The Great Invasion

It was impossible to pinpoint the origin of the invaders, and by the time their presence was detected it was too late. The outer alleyways were the first to be overrun, the twitching sentries powerless to repel the onslaught as the marauders bivouacked and multiplied, swarming into the central network to establish colonies that flourished unrestrainedly.

Although caught unawares, The Core quickly mobilised the troops for a counteroffensive and issued a declaration of war, sending The White Guard to the frontlines as it unleashed a barrage of expulsive airborne weapons designed to drive the enemy from the conquered territories in hacking waves and explosive bombardments. Soon, the streets were awash with the viscosity of battle.

Terrible were the sounds that shattered the erstwhile peace and hideous were the sights as the casualties flowed forth in a yellow-jade outpouring of wasted matter, wrapped in tissue shrouds for interment in the unmarked tomb of the rubbish bin or consigned to watery graves in the vortex of the toilet bowl. Survivors called it The Great Invasion, tales of which still resound as a warning to the ill-prepared lest the horror should one day return to wreak its toll upon the system.

    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, are you a man or an amoeba?’ His wife ripped open the curtains and a slab of sunlight fell into the room. ‘It’s only a cold you have, not the bloody plague. Get your lazy arse up so I can wash those sheets. You’re such a child sometimes.’

    Sandwiching his biro between the pages of his notebook, the writer turned away from the window and let his legs slop over the edge of the mattress to land on shaky feet. He caressed the clammy wasteland of his forehead, a groan dangling from his lips.

Women just didn’t understand.