The sky was angry.Atop a signal tower somewhere unknown and staring into the abyss of distance, an engineer named Talbot shivered in the frost-touched wind and drew his coat tighter around his shoulders.It was hard to remember the air before it was this broiling knot of rage and static, the coiling sprawl of a horizon … Continue reading Morning’s Waiting Part II
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.
Morning’s Waiting Part I
‘They always make that noise,’ Talbot shouted above the rumble of the switch-room, his words were muffled in their usual way from the tail of a half-smoked cigarette wedged into the corner of his mouth.Closing the access panel behind him, the engineer loafed down the ladder and looked out into the depths of the jumbled … Continue reading Morning’s Waiting Part I
Morning Upon the Edges of a Town
I’d been listening to static for the last thirty minutes. The distant stations, that echoed off the flat landscape around my car, crackled and threw their toneless noise across the scrubland, a cacophony of meaningless noise that could only mean one thing, the generator had tripped out again.Not a problem, well not much of a … Continue reading Morning Upon the Edges of a Town
The Morning Vast and Unquiet
Two men stared ponderously at the schematic of their broken radio. Both, gravely unsure and too terrified to ask if the plans were upside down, scratched their heads and made considered hmm-like noises, while each hoping that the other may have a moment of epiphany so they could radio in for more milk.The sky was a … Continue reading The Morning Vast and Unquiet
The Last of the Mornings
Station 60. The road reaches [REDACTED]...…‘Well the raido’s dead.’ Knocking the input microphone against its transmitter, Mason frowned as his pugilistic methods of fault finding had failed to make good whatever problem was bricking the station radio. ‘What do you reckon R922 ERR is?’ he said, placing the microphone down and giving the isolation transformer … Continue reading The Last of the Mornings
Morning’s melody
‘Controller to station 32, come in 32’ Control repeated the radio call another time in hopes that 32 would pick up. He never did. Sitting on the roof, and distantly staring at the lazy cloud mass drifting overhead, the operator of station 32 had heard the call but wasn’t planning on responding anytime soon.It was … Continue reading Morning’s melody
Morning’s dust
‘You ever notice how Martin uses a lot of chimney sweep slang?’ The pasteled hue of a morning sky streaked across the horizon.Baulking in fright against sunrise, the wind decided to remain still with pale hope that no one noticed, it was a stillness that almost echoed.In a shack of curled wood and stolen nails, … Continue reading Morning’s dust
Sunday Short Stories 