By Ray Wilson Agatha promptly dismissed the alarmist headline, smoothing the newspaper beneath the cat litter tray as she placed it in the garage. “Drought has been declared across half of England following prolonged dry weather and low rainfall. More than 23 million Brits are affected by hosepipe bans.” Another golden day dawned over Willow
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.
By Ray Wilson Henry sat alone in his dilapidated garden shed, the smell of damp, woodworm-riddled timber and old engine oil hanging in the air. An ageing transistor radio crackled on the shelf beside him, tuned—as always—to the local BBC station. He disliked every presenter. Especially the relentlessly cheerful ones. Their voices possessed a peculiar
By Ray Wilson In a July 2020 CNBC interview, Klaus Schwab remarked: “So we will see definitively a lot of anger already now, but probably increase by the end of the year because this crisis will be with us until we really have found a remedy.” He paused only briefly before adding: “So we have
By Ray Wilson We finished our work early. “Do you fancy a trip to the Elephant house—the weather is nice—we can pick up the items for Sally en route,” I suggest. “Alright, let’s go,” the missus replies. “I’ll grab the hound and meet you out front.” I say We decide to take the car for
By Ray Wilson After leaving the A303, our road to the sun is narrower and calmer, more indicative of earlier times—more suited to a horse and cart rather than a motorised vehicle. Our motorcycle combination purrs along the lanes, weaving through the picturesque countryside as we soak in the peaceful surroundings. We are staying in
By Ray Wilson “I think I’ve got chemtrail sniffles,” my missus tells me. “You had better start…” I begin. “On the Suramin, every hour on the hour, I know I started on it,” she interjects. I leave the missus to recuperate. It’s dank; a cloying greyness hangs over the forest. My hound sniffs at the