I don't feel very receptive today,
Apologies. The office is out of hours,
To open whence it can; for the staff are hard to come by.
So it's only I, and simply me on which I can rely.
So, Excuse my eyes, they are not mismatched; simply misjudged and misjudging.
Excuse my stoop, it's not intended.
Excuse my tone, my heart has been suspended; my voice is on leave.
In addition, my brain has called in sick so you must excuse that too.
The soul has called to let us know, that he has since resigned.
Because we know an empty desk is an empty mind, but, to me, that sounds quite preferable.
In fact, the office is quiet; as quiet as I,
So most of all, you must excuse me.
About the Creator
Ben Attwood
An aspiring Doctor, Writer and exaspirationalist. Realism, the sombre, humour and the profound.
Check back regularly for whatever I feel like writing about; at least a piece a week!
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Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzia day ago in Fiction
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