Digging into the road, tripod aliens flash Roadworks Ahead. Arterial routes rerouted. Diggers chew through tarmac to the core beneath. It’s the clang, the growl of severance, destroying to restore.
Like snipping brown ends off celery.
Like ending evening classes to look elsewhere for new routes.
The book is always master of the Library.
Like walking out. Not looking back. Lot’s mistake, his God cuts ties, too.
Every road cuts ties. And bids us do the same. Bids us open arterial routes so your stinging, itching rain pulses into warm bath water. All routes close.
Severance serves its own ends.
Christopher 5 months ago
The existentialism of this drabble is brilliant. It's so subtle at the end that you almost miss the comparison between roadways as arteries and the arteries in the human body. Just fabulous (not that I'm an advocate of this person's ultimate actions).
Drew Martyn 5 months ago
Thanks Christopher, glad you got it. It was quite difficult not making it too obvious.