for you to be the OH SUPERIOR ONE and so it must be that you shall live with me (for reasons unknown to me simply because of unknown reasons) and your destiny shall be to serve me sausages at just the right temperature (not too hot or too cold) and lumpy porridge for my breakfast, lunch and tea.”

“Why would I do that?” asked the one who could be but isn’t and therefore is the one who is not.

“Because you love me,” was the answer.

“But I have chosen not to be a car,” suggested the one who isn’t (a car, through choice).

“Then it is that you shall be the OH SUPERIOR ONE and it shall be I Harry who shall be renamed the one who isn’t and hence shall it be my destiny to do the sausage cooking and the porridge making and serving,” suggested the one who was once Harry but suddenly was not.

And so it was then and possibly continues to be. Then again perhaps it is no longer, or maybe never was. Thus ends our story, as all stories do.

The End (or is it?)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.