Stepping out of his shining space-craft the space colonist surveys the horizon.
Barren rock under a metallic sky.
Not a sign of life.
Crashing to his knees in despair he shakes his fists at the clouds.
‘Damn it, damn it all to hell!
I should have taken a left at Orion’s Belt!’
Image NASA: https://images.nasa.gov/details-PIA05108
Electric pylon gunslinger, watching the sunset.
At night the insects scuttle about.
Harold longed to insult his boss. He really did. Tell preening Paul what he really thought of him. Use all his bad words. The ones mother wouldn’t allow.
But he couldn’t. Instead he hid inside his fleshy shell.
One day there’ll be a revolution, he thought, and people like me will rise. Then I’ll grab my boss by his hipster beard and throw him off the building. Or a cliff. Whichever is closer.
Paul continued his endless tongue tirade. Laughing. In front of the the whole office. They laughed too. What else could they do?
‘Does your mammy still buy your clothes for you Harold?’
He lied a lot.
‘Only messing Harold. You’re great fun you are.’ Paul said.
Harold sipped his tepid tea and returned to work.
Tea-break was over.
Sitting back to his desk he whispered a silent curse while the office continued to laugh.
Freedom’s no good if you’re dead.
Tom’s stubborn tooth refused to move.
Chinese tea pot for one. Shanghai.
Grandad’s grey scarf. The perfect length.
We live as if we’re immortal.
Sophie tried them to fit in.