The Singing Machine


The country is under attack. I mark with red the wooden carvings of faces that are my calendar. I’m looking for the US flag. It’s tiny. I enlarge it. I feel strangely patriotic and start to sing the British national anthem. I follow the queen through a large wood panelled room, she’s my mother, and it seems strange not to be singing “God bless my gracious mum”.

We reach a window.

On a rooftop is a bunker. This is where the queen lands. We step outside. There are huge flying cranes, of the construction variety.

A small lost child appears. We have another child in our group so I invite her to join us. I explain that I too am lost, thousands of miles from home.

I open doors for the queen. We defeat the English version of Rudolf Hess who tried to overthrow the government.

I talk to my colleagues, saying how no one will know what we have achieved, if only there was a writer in our group to tell the story.

I see a synth panel on an outside, stone wall. It sings to me like a choir of angels.

I cry at the beauty of this singing machine.



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