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Story


Your story sounds like that movie about a ring, she chimed. He stared into the void and chose to ignore the comment. The spiders are quiet tonight, he thought. Did you hear that, she whispered. He didn't even hear her. So she moved closer and asked again; "did you?". He listened carefully. There was a faint rhythmic beat pulsing from the void. His antennae were up. The beat grew louder. He got up and screamed, run. It's the chopperatti. Suddenly they were caught in between flashes of light and razor sharp blades. Now it is impossible to run for cover, she wailed. "It is worse getting sliced by a machine while it snapped photographs", he retorted. He caught her by the arm and leapt in to the inky black void of their life. Only to land in the front page of a newspaper like deer in front of fast approaching headlights.    

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A day on Planet H

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Technobabble

The spiders scurried in to feed on the fresh pieces my brain threw up on the blogosphere. Nothing much has changed down here. It's the same binary rule. You are either the one or a zero. There is no role reversal. The wires buzz with the same content. The word fresh has become superfluous. Repacked, reshaped, rewritten is more like it. That's what life has come to these days. It's just the same old wine in new bottles. Bottles change, the wine doesn't.
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