Writing

Awakening – Gwilym Newton -April 2012

I awake from my coma to find a single eye staring at me, as my vision clears and I begin to bring a little of my surroundings into focus, I can see the eye belongs to some sort of medical droid. It’s of the old static type, just a protrusion from the wall, a circle of arms and sensors. It is an ancient battered thing, by the look of its many times repaired arms and worn out paint, it must have been built before the war.

Still it must have done its job or I would not be here. My mind starts it journey back down the road that led me here. “No fuck that,” I think, “Never think of the past, it is behind us, only carve yourself a slice of the future.” To aid the suffocation of memory, my left hand reaches down to my belt seeking out the pouch of chems that lives there. It’s gone. Well we better damn well find it then. As I grab hold of one of the metal arms, and pull myself into a sitting position, a voice speaks,

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Page Break – Gwilym Newton & Nikki Grindley -March 2012

They say that when you die, one chapter of your life ends, and another begins. This is what happens between the pages. A man died, it did not make much difference which, men die all the time, and it was always the same.

Upon finding himself dead, man has a lot of questions. Firstly did he exist, if so why? Well cogito ergo sum (I think, therefore I am), that took care of the first question, for the moment at least. The second however was offering a little more trouble, as man searched his mind for an answer he realised he was not alone, the shadow of enormous intelligence loomed over his thoughts.

“Shit.” said Man

“Good Morning” said God

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Zero Degrees – Gwilym Newton & Nikki Grindley -March 2012

The stars glowed, the earth spun, and Sam prepared to die.

It’s funny what shapes a human mind can construct out of nothing, thought Sam staring dreamily into space. Look, see, it was shaped like a rabbit now, that was nice. What everyone forgets with those cards, you know, the ones with ink blots on them, is that they don’t look like two men dancing, or a train or any manner of sexual act. They look like ink on a page.

From upside down it looked like dancer pirouetting in a rain of gold. The thing was though, what it most looked like, what it really resembled, was a space station, a space station which, if closely examined, would have a safety line broken at one end, just like the one on Sam’s space suit. What a funny coincidence, he marvelled.

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