There's a seat on this train. Mid-way along the carriage it sits. Alone. The only unoccupied seat left, yet still alone. Why does no-one take this seat?
Might it be deformed, dismembered, disfigured in some way? A great long gash in it's side, innards flowing out. Deflated, dying, dust.
Might there be a foreign body perched atop it? A piece of trash, yesterday's news, a discarded piece of nothing. Devastating, isolating, intimidating.
Might it host an unmovable guest? A drink, a meal, or remnants thereof. Disgusting, disturbing, depraved.
Sit tight little seat. Have hope. Perchance next station, you'll be lonely not?
About Me
- Cella
- Cella is currently in some far distant corner of the universe (no joke, she can see the actual corner!). Every so often she sends a communication back to Earth and it appears on this blog. No one knows how she does it, but that's the way it happens. With her odd mix of science and artsiness, she continues to do whatever she's doing in that corner of the universe (maybe selling off stars?). [any innacurate facts are purely Cella's fault]
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