walls,
worn out with pride
paint,
scratched off with anger
floor,
mudded with vices.

start again.

(and there goes the sound of destruction.
then silence.
all that is left
is a broken wasteland.)

Can stories be poetic? I think so? What do you reckon? Read on...

The giant red globe of the sun hung over young Omega’s head. That great orb filled nearly a quarter of the sky. Omega found it hard to believe that the sun was a “red dwarf star”. Yet who was he to argue with his elders?

A chill wind blew along the desolate beach. In the distance, some giant ***** were on patrol, looking for a meal. Above the *****, some rowdy gulls were waiting to scavenge anything the ***** might leave.

Not much to report here. The usual dismal scene. Nothing here to reflect the importance of these moments. Omega had seen moving pictures of other planets, on which they had things called “days”. This particular “Earth” here was “tidally locked” so that the same side faced the sun at all times. The sun was always there, solidly positioned above Omega’s head.  Here on the equator, they “enjoyed” maximum warmth: yet it was not too much above the freezing point of water!

Mother appeared.

Mother: “We will be ready to start in ten Lunons, Omega. I will call you then.”

Omega nodded. He gulped, nervously and mentally reviewed why this ritual was necessary. What had the elders said?

Oh yes. The Universe began 110 trillion standard years ago with the “Big Bang”. It had expanded at an incredible rate. In those early days the universe had teemed with stars like the sun. Most of those stars had travelled together in great wheels and clouds called “galaxies”. Those galaxies had been full of light and heat, and life!

Yet all that abundance had been before the “Degenerate Era”, when the universe had thinned out so much that no new stars were formed. The remaining stars had died and died. So now the sun above Omega was the last known star.

They were about to enter the “Black Hole Era”, when the universe would be dominated by Black Holes of course. After that would be the “Dark Era”. Finally, about 500 trillion years after the Big Bang, the universe would undergo “Heat Death”. Well, that was what Omega recalled from his lessons.

What was bothering The Elders was the state of the sun. It was foundering. Soon it would just blink into darkness. Before then, the world would just get colder. A bleak prospect.

Mum reappeared. She ushered Omega to “The Circle”. The children were joining with the adults and Elders now. That central obelisk, encircled by the populace, was brightly lit. They all formed an unbroken chain.

Omega felt a great glowing from within. It was happening! Warmer and warmer. Brighter and brighter. All of them shone and flowed and coalesced. Then they each broke free and flew apart!

It was done! Every one of them had transformed into a spirit energy being! Each was now a shining orb. So alive, and free from what would have been a slow freezing death under the last dying sun.

Such joy. Eternal life achieved at last. None of them had heard of our Earth. None of them was human. There were similarities with us, but they were quite alien. Who cares. They were sentient beings who had escaped the death of the last star, and ultimately the universe.

Paul Butters

Colours in the air
Sparks everywhere
Almost dark
The crimson of the sunset still has its mark
Bewildering every eye that lay upon it
Every heart that keeps the happiness fit
Soon it will be nostalgic
For everything happy or tragic
Always comes to an end.
Sad isn't it.
But which reality is happy?

-fir.m

I wait in a line that seems endless
I look ahead only to see that the others are doing the same
The ground beneath my feet is marble, white with a blue shimmer,
Above me resembles that of a wood celling in a log cabin,
Behind me I meet the eyes of another waiter,
He quickly stands straight only to reveal another pair of eyes behind him,
There is a sound un recognizable in the distance and the line moves,
Though only a step, a sigh of relief, for there is much distance to travel,
The light comes and goes, with no observable source of light,
Looking right I see another step out of line,
Standing taller then the rest he heads my direction,
I ask as he passes "what do you see ahead of this line?"
He stares blankly then looks over the heads,
"Do you want the truth?" he asks,
I nod noticing that my personal space has grown smaller,
He points forwards then backwards and says,
"That is where you are going, and that is where you've been,"
"So at some point you'll reach where you're going?"
My space bubble expands with a hushed whimper,
It comes to mind that I should ask him one more question,
"Where are you headed then?"
He smiles, his teeth almost all gone,
"Why wait to know what I already can see"
"I plan to skip this line and find a new one on my own"
He waves as we part his tall figure an outline in the distance,
The line moves though I find myself still standing,
I am tapped on the shoulder and hear "May i skip you?"
I step aside no longer compliant with staying in line.

Where then lies the beauty of a moment
If it does not last?
Though a neck craned easily
Can appreciate the beauty of this sky
Regal
Like lilac wine
Yet the sky soon fades to black
As do all things
Rust
Soon the moon shall rise
As spirits sink
And some others are poured in glasses
We have this liquor as an anchor for the soul
Firm and secure
Gripping tales of gripping hearts
Yet this too shall pass
Feelings fade to ancient lust
Cycles come and fade to art
History is a contrived archive of the past
Repeated routines of things that go

Slowly dying like your roses in my vase
But enough of false pretense
Today my love for you
Ends

It's sad but true.
And they ask me do I miss you?
And I reply how can you miss someone you're not even sure you knew?

                                  It's sad but true.