PLEH, part 1 through part 4, part 6

As blimps, as many times before, gloating overhead and silent, a patch tethered to a thunderhead. Which hits at a patch. Noises like the flaring nostrils of molasses horses.




Stranded at work. Doomed with you.
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Ever waited for something while finding it utterly impossible to imagine its occurence? That wasn't actually a question. Sorry. The wait only lingers infinitely in my head. The reality of it is improbable.
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Jenia. Wake up! Unless you are dead which would mean, of course, that you cannot wake up. You're gone. Gone gone. I'll miss you, Jenia. Your head deflated in a pond of blood and bone. Your face blown out aghast in a wall.