My hometown, like many others, is full
of strange little old brick buildings that seem little used, and
never have any visitors going in or out.
The old bowling green pavilion. Various
perma-locked old public toilets. Outhouses on the edge of public
parks. Car park attendant shelters no longer used since automation -
the old man in the orange flashed donkey jacket kicked out onto the
street to slowly strave to death while being taunted and urinated
upon by passers-by in favour of non-functional ticket machines
swallowing nickel coins for no sticky paper prize.
By the cemetery, a plot of land with a
brick structure stands next to undistinguished housing, a “For
Sale” sign flapping in heavier breezes. Still there. Still
undeveloped.
They must still be standing for a
reason, otherwise greedy councils would flatten them – every tiny
little space has a value. I wonder why. Who really controls them.
What really are they used for. What “really” lies within?
They are obviously control rooms,
observation posts, and the likes. The forces that would infiltrate
our society and act for powers beyond our solar system – in one
case, within it – use the apparently unused old buildings for their
own nefarious purpose. The perma-closed public lavatory, for example,
is run by human-cultivating carnivores from Tau Ceti, who monitor the
vital signs of folk walking past, and pounce on those with the
nourishing characteristics required.
Seeing as they like meat rich in
ethanol, the mortality statistics of street drinkers are explained.
The worm-men of Triton, our only solar
system based visitors, live in bowling green pavilions all over the
United Kingdom. They are secretly digging our our richest and most
fertile soils from underneath the surface, and exporting them back to
the homeworld to wriggle in. Soon, they will no loger be able to
conceal their activities, as our huge tracts of our farmland will
cave in on itself, and we will begin to starve.
Parkland outhouses are home to mutants
from a waterless world monitoring our political instability, awaiting
a time to pounce when we are at our weakest. Empty houses house the
empty skulls of the watchers of Vega, living cameras with no thoughts
of their own, they seek to collectivise all. These mindless space
communists have fascist rivals, the disused telephone exhange
dwelling Maggotoids of Mizar, and even as they vivisect the homeless,
the Vegans seek to start a war with them.
A war that will kill us all in the
process, even if they don't kill us first. So remember, watch those
funny little buildings. Ignore them at your, and our, peril.
Copyright Bloody
Mulberry 28/10/2013
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