Wednesday, January 26, 2011


Sigma watched from her window as the night-bus passengers scuttled for cover under the protective overhang of the station. The rain was light and Sigma wondered at the species’ aversion to the water from which they stemmed. She sucked on the inch-long joint, allowing the sweet smoke to perfume her purple room with those silver curlicues that fractal out into the night.
And were it not for the polluting yellow lights from the station, she felt she might see home out there in the vacuum of the sky. But the yellow lights held sway; illuminating the diagonal rain and reflecting amber on the tarmac; rippling solar systems in their own right.
A fresh load of commuters now boarded, the night-bus lifted off, its engines distorting the light beneath, its kinetic hum adding tone to Sigma’s city soundtrack.
A drop of water from the overhanging sill extinguished the orange coal of her joint with a hiss causing Sigma to focus on it, cross-eyed and bemused.
Her train of thought thus broken, she returned to the orb on the table, immersing herself in its alien waters while the rain increased its hissing protest against the overhang of the station.


Harlequin said...

what an unhurried and hushed description of a hushed and unhurried moment. so compelling...

Pisces Iscariot said...

Harlequin: It was conceived in a hushed and unhurried state of mind.