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The Train

  A damp purple sky died slowly into night. Rain fell over the space port rail junction. The wet rails shone like knives in the white artificial light.   The leech-trains rolled in, bleeding passengers onto the platforms, sucking up those who waited. The flies of the city buzzed from their offices to the station and waited for their train home. Only when they got into their homes, and took off their work shoes, did they feel human again.  Two men sat on a bench, as the buzzing frenzy thickened about them. The platforms were packed with shoals of sardines dressed in suits. The men sat next to each other, because those were the only seats available, and their train was delayed.  The flies got onto their trains. The swarm trickled away, until only a few tired passengers were left.       The two men remained beside one another. The platform was empty. Neither one of them felt the need to move to a vacant bench. Their silence had been ac...
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The blackened monastery lay on top of the hill like a wounded panther. Lighting struck and set it ablaze. The people of the town took it as a sign that they had offended god. Those who could, left their homes, those who were too poor to leave, stayed in the rotting houses that wound down from the peak. Every year those who stayed grew older and poorer, many died. The dying town on the hill became a spectacle for tourists. People came to take pictures of the decay. They liked to look at the old fashioned people with their old fashioned homes, as they went about their drudgery. They were unaware of the beliefs that festered in the hearts of those who remained.  God had forsaken them; he had torched their monastery, the sanctuary where they had been married, where their children had been christened, where they said their prayers for their dead.  I thought it was abandoned. It looked dead. Many of the houses had been torched. There was no one about. I took my camera. I wante...
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  “Tailor of timeless thread Sow me an overcoat fit for the gods From horned rams wool To blunt the teeth of winter Dye it black as the Great White’s eyes So I can slip past the dead Line it with Red Widow’s silk To keep the blood from cooling Make the pockets deep So I can fill them with gold.”   04/02/2011. - Hastings , England.-                 The wind blew in through my back, into my heart, and out through my ribs. It froze my blood, flesh and bones. I had nothing left. My money had splintered into loose change. The post-apocalyptic nightmare called me to come and rest with the ghosts. And yet, there was an immense feeling of clarity at having nothing, and owning nothing, except the rags on my back. My lack of capital was burning round my mind. But as the cold ripped into my spine it numbed my despair. What I needed was warmth.       ...
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