Almost appropriate. */
Almost appropriate. */
The pigeons would dive onto the cable and wrestle the first part out of the ground. We would then press the destruct button on the remote controller and the pigeon would explode. It was then a simple matter of going to the GPS location which the pigeon had transmitted us, cut the loop, and pull both ends.
Sure, we were responsible for one or two small buildings collapsing, where there was more fungus than soil; sure, we decimated the local pigeon population.
But we did what had to be done, and kept the networking industry of the UK supplied for many years, until they came to be able to synthesise it in a laboratory.
Isn't it sad how all the old skills are dying out? */
Consider: Both are noisy, immature, and written by and for people who (a) can't get over their teenage angst and realise that in the great scheme of things, their little worries are laughably unimportant - even quite serious ones mean nothing to the galaxies that dance and whirl unstoppably overhead and (b) can't cope with the real thing (I wish I could open some of their minds to real unpleasantness (those who know me probably know what I mean, maybe some of those who have read tempest01 will too - I wonder how many of them would react to this)...
... just a thought. */
There seems to be no good reason for this whatsoever. */
But the sadness did not leave. It had found us as prey. Not running this time. We only realised our mistake when it was too late, and the depth of despair this plunged us into was not of our own making alone...
On the third day, it got Jill. She just started weeping at about 4 in the afternoon, and although her two neighbours put their arms around her, there was nothing anyone could really do. About 6 O'Clock she stopped weeping, and we never heard from her again. Her two neighbours laid her down decently.
Nobody had anything to say, we just stared at the fire and waited. So sad.
On the fifth day, Matthew left us, just as Jill had; the same tears and same silence. At least two of us knew peace.
On the seventh day, the fire went out, and we were all left in darkness.
Soon (for with the fire gone, there was no sense of time passing), I heard someone else crying, but I didn't know whom. Then felt tears trickling down my own cheeks. ]]
(fragment from unwritten Science Fiction short story) */
Scratch the dream comment, I can feel nightmares about walk-in freezers coming on. Can still feel the cold on my fingers. */
Why aren't I dreaming any more? Why don't I get nice disturbing dreams when it'd be fun? */
But I've nowhere else to go, really... I've got so introverted that even the thought of changing IRC networks fills me with fear... */
I have now regained some little grasp on the English language, I hope. */
Is wordless abstract happyending, is uncommon, is impossible. Is mental disorder akin to obsessive/compulsive. Is needing treatment, but none give treatment, they make you madder. Is normal.
Is rain on face and in hair. Is dark night with torches, running through footmuffling fog. Is sadness and light in one. Is sea rolling and beauty showing and, by extension, hateful horrible self-deception.
Is needing more sleep. */