Dawning of the age

Hindenburg_burning

“Wouldn’t you just know it,” he muttered, “the morning I feel most ready to disconnect is the most connected day of the week, when I have to be at the screen all day.

“Maybe I just want the opposite of whatever it is I have,” he said, lifting the tall glass of orange juice to his lips. “The grass is greener on the other side of the fence, and if it isn’t then my grass is too green.”

“Serenity is my middle name,” she replied, “and if I’m not feeling it, I have a poker face that screams ‘serene.’ Nobody does serenity like I do, whether or not it’s real.”

This is the dawning of the age of … what age? If this is the dawn, where is the light? Who is Dawn and why is she smirking like she sees right through me? Turn it off, turn them all off, let the sun set on the electronics and give me something to write with. Dear Humanity, oh the humanity, can’t you see the flames? Oh, it’s falling terrible, oh it’s raining something difficult out there, it’s the worst catastrophe, just turn off the glow, turn off the screen and look behind it, see what’s hiding behind the screen …

Creative log:

Tuesday, May 24, 2016: Wrote two random scenes, reviewed book cover ideas

Advertisements

Published by

WarrenBluhm

Wordsmith, journalist and podcaster, Warren is a reporter, editor and storyteller who lives near the shores of Green Bay with his wife, two golden retrievers, and a couple of cats.