`Janine captured a cold alienated stare from the woman who carefully and methodically re-arranged her kitchen shelves.
-How are you mother?
-I'm fine, your farther is seeing me again, not her.
-Oh, do I need to do anything?
-Fine then I'll sort out my clothes for uni, if you don't mind.
-I wouldn't take too much with you.
-Things go missing.
-I think you should have a higher opinion of my friends.
It is 2015. The great mobile phone crisis of the early part of the millenia was drawing to a close. The tiny friend ringing device had been out-lawed. People were finding so many reasons to ring one another that they hardly paused to drink and eat. Some had become athletic champions just to be first to do a particular pose with their phone in front of an audience or some-one they want to impress. The heads of thought as we know it were comparing it to early cigarette use. One human sociologist, science worker had come out publicly and stated that although the craze would take many souls, just like smoking, many would survive and become whole again without the device.
As we all know, said the boffin, society is about adaption, and adaptation. There are always people who want to gain power over others via control of the emotions and addiction is linked to that.
-We take away their fix, said one scientist. The situation around them calms down and they seem like so called "normals" again.
To my dearest Grandfather,
My eyes can not express the pain of thought that brings us to this unhappy conclusion. So many battles fought over this fair isle and I was but a child, a pawn in his command. I await news on home shore. my equipment doesn't hold up as well as I expected. In Churchill's finest hour the men were spared as well as children and girls. Hitler's robots were all defeated. Now they align and spread around the base and we have very little to say to them except why can't you understand?
-They made me a tiny girl child, and I stepped from the rubble, lachrymose dust covers my face and shoulders upheld shrugs of blue fuddled literature. Strains her neck to control the stem of uni person, un-person and androgyny foul of thought and unstable of criticism. She wanders in a maelstrom and unseen hostesses cloth of mesh and mendable all so mendable as we lost did we? He is dead they say. Death with its unnerving hint of poor and unaccountable chain of strange and distraught mayhem.
Bastion of mud based and wine flavored sweat soup. Boiled pure and cut up on East to Nord grave turntable.
The girl in solice spats. Is that all you have? She questions. Guide stretches his flexors as he mis-rolls across moon down. Wobble, but have you nothing there for legs? Bender dyke, left on girder, loft of cart track, tryke, washed in with hopeful small of morning. She with diverse, what now? What now?
Cloth of doom and wedge alright but seeming wet and soaked dry at once.
He is yours now she rumbled. Mind caught in station trap, car to station, to work to house endlessly on and on. I have no meed for his exquisite excuses still there on her throne beckoning on to withered mother. He is yours now she posts variation of his and she remembers girl in black in psychiatric kitchen.
In her mind is the sight of a woman rushing towards a road. In a race to beat time itself. To warn her to cure her or save her from faux-pas, always the terrible fear of embarrassment yet no one ever knows anything to what on earth is the point they ask one another everyday?
It get so tedious she tells Charles, we can't pass here, or there would be a serious accident available to anyone who wants it. You must fight! for the things that make you happy. Become a star or a humble servant of the Lord. You are chosen.
Why is this man over wanting the woman? They all ask. It will give her delusions they say.
"We shall fight them on the beaches" became the slogan for many years. His memory deeply carved into my soul, his kindness and moving understanding. He was like other men though and decent to everyone. Mind on naval push to the right. Gamey and sinuous like mother.
Swan, she said as she rambled through lines of stretched dna and tried endlessly to make the tiny girls' shoes fit her face.
cancer? we can bear it we have lived there for so long. Eyes mottled, vanquishing turgid grey follows her endlessly. This time she engages ear of malcontent woman and tries to have the babies with her a forseer. herpes burned her and acne scared face of fresh pain and trouting black motttled mouth, teeth semi-septic and stained, eyes always lowered away, nothing against her, oh no.
"No-one about now, I'll have one and wait till the afternoon while zombie shutters down and brash and tickling throat pills pike from her uneven breast bone.
Mawkish motion of slim and seditionary vessel, guides it way along, energy full floated forth with and oozing down on lady's wooden chair. She jumps up and cries and then louder meaning of woolen shawl fresh with nitrous oxide and cleaning fluid. Furry wrap round back wafting of her drawn and anguished body.