• I obtain a poorly-paid job in a dusty laboratory. The afternoon sunlight falls into the room through yellowing venetian blinds, and I pass the time making tea and answering oblique questions desultarily during collapsed conversations.
    As time passes in its tedious way I slowly become aware that the experiments taking place in the laboratory are at best sinister; and at worst, evil. At least eighty per cent of the hypotheses are obviously invalid and intended to support revolting surmises.
    I increasingly spend most of my time in the kitchen, staring at the limescale that bedecks the overflow of the sink. I fancy that I can see emergent civilisations in the crust that grows daily around the tap bases. The weeks fall through my fingers.
    Eventually the experiments become too much for me to tolerate. Mice are being sacrificed to a nameless dark presence that hovers over the building, manifesting in the dust, colouring the minds of the scientists with whom I am forced to spend my futile daylight. Somehow the laboratory is filling my dreams with fear.
    At last I recognise that it is the mouldering soul of the building itself that is engineering this mounting horror. Quietly, during my tea-making duties, I plan my escape. I realise that if I mention my discontent to my co-workers all exits will be closed to me. At last, with a daring flourish of courage, I attempt to effect my egress. It is with a dreadful terror that I realise the door is locked. I turn, and see the hollow eyes of the scientists upon me. There can be no escape.////
    about another small thought?...////

    Aztec procession

    I am sitting outside my favourite bar, drinking coffee and smoking quietly. In the distance, through the heat and softly settling dust of siesta-time, I hear a faint clattering and chanting. I turn towards the sound, straining my ears. After several minutes have brought the noise closer, I realise that it is the music of a grand religious procession of some kind.
    My suspicions are confirmed when a colourful scene bursts into the stillness of the square. In the centre of a mass of Aztecs are a royal couple, hoisted up on an elaborate double throne. The Aztecs are all expressionless, their eyes blank and dead as they chant and sing.
    I glance nervously around, but I am the only person in the square. The bar appears long-closed, and my coffee is cold. As the Aztecs turn to stare vacantly at me, I feel certain that I should be elsewhere. I unfold from my chair and bolt along a narrow alleyway between tall buildings, the washing lines flapping high above my head as the baleful roar of the Aztecs echoes from the square. I run this way and that, my heart pounding and my face streaming with sweat. I am lost, and in a blindly unreasoning panic.///

    big birds

    Whilst on a walking holiday in remote regions, I chance upon a secluded valley, away from the popular walking routes. Some distance along the valley I come across a scene so breathtakingly beautiful that I drop to my knees in wonder. There is something about the serried ranks of deciduous and coniferous trees standing tall on the opposite bank of the river that sets my heart ablaze. The colours of the foliage are poetic, whilst the arrangement of species seems divinely inspired. Clouds swoop and whirl above the topmost branches, and the river sparkles through an uncertain reflection below.
    Suddenly, the sky darkens, and along the river advances a flotilla of huge birds with menacing eyes. The size of the birds staggers me; one is as tall as a bus, and the others not much smaller. Their plumage is a shimmering blue, but their eyes are full of hate and looming disaster. With a horrible sinking feeling, I realise that the birds have noticed me. One of them clambers up the nearside bank, and waddles towards me. I take to my heels, and scramble along the path. Gaining speed, I run at full tilt.
    Then I see people in front of me, running towards me. First one passes, then another, then another. They are wide-eyed with terror, and keep taking quick, fearful looks behind them. There must, I realise, be something unutterably horrible in front of me, but my fear of the big birds compels me to carry on. More people run past me, all with the same frightened expression. They are running towards the birds, away from something unknown. I am running from the birds, towards something unknown. Not for the first time in my life, I curse my bad luck.