These aren’t stories. They are fragments of ideas, half thoughts that were never given the time they deserved. I am clearing up my hard drive and found these. Rather than wholesale deletion, I thought I would put them here. Maybe one day I can come back to them with fresh verve.
Weariness was like a weight, dragging me down into the abyss of fuzzy thoughts and half-heard conversations. I could feel my brain pushing against my eyes.
Each and every day the hiss and grind of machinery haunted the air, an elusive ghost of the modern age. The walls were smooth; metal, teak and whiteness blinding the populace into submission and cowing them into uniformity.