We are all holding a bucket.
F a l l l i n g the feather floats gently to the ground. Vulnerable to every stray b r e e z e it s p i n s and twirls. It seems so helpless in the w i n d. The feather knows no f e a r. Wherever it lands itContinue reading “The Feather”
A vast plain spreads out before me,littered with towers of various size.Some with no doors, some that are all door.One is made of eyes. It’s looking at me.
Why does the storm rage?My ship is tossed about.
Jester sits making a ha-ha-ha soundunknown in his world which an earlierage would call laughter. Dirty windowsshow peoplestreams flowing into around buildings, eddies and whorls forming asbodies move thisway-thatway alongconcrete estuaries and out glass-doored deltas.Faces frozen in morbid rictus rainbowlinesmouths perpetually inverted.
It’s so easy to kill a human being.Flash, bang, little moan, meaty thud.Seven billion creatures on this planet.One less? Who cares.People come to me with their problems.I play the game, I deliver the goods.Day ends, I go home to a loving wife Lying dead on the floor.Too many holes in her head.Who? Why?It’s too easyContinue reading “The Game He Played”
7 August, 378
Staring at the skyIn the dead of the night-timeMoon is shining down