When the invasion comes, all of this will disappear.

Radio waves will fall silent, the motorways and train stations will empty. Officials will type their last emails and put on their coats for the final time.

The crowds that fill the pavements and squares of every city and every town, will depart and never return. Full-time whistles will sound, last orders will be taken. On the stages of theatres all over the world, the final curtain will fall.

There will be no more queues, no more contracts, no more telephone calls. Shopping arcades will be closed and street lamps extinguished. In every bank, in every continent, all of the debts will be cancelled overnight.

Closed Loop

November 2013

The bipeds don't know it yet. They enact their obscure and meaningless routines. Going inside, going outside, going inside again. Picking arguments and making friends. Producing objects, transporting them thousands of miles and throwing them away. Hurting each other, soothing each other. Organising, reorganising. Remembering, forgetting. Writing books and pulping them. Building structures and knocking them down.

But when it comes, the end will be swift and unceremonious.

There will be no hesitation, no second chance and no right of appeal.

The plans have been drawn up. The countdown is already in motion.

And there's nothing they can do to stop it.

I don't know, it's strange. Feel how heavy it is! And look at this.

It feels perfectly smooth but when you hold it at certain angles, see? It's got these weird patterns all over its surface.

You should hand it in to the police. It must belong to someone.

I suppose. But it was just lying there by the side of the road.

Why don't you put something up on your channel? Do a post about it, see if anyone knows what it is?

Yeah, maybe one of your sixteen followers knows something.

Out of date as usual. It's at least twenty.

  1. She has 98 friends and 24 followers.
  2. She is single.
  3. She is in a relationship.
  4. She likes secret alleyways and tiny doors.
  5. She stands on the street and stares at high windows.
  6. She pays attention to the sounds made by dogs for hints of their secret language.
  7. She seeks out abandoned chapels and the bars where nobody goes.
  8. She trains wasps to find the window (so they'll remember next time).
  9. She meditates while she waits in the laundrette.
  10. She listens for the particular silence of stairwells.
  11. She keeps a list of special shops: the pianola shop, the fossil shop, the yellow shop.
  12. She grows herbs in the bathroom, bonsai in the kitchen.

Sometimes you can just about make out this low humming sound. I think you can. It's very faint and there's a kind of vibration.

It's as if it's watching you. I hope that doesn't sound too weird. Does that sound weird? Don't answer that. I mean it's a box for goodness sake. It has no eyes.

There doesn't seem to be any way to get inside. Not that we've tried. My housemate definitely didn't try to prise it open with a claw hammer. It's impossible anyway. There's no gaps, it seems like it's solid. And if you shake it. Nothing.

So there you have it. Mystery of the week. If you think you know what it is, what it's for and what's inside, let me know in the comments below.

I found two hundred pounds on a station platform once. I knew I should hand it in. My boyfriend said hand it in. My mum said hand it in. So I told them I handed it in. But really I just spent it.

Do you know anyone who works in an airport or a hospital? They could X-ray it. Analyse it or something.

Corvid Sun

Molls, I can't believe you just picked that up off the pavement and brought it home. In all likelihood it's an IED. Don't bring it anywhere near me, that's all I can say.

And don't hand it in to the cops either. They'll probably arrest you under the terrorism act. If I were you, I'd drop it off the end of the pier.

By the way, what colour is that? Storm grey? Gunmetal?

This is a sample page for a project I once worked on. I wrote a rough draft of the story during Nanowrimo 2013 and then failed to make anything of it at a later date.