Stories need a roof over their heads too
Dear Visitor,
It’s been a while, since last we met. You showed up unexpectedly, as you usually do. I’ve come to expect no less from you – your arrival unannounced, no heads-up you’re on your way, then a knock on the door in the middle of the night. For some reason, you never stick around for too long. Perhaps it’s the nights which are too short. Come morning, I can barely recall you came. Your passage is but a fading memory. I wake up wishing perhaps next time it’ll last longer.
Lieutenant Commander Dallas Drake, formerly of UNT Directory, leaned against his leg, his boot firmly planted on a lump of sandstone. Squinted at the clouds of dust and sand sweeping the violet-tinted horizon. Unconsciously, his hand fished for the pack of cigarettes he’d tucked in a side-pocket of his trench coat. Plenty of time for a smoke, he reckoned.
Decay has always been an obsessive fascination of mine. Like an old friend who, whenever I thought he’d run out of stories to tell, would surprise me with one I haven’t heard before. He’s always been there for me, for as long as I remember.
It’s 23:57 and late in the day for good news. The clock keeps ticking, an inexorable tick tock, while the shadows around me diminish.
On a field of battle, it’s all in the details. There’s the details you see sharply and the ones can bring you a sharp end.
Standing in a battle line, crammed tight like salted cod in a barrel, you see your whole world through a new pair of eyes.
My name is Joe. I’ve the most important job in the world. I polish the Button. The big fat round one says ‘Don’t Press the Button’ above it, in brass lettering. It’s really the only button in the room, you can’t not see it. It’s red. The Button’s the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last when I lay down on my cot.
I was dreaming again. An uncomfortable dream, yes. The kind where you want to shuffle your feet, only it feels like they’re leaden. You try to speak, but someone has sewn your mouth shut with invisible thread. I hate dreams like this. They turn me into a simple passenger.
Ah, but you will likely want to know what it was about.