‘What would you say the standard measurement of milk is?’There was a depth to the seemingly innocent question that threatened to upend the sanity of the so recently begun shift term. Seconds passed as Neil tried to internalise the question. ‘Governed by who?’ he asked, warned about engineer Cuddy’s hypotheticals and wary of an argument that … Continue reading Morning’s Humour
Category: Morning’s station
Where is the morning, filled with distant lands that stretch off into foreign static.
Where is the morning, covered in plumes of drifting smoke and stinging the eyes of the sleepless few.
A Station on Distant Morning
Cuddy peered into the gloom of their lantern-dim headlights and wondered if it was still safe to drive.The sun had risen recalcitrantly as the engineer left repeating station that morning, and the hasty approach of oncoming night had brought with it a vast blanket of snow spanning far beyond the fields of tussock and mire. … Continue reading A Station on Distant Morning
Morning’s Reflection
Rain pelleted against the window as amber lights sketched the line of a city beyond the salt flats. One by one the lights dimmed, the horizon and solemn ground becoming endless in their opaque seam. Crackling, the receiving station’s radio scanned into a home channel, half-static cruelling whatever vinyl-scratched music the operator had chosen to … Continue reading Morning’s Reflection
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 6
The radio held two bands. Dotted stations aligned just beyond sight that operated on the longwave. The voice of each station was clear, its equipment easy to replace. Operators chatted idly when traffic was low, they collected information, they researched. Theirs was a signal that darted across the sky in murmuration, a pattern of dialog, … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 6
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 5
Amalie watched the speaker for some time. The burn of static had stripped the paint from the speaker where it had embered, the wooden cabinet below left greyed with atrophy as it had died. She had seen the static; she had almost brought it into her station. Frantically the station operator began checking the receiver … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 5
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 4
Amalie…Amalie! Light returned in a concussion of noise, confused vision crackling to life behind tired eyelids. The wavering talk of people close by was muffled and made Amelie feel as though among friends. There was laughter; smells of lamp oil and frying fat intertwined with the humid air; a vague sweetness settled underneath her awakening … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 4
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 3
The Port was a small cut of land. A single street of roughly hewn timber and dark tile. Brick chimneys lain on occasional rooftop and standing in contrast to a place built more from necessity than comfort. Lining the snow-covered road where a row of steps, haggard and worn. They lead into each house and … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 3
A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 2
She hadn't slept. A grey light washed its way onto the frigid shores of port as the fragmented voice still lingered just beyond the edges of static. Every radio was alive with noise, twelve channels open, the switch unattended and scanning freely. Every patch bay was full, every speaker had been plugged in and was … Continue reading A Foggy Place in Morning: Part 2
A Place of Fog and Morning: Part 1
The echo of static, noise, light. And so, it was as it had ever been. A quiet town that had forgotten that sun lay below as dark clouds coiled endlessly across the coastline. A heavy grey seafoam lapped against the wood covered beach in languid pall as the grey rock of the harbour stood next to … Continue reading A Place of Fog and Morning: Part 1
Morning’s Bluster
There’s a lot to take in during a really good panic. That sudden ripple of falling and the ground rising up from beyond where you stand, two beats of a heart leaping upwards and the bookend of adrenaline clutching at an edge you hadn’t yet noticed. As if she were a thumb cast across the … Continue reading Morning’s Bluster
Sunday Short Stories 