The flight of the wasp
He flies erratic
No dance happening
He is lost in a sea of the world outside.
Seeing it but can’t feel it
He darts, reverts and darts again
All around him is landmines of death
If he is caught surely death with prevail
Once more into the sun he chimes
The window pane blocks causing pain
More confabulation as the panic over rides his hard drives
If he could sweat he would
If he could get out he would
If he could rest he would.
He does perching for a moment to find himself.
His eyes yearn for the feel of the morning breeze
He had been stuck here for an eternity
Another frantic attempt
He hears himself buzzing he hates the noise
Especially reverberated off of the things things
Natural sounds so much more beautiful
One of them emerges
A fat oafish creature lumbering around beneath him
But what is that? the air smells of freedom,
He jumps and whoops as he feels the morning breeze
He cannot believe once again he can breathe
It’s more than just a little tease
He flies towards the door
THWACK he is knocked down by the thing
CRUNCH he is dead.
About the Creator
Owen Cochrane-milne
I am a new writer from England with a triptic mind and good vocabulary. Be prepared for disturbed sex drugs and rock n roll with a twist.
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