Beautiful, Beautiful Pylon
I finally set out on my bicycle that afternoon. Ever since the Alien had appeared on the skyline two days ago, people had been staying in their houses, afraid of what might happen next. The village of Gaskin was a quiet place and somewhat behind the times. Many of them didn’t even know that the old Queen had died last year and a King now sat on the throne. This new arrival so close to home was altogether too much for most of them. But I have always had a relentless desire to see fresh things.
After twenty minutes brisk pedalling, I came to a halt in front of the Alien. As I gazed up its symmetrical lines and angles, I felt I beheld a different form of beauty to any I could have hitherto have imagined. The mysterious sound of humming I had heard from a distance was much louder here. It seemed to whisper strange stories to me.
I dismounted from my bicycle and it tumbled incontinently to the ground. I paid it no heed. I knew I would never go home. And then…
Damian Mark Whittle