By Ray Wilson Henry had always believed the world ended at the curve of Willow Crescent. Willow Crescent was a pleasant world, measured by familiar rhythms rather than clocks. Doug swept his driveway every morning with military precision and inspected the brick driveway for miscreant oil stains. Basil held long conversations over his roses as
By Ray Wilson Henry’s father wasn’t one for simple explanations. Not that he believed every rumour, but because history had taught him that governments sometimes admitted the impossible, but not until long after they had denied it. And every night he sat by the wireless, newspaper clippings spread over his lap, tracing patterns through declassified
By Ray Wilson “For it’s ‘Tommy this’ an ‘Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, go away’; But it’s ‘Saviour of ‘is country’ when the guns begin to play…” — Rudyard Kipling, Tommy Henry stood in the garage, staring through two cobwebbed panes of glass that overlooked the garden and the old henhouse beyond. The windows had watched
By Ray Wilson Nobody quite remembered who first started it. They stared out of their windows at an unblemished sky of July 2020, pure blue and untainted by patchwork white lines or space hardware vaporised on re-entry. Some sat writing journals on balconies and penning stories of the cats that wandered their neighbourhoods at night.
The government is “selling” mandatory microchipping for cats as a safety precaution. First dogs, then cats, but also humans … Microchipping pets is just another puzzle piece of the digitalisation of everything. They—the WEF fanatics—want us to accept microchipping as something normal. Their goal is the internet of all things, and to have control of