Degreeless

It was the twenty-second and life was every bit as ordinary as every other day. It was remarkable how life went on after everyone had seen the brink, the desperate normality of it all, the lust for continuity. Everyone crept back to the lives they had left behind from their places by their televisions and in the arms of the people who gave a damn, they crept back and crawled on, limping until they remembered how to walk. There were memorials of course, not built yet, the uncontrolled and un-authored expressions of loss, bill boards with pictures, surrounded by an honour guard of lilies and tulips. Everything was open and raw, jagged lines of

Our golden business boy stood, head in the clouds, feet on velour, and looked out and said; “I love this town.” as the high-rises fell. One by one, concrete and graffiti, old arguments and toy box memories of what once was. Ugly things, old things, things more problems than answers. Lifts don’t work, too many stairs, no disabled access, heating dead every other week, who wouldn’t be glad? The boys from 23 looked on as the implosion sucked in seven and eight years worth, taking it to task. No more fighting over the top bunk and hurling ‘round old figures. The couple from 40 huddled each other, no more arguments over t

Frozen air and frozen flakes And moonlight pushed ‘tween clouds The feast of Hintermas Once more Rallied round the crowds And young Prince Alber His cheeks a rosy red Gazed out ‘pon the town And then Clambered from his bed He clad himself in red robes And snuck out to the town Eager to see the people And The Hintermen in their gowns And on his back his bold charge A sack full of presents He snuck through the courtyard And Out by the Pheasant In the pheasant they danced And laughed and played Despite the cold they all did grin And The old men gently swayed He passed and went on and on Until the snow came in

It was dark and wet, not raining, but he could feel the cool humidity in the air. John was crouched low, hunched over in the safety of the row trees that lined the outside fence of the compound. He scuttled across exposed roots until he came within feet of the chain-link fence. It was crowned in barbed wire and beyond he could see the white corrugated walls of the warehouses, lit up by the sweep of searchlights. He was shaking, not a shiver from the cold, but a shake that rose from the hot feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. Everything in his body told him to turn back, that this was stupid, that he’d get himself killed, and for what

Henchmen, regardless of their lethal capacity or seniority within their respective organisation, always come in pairs. One is tall and thin, the other is small and rotund. Of course nobody uses the word rotund when round or fat are both equally potent. To make up for this the smaller of the two is often the brains of the operation, poor compensation, as to credit either of these with real intelligence would be to admit yourself their equal in mental prowess. Right now the rotund Mister Fickle waded, knee deep, through watery bog. He difference between boggy water and a watery bog is only apparent when one is stood in it, the previous is foul

She was a heart breaker, the Heartbreaker, no less. Her footsteps waltzed gracefully over mucky floorboards, heels clicking and echoing around the abandoned building. It was dusty and muddy where the roof was cracked. In the cellar green fronds of grass grasped wetly through a tyre-less bicycle wheel, kissing its rusted spokes. It was raining outside, soft spray that soaked everything. It fluttered through the holes in the roof, not making a splash but seeping into everything. It made the place smell of musky, wet cardboard and old out houses. The was still waltzing to the beat of her footsteps, turning gracefully through a doorway into a g

The only thing that could really be heard was the hiss of the oxygen system against the echoing silence of nothingness. His own breaths were short and sharp in the claustrophobic helmet, he never liked EVA and hated the damned suits, but it was his turn. He was holding a flashlight in one hand, and the cable that connected him to the hull of the Autumn Wanderer in the other. The Autumn herself was an older ship that had been heavily modified in it’s years of service to keep her up to date with other, younger vessels. She had a hammerhead that flowed into a broad neck which swept back to the pregnant bump of the aft section. At equal poi

He fell out of the doorway and onto the cobbled floor, his mane of brown hair flecked with grey that crept into the line of unkempt hair that dashed along the line of his jaw. He was on his side, his coat sodden with water from the cobbles. He cursed under his breath and dragged himself to his feet, using his sword as a cane to steady himself on his knees before pushing up and slumping against the wall. He crumbled along the wall, his gait stooping with each and every footstep, his skin pale grey in the midnight air. He had no breath, no plume of mist accompanied the laboured opening of his mouth, nor was there the sigh of a breeze as he inh