Sweven

Tyson Typer
Caught in a cubicle maze. Placed at the front beside Neil deGrasse Tyson. I read his emails. He dictates replies. He spells out levels of stars. Feel a shine from within. There comes a lull. Silence settles. Boredom soon after. Our combined desk is a table stretching to the edge of a play room. Children enter and run wild. The table between us is filthy. NDG will not let me clean it. It is not our job. We just sit and watch. Spin in my seat. Ride it across the floor. Coworkers join the chairodeo. Cubicles vanish. We spin, roll, crash, laugh. This work is not so bad.

Hide or Flee
We are packed and prepared for an escape long overdue. As the car is loaded we see strangeness in the west. The sky blinks hellish scarlet. Distant booms announce some doom. Machine guns stutter, sputter closer. "Into the house. Hide.," I say. Everyone obeys. To the basement we crawl and cower. Blip. We are packed and prepped for an escape long overdue. As the car is loaded we see strangeness in the west. The sky blinks scarlet. Booms and stutters tromp closer. "Into the house. Hide," I say. But before they can obey I order, "Stop! I think we did it wrong last time. We need to escape. Get in the car. Go!" They obey. We leave the spilt blood sky and the wails of war behind.