After my girlfriend left this morning, I went outside and I found this note on my lawn. It said:

Hi, I had to write you this note, even though I find it really difficult to write - a lot harder for me than it is for you. I have had to let a part of myself die to do so, but I think it's important to let you know what I think. You act like you're superior to me, you're always cutting me off, never letting me just grow by myself. You're always trying to contain me somehow. It's funny, because you hardly ever leave your house, but I've been everywhere. I've been up mountains, I've even travelled across deserts. I've been in places you wouldn't even dare to go, but still you treat me terribly, like I'm nothing, like you can just walk all over me. You can be terribly cruel to me too. You always expect me to look the way you want me to look, even if it's not the way I look naturally. You've even turned the hose on me if I didn't get a shower, but I don't need one every day. I admit, I'm not like you, but I don't smell. Well, not in the way you do anyway. Like I said, you treat me so badly, even when you think you're treating me well, but to me you just seem to think I'm fit for a dog to shit on. Anyway, I've said my piece. I hope you're listening, because it took quite a lot out of me to write this. Regards Grass

I felt a little bit sad, because lots of the lawn was now brown and presumably dead, only the letters of the note were still green. I went inside and thought about it. After a while I realised I couldn't just ignore the problem, so I reached for my phone and rang a fellow I knew at the garden centre.

"Hey Jerry, I'm wondering if you've got time to come along to mine this afternoon? Oh you do, excellent. Yeah I want you to lay a new lawn down."

Well, that's that problem solved.

In the past, I would have loved this type of journey. Instead, I'm sat in the passenger seat watching the moths caught in the headlights swirl around like a snow flurry, and getting no pleasure from the sight at all.

I don't know what's worse, the fact that I know that once upon a time I would have felt something good about the type of thinking that produced those comparisons or that I can't seem to even bully myself into enjoying it anymore. Thinking seems to be fast approaching its use-by date and the taint of its soon to be sourness is making it quite unpalatable.

The problem is - what else is there to do with one's mind. I feel like I'm saying goodbye to an old friend in that slow and 'over a period of time' way that friends part when there's nothing left to talk about. Drifting apart until one day you realise you haven't spoken to the other in months and haven't really missed the connection. Its what 'they' mean when they say 'we grew apart'. Me and my thoughts are like that. We wave at each other across the street and promise to catch up soon, but never quite do.

So I'm in a quandary, what do I do, now that I'm not really talking to myself anymore. There seems to be little point in being the receptacle for a mind. Its not like I can get rid of it now I don't have a use for it. 'Mind for sale, one previous owner' has a nice ring to it, but I can't imagine getting many calls from interested buyers...I can't even claim to have been a careful driver. This mind has been terribly abused on occasion by me, its one previous owner.

I can't help but wonder if being one of those moths out there would be easier, especially as it hits or is hit by the window I am peering out through. I believe, though am prepared to concede I could be wrong, that those moths out there have no more sense of self than the snowflakes they resemble. If that is the case, then they cannot preconceive the effect that the car's passage through and into them, will have. Surely this means that they don't mind.

That is a state I would aspire to.

It was four thousand years, give or take a few decades, since a human being had existed on Earth. The first to break that drought woke up to find herself laid on a lounger, next to a pool, in what she could only assume, was the Beverly Wiltshire Hotel in Shanghai...

Fiona assumed that she was wrong, partly because she had no idea what or where a 'Beverly Wiltshire Hotel' or a 'Shanghai' was, and partly because she felt absolutely certain that she would have a large drink in her hand if she was wherever she was sure she was right about being wrong about where she thought she was. She looked around in case she might have mistakenly put it down close by.

I was bullied every single day I was in school.

Every...single...day.

The bullies were always older than me, and they were always bigger than me. I was forced to do everything they told me.

They always got their own way.

Telling my parents about them was no good, they seemed to think I was getting exactly what I deserved!

The bullies in my school even had their own room that they hung out in together when not in class...they called it the Staff Room.

They were waiting for him. In the dark. Their suits gently brushing against each other as they moved, each keeping the cramp from their muscles as best they could within the tight confines of the walk-in cupboard. The thin slats of light slipping through the louver doors, moved up across their faces as the sun sank, being slowly replaced by the soft glow of moonlight on the variously coloured garments - mostly shirts and trousers - they were sharing the space with.

"Which one's this?"

"I think it's number 23"

"You're sure or you just think it is?"

"It doesn't make any difference does it? We've got to see them all and if we don't manage it today then we'll just be continuing again tomorrow, until it's done."

"Ok, but why can't we sit on one of those chairs I can see, or even on his bed? I'm getting a mite uncomfortable in here."

"He's got a web-cam setup covering his room and it's recording..."

"Ok, so why couldn't we have just turned up later, rather than having to stand in here for half the day."

"I don't know, ask the boss when you speak to him."

"Yeah, I might do."

"You won't will you?"

"No, probably not. Also, are you sure there isn't a mic on that computer too?"

"No, just a cam. To answer your question it was on a timer, that's why we had to get in here before it switched on."

"Oh right, I can see you read the notes."

"Yes, well one of us had to."

"I'm still not sure why we don't just appear in front of him though, or any of them for that matter, like in the old days. It is a him this time isn't it?"

"Oh hold on...erm... yes, it's a him. He's 13 and his name is Bradley ok? Don't be forgetting like you did the last one. That was embarrassing!"

"Come on, it wasn't that embarrassing!"

"Really? I was mortified. Probably the most momentous event in her life and you kept calling her by the wrong name. And you think that wasn't embarrassing?"

"Oh, ok. Maybe a little bit."

"Well, it didn't exactly provide the gravitas that I personally would like to exude on these occasions. It's so much easier when they're impressed."

"Ok, ok, stop going on. I'm beginning to forget this one's name with all your whining. It's Bartley isn't it?"

"NO, it's ... oh ok, you almost had me there."

"Almost! Sorry, I'm getting a bit bored."

"I know, I'm the same. It's not like the old days is

"It most certainly is not. I don't want to second guess the boss, but I don't know why he just doesn't get some astrologers or someone to explain everything to the parents when their kids are born."

"Wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Well, nobody respects astrologers anymore for one thing. I'm not really surprised either, have you read any of the crap they peddle as astrology these days?"

"Not really. What do you mean?"

"Oh, they have columns in newspapers these days. And they call them star-signs."

"I haven't read a newspaper in years. What's a star-sign?"

"It's what we know as a sun-sign, but it's just generic rubbish that's written in broad enough terms for it to apply to just about anybody who reads it. It makes me quite depressed to be honest, seeing what they've done with the old art."

"Yeah, well that's why I don't read newspapers anymore. They were all so full of hyperbolic rubbish and repetitive to boot. After a while it just got to me, it was always the same news. I mean, maybe the names of the countries were different, but it was just the same events over and over again. Almost like they were written just to drain hope out of the world. But nobody seems to notice!"

"Some of them do, they even write about it - ironically, sometimes even in newspapers."

"Haha yes I suppose that's true. What was the name of that fellow who wrote about that sort of thing?"

"You'll have to give me a bit more than that to go on." "

He was English, I think."

"And...?"

"He wrote stuff about how humans always seemed to be trying to con one another and how the news was always the same, just that names changed."

"Yeah, I'm still not getting it."

"Hold on, it'll come to me in a minute. He was a writer."

"Yes, I gathered that, because you said he wrote something."

"Ok, ok, my memory isn't what it used to be."

"You'll get no argument from me about that!"

"Umm..wait.. I've almost got it...the book he wrote had something to do with a number."

"Oh wait, are you talking about Eric Blair?"

"Who?"

"He was a writer in the early 20th century. He wrote under the name of George Or..."

"...well. Yes, that's him. What was that book called?"

"Well, he wrote a few, but I think the one you're thinking of was called 1984."

"YES. That's the one."

"So, did you have something to say about him?"

"No, not really. I was just pointing out that he'd written about what you were

"Oh ok."

"I haven't read a newspaper in years."

"Yes, I know. You told me that a few minutes ago."

"Yeah I know, I'm repeating myself. A bit like those newspapers really."

"I kind of agree with you about the repetition, but you should at least stay a little bit up to date."

"Can't really see the point."

"Well, if you did, at least you'd understand why nobody respects astrology any more."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true. It might explain why the last 23 said yes, as well."

"It might do, but it's probably more complicated than that, half of them had probably never even read a newspaper. These days there are so many kinds of ways of getting into and then settling into selfish ways. It's not just hopelessness that brings it out. And ...I've just realised that you weren't being serious I am a bit slow tonight. Anyway, that's good timing because we'd better get ready, I believe that's Bradley I hear coming up the stairs now."

The bedroom door creaked open and a teenage boy with blonde shoulder-length hair walked into the room. After pushing the door shut again behind him he headed straight for the desk. Resting one hand on the back of the chair in front of the desk, he leant in towards the screen and with the other hand used the mouse to scroll back through a series of images that had been recorded by the web-cam. From the cupboard, they watched with a look of puzzlement on their faces. The web-cam had definitely been recording, as on the screen they could see the image of the room brightening as the day was replayed backwards and the sunlight gradually replaced the dark of the evening. They were puzzled because the webcam seemed to have been focused only on a large cheese-plant to the side of the cupboard they were hidden in. As a security measure it was an utter failure. Unless Bradley had been expecting the plant to unexpectedly turn into a Triffid and wreak havoc around his bedroom whilst he was away, recording it for several hours seemed like a pointless exercise. After a few minutes of squinting through the gaps in the cupboard door, the watchers realised they were getting nowhere with this and nodded at each other in acknowledgement that they were ready to make themselves known to the Bradley. They could see he was no longer recording the room, which had been their main concern regards showing themselves.

"Holy shit! Who the fuck are you?", said Bradley, obviously quite startled by their unexpected appearance. Both of the watchers - though in reality they should be described as messengers - shrugged as if to say to him "Guess" and as he watched an intense light appeared around the top of both of their heads.

"Whoah! What's happening to you? You're heads are going all...um..shiney. Are you ok?" They both nodded in unison and in answer. "Are you aliens or something?"

Again in unison, they answered. This time with words. "We are messengers. We have been tasked with giving you an important role in the world, if you would but accept it."

"Me?", said Bradley looking at them with puzzlement. "Yes you, Bradley Josephson. You have displayed the aptitude that is required to perform this role. It is not easy, and requires many sacrifices from you, but will also provide you with immeasurable gifts and abilities."

"Un...huh", said Bradley, "...and what exactly is this role you're talking about?"

"This may come as a shock to you, " the messengers said, still in unison, "but we are here to offer you the role as a messiah."

"What? What do you mean?" asked Bradley, looking up at the light coming from the top of their heads with a look of understanding slowing forming on his face. "Wait, are you telling me that you two are angels?"

Again in unison, "That is not what we call ourselves, but yes. You have been watched since you were born and your compassionate nature and ability to see beyond the trends of vicious thought that assails and affects many humans, has marked you as being worthy of this mantle. You are fit to wear the crown. Do you accept it?"

"To be honest, I don't actually want a crown and I'm quite happy just doing what I'm doing already. If that's okay with you and ...erm...", Bradley looked upwards, "...God?" "Yes, that is what you know him as. Why would you not want this position? You would be given much power." "Yeah well, I'm kinda busy enough already. I've got my

"Won't my

"No, she's got a migraine headache, shes gone to bed. You should go see how she is and see if there's anything you can do"

"Oh, ok."

"Goodbye Bradley."

"Goodbye.", he said. He gave them a quick wave and watched them walk down the stairs, before he turned towards his mother's bedroom door and knocked.

A few minutes later, walking down the lane away for Bradley's house, one of the messengers asked the other, "Do you think he'll realise once his mother's headache starts to go?"

"At this moment I don't really care. We've spent the last few days doing nothing but waiting around for kids, to offer them the chance of their lifetime and I was beginning to think we were never going to find one suitable. So, to be honest I'm finally glad this is over. Right now, I don't really want to think about it anymore."

"Oh come on, sometimes you can be a misery. That kid will do literally do miracles for this planet, and all you can think about is finding somewhere to have a beer before He calls us in to report isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's about the long and short of it. Are you gonna join me or don't you want to celebrate a new force for good in the world?"

"OK, if you're going to put it that way, lead on. I don't mind raising a glass to Bradley."

"Just what I wanted to hear. Sometimes you truly are an angel."

"Oh please! That's the worst I've heard yet! You've had several hundred years to come up with something and that's the best you've got." They'd continued their good-natured bickering as they made their way through the town. They'd walked without really looking at where they were heading, but now that they'd made the decision to celebrate with a beer they both started to look out for a bar. "There's one.". They walked towards it, but as they got closer they both started to laugh when they saw the name of the place. Emblazoned across the front in bright neon was written 'Slice of Heaven'. "Well, that's a sign." "It sure is. After you." The End (NEEDS A SERIOUS EDIT - BUT ALL MAIN IDEAS ARE NOW INCLUDED, NOT SURE IF NEED END PART, MAYBE JUST LEAVE HOUSE AND DISCUSS WHETHER THEY THINK BRADLEY WLL REALISE THAT HE'S BEEN GIVEN THE 'JOB' UNKNOWINGLY - AND BECAUSE HE WAS THE ONLY ONE TO REFUSE IT. ALL THE

I'm dying, every day a little more. I sit in front of this screen for hours every day, not knowing what else to do with my life. Each day, this screen sucks a little more of the humanity out of me, the will to live, and reason to live disappearing apace. I have no 'social life', neither on or offline, to speak of, and this portal is possibly my only connection to the 'society' I exist in. Except, I don't. Exist in it. Oh, there are short stretches of time within I sometimes 'fit' but it takes effort. Not a small amount, but a bone-wearying amount of effort. I hear the cry of "but everybody...", but you are wrong. Not everybody has to concentrate or focus every fibre of their being into fitting the patterns that define your social interactions. I do not have the 'gene' or the 'natural' instinct' that somehow 'tunes your radio' to the correct frequency so you can 'hear' one another. Fine-tuning for me takes effort to perform, and effort to maintain. My 'natural' instincts lead me to something more akin with a James Joyce character's ramblinigs, in my 'connection' with the world. I have a tremendous difficulty in moving along one line of thought, and in a consistent enough manner to enable me to partake in what is 'normal' conversation in 'normal' circles. So, going out into society at large scares me, because of the exhaustion I will feel afterwards, but also because of the waste. The waste of time on frivolities, like weather or sport or religion (aethist and theist both) feels like a little bit of my life is thrown away, and for no good reason that I can fathom.

Yet! I crave company. I crave love. But I feel like a jigsaw piece from the wrong jigsaw. I can be squeezed in, but the picture is still wrong. The trouble is, the more times that jigsaw piece is pushed into the wrong place, the more it is going to get mishapen, until eventually it won't fit any jigsaw. That's the end of that piece, cast away to rubbish. I feel like I am heading towards the same place. I don't feel that I fit into any jigsaw anymore. Even the one I originally came from. Too damaged to ever fit properly again. That is death, and I am dying.

I am the master

of the ill phrase

the taarring brush

the narrowing of view

intended trickery

all to beguile you

why, know not I

not malice nor

hurt belief do I

plummet the depth

of every topic

bring fear to

focus to find

a circle's worst side

sharing negativity

I am in charge of naught but

wayward anger

intent on little more

than a life to squander

remorse and of course

regret to be my companions constant

why am i

so destitute of mind

so scornful

of your kind

do i hate thee and by

inference myself that much

why

i do not want

to 

be

this

way

When we came to Earth, we adopted the form of one of the more common species, as is the practice of our xenopology department. The problem was, some of the crew began to get listless. Our guise depended on our fitting in, but the daily repetition of a combination of having to perform menial tasks to provide the necessities of life - like regular nourishment, and an endless search for something new to captivate the senses, was having a detrimental effect on their health, and also on their ability to pass themselves off as normal members of their host society. They couldn't understand the hierarchy, which to them seemed illogical to the extreme. Though, you should bear in mind that our species is very old, older than the Earth itself, and the barbarism we found here is an anathema to any species longevity. We had seen many pass, but the careless waste of self-awareness did not yet leave us unaffected. Though many of us were, and still are, deeply shocked to see such squandering, for the most part, the overriding feelings were of pity and a great sadness. Some of our members, though all experienced in these missions, suffered such low feelings that they found themselves unable to keep their social masks in place. In most cases, this resulted in them being the victim of some form of direct and/or indirect abuse from some of the host species' members. Exhibiting pity or sadness resulted in castigation or denouncement for some others.

There is a mutation, and the vector is growing, but partly due to the solipsistic nature of their major social hierarchies, those carrying it are unlikely to be able to effect any form of change required to save the 'standard variations' or their own from extinction. Many of them fall prey to the same issues as many of our own members did. Unlike us, they had little chance of escape. It is a cruel irony. Not only are some of their skills and perspectives exactly what their whole species should learn from in order to survive even another century, but that those same skills and perspectives, when harnessed by the "standard variations" to maintain their own society's trajectory will hasten their extinction timeframe. 

In the end, we had to make the decision to leave. My greatest regret was that we couldn't take those imbued with the 'alternate variation' with us.

I used to think the U.S. of A. deserved a chance,

to show us it's gaudy, salesman's dance,

but now I'm really not so sure,

cos you take, and take and always want more

Your tech companies have stolen people's power,

the President does diplomacy with an evil glower,

but what's worse are people who continue to watch this,

as your American 'warriors' kill foreigner's kids

Visiting countries like you have some inbuilt right,

but you're always there looking to show you can fight,

your greed hurts our world as it exceeds your needs,

but your ego convinces you, you're doing good deeds

Many of your worst people claim that in God they believe,

yet kill, steal, covet and rape with the greatest of ease

Daily hype shores up the delusion that you're the greatest,

but the reality is, is that the U.S. of A. is a rapist.

Pushing your violent, bullying, sexually-abusing TV as fun

and then wonder why you're kids solve issues with a  gun!

Do us all a favour, take your madness to another planet,

we don't need any more of your attitude or violence, damn it!

Why say, you're going on tour,

when you mean, we are sending you to war,

you're not sending them on a holiday,

there'll be no holiday snaps with the family

Kandahar,

i'm