100
Worder
David Hook
The Uninvited
a chilled glass of Blood Orange
Juice
The sky pink, hazy.
My eyes lower to the red plain before me.
Pirouetting dust devils captivate, their choreographer an alien
mistral.
Mesas sentinel, majestically dominate the desolate horizon.
Sand rat-a-tat-tats against my visor synchronous with the bass drumming
of my heart.
A sudden overwhelming epiphany, I do not belong here.
Words, so exhaustively rehearsed, escape me as my foot leaves the
platform and makes its historic print.
Cyclonal spouts of grit and stone envelop me, shredding and slashing my
suit, my flesh.
I scream as my very being becomes a red mist and blends with the
landscape.
Mars unconquerable.
About the Author
David lives on the edge of Epping Forest having been
raised on a council estate in South London. Recently resigned from a stressful
job after twenty years he finds that his mind is decluttering and is now able
to concentrate on hobbies and interests. He hopes, despite a crippling fear of
grammar and punctuation, that writing will become one of them.
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