We are all 13.8 billion years old. In our consciousness, at least. Not in these disposable meat sack bodies. When they first announced that, I’d just gotten off the tube … Continue reading Lifetime
Thank you for your email. As of this Friday I am out of the office And will remain so indefinitely. I am sorry for the inconvenience caused, If you’re the one … Continue reading Out Of Office
There is a city that can only be found by those who are truly lost.
It starts in your soul, a tiny pin-prick of pain that you don’t notice until it spreads through your veins into your heart. Your body feels wrong and your thoughts are heavy, numb. Everything around you is hazy- like a dream- and you start to walk.
There is a tugging in your chest, an invisible thread has grown from that pin-prick and it’s pulling you somewhere.
You don’t know how you get there, but you stand on the shore of a city that’s shrouded in mist. This is where the lost things are. Buildings tower above you. When you look more closely you see that they are made from old hairpins and forgotten car keys. They have umbrella roofs. Worn glasses surround the windows and as you peer through you see that the room beyond is carpeted with odd socks. Misplaced watches hang on the walls, still ticking in different time zones. There are many phones- and even more phone chargers.
A cat runs past you. You think it looks familiar- one that lived on your street when you were a child, perhaps?
Deeper in to the City you walk past boats and planes, too rusty to leave here now. An engagement ring lies in a gutter and you feel too sad to pick it up. You start to forget which direction you came from. The tops of the buildings are now lost in the thick mist.
A cloaked figure at the end of a dark alleyway hands you a playing card. They walk past. You try to get a better look at them and think you see your own eyes glance back at you, but you can’t be sure.
On the card is written the date you die.
You now have two options- you go home and forget, or you play cards against those who live here. You win- you get more time on Earth and the date on the card changes. You lose- you gain an eternity, but you stay lost forever.
(Vaguely influence by Cecelia Ahern’s “A Place Called Here.”- which is a much more beautiful story about where missing things go and it’s not as weird or creepy.)
Death smells differently depending on which side of it you are on.
To those left behind it is stagnant, rotting and somehow… cold? It slows down the air until it is thick like soup. It makes people around it still, but uncomfortable.
For those who walk with the Grim Reaper, death carries another fragrance as it will peacefully shroud you in your favourite scent. It won’t be anything generic like freshly baked bread or cut grass. It will be something you thought couldn’t be recreated. Your childhood home. An old pet. Your favourite person.
Follow that smell into the Night.
I remember we are stardust
And when I miss him I look up.
I trace his outline in the cosmos.
I wave. He winks.
I remember that atoms are reused.
And I breathe deep recycled air
Passed from his lungs to mine
I remember that time is relative
And although our speeds are different
Our destination is the same.
I will join him.
In the Night.
The Casino is filled with merriment.
The Fates sit around a roulette wheel. Folly continues a losing streak on a fruit machine. Sloth sleeps in a corner. Vice serves drinks and Gluttony drinks them all.
The three Fates keep playing. Clotho spins the wheel. Lachesis places a bet. They do not gamble with chips, they bet their threads- each one representing the life and fortunes of a man. They wait. A loss. Atropis smiles and cuts the thread.
A man on Earth has been terminal for months. He takes a last breath and feels the thread snap.
He feels fortunate.