in the style of...
An eclectic mixture of writing, ranging from a bedtime-crowd-sourced children’s detective series, via some recent happenings, to assorted surreal-ish, near-future musings, and some other stuff.
short stories that are less predicting the future and more the now.
Two uniformed figures stand before a jumbled pile of rusting shipping containers, in a thick forest of stacks. Neighboring stacks have been knocked outwards, forming a small clearing. Traffic noise is a distant, muted murmur, largely drowned out by the high-pitched whining of the drones mapping the scene.
One container, which has tumbled the furthest, landing upside down, has cracked open. A mixture of bodies and machinery has partly spilled out. There’s a strong hospital, chemical smell, and a hint of rotting meat.
They stroll around the clearing, checking the other containers for damage.
Both their watches chime loudly, within a second of each other.
They don gloves and masks, and climb up and into the split container.
Short and chunky steps over to check. “Na. You are looking at corpses. Frozen, thawing, rotting. Blood drained. You are a rookie. Your eyes are not yet trained to…”. Leans in closer, “ Ah, ok. Yes. That’s maybe not a WAWAG. And … this is possibly a bullet wound”. Looks up, gestures a drone over, leaving the probe in place for a photo.
Short and chunky continues, “I’m guessing this one was not a volunteer. Congratulations, you may have your first murder victim. Well, technically, the others are murder victims too, but …”.
An eclectic mixture of writing, ranging from a bedtime-crowd-sourced children’s detective series, via some recent happenings, to assorted surreal-ish, near-future musings, and some other stuff.
NB, this site is always under construction...
