Serbian Skulls


I am in Serbia. I walk across a muddy field. An old lady shouts at kids not to cycle on the grass. We walk a muddy path across the hill.

As we reach the top, the path becomes a trench, with the skulls of those killed in violence emerging from the mud. The children pose next to these, wanting money for photos. I refuse. I climb out of the trench, over a fallen tree, and walk towards a small town.

I’m in a shopping centre. I discuss with someone the pointlessness of the International University Lecturers Union. Walking around, I see many young people, teenagers. I wonder why they are so happy, then I remember how happy I was at that age, despite having nothing. I meet an old customer. She asks if the doctor has signed me off sick, as they’ve been ringing people to cancel my sessions. A student, Nick, is lay on the floor. A group of grannies kick him while he’s down. It’s like a Monty Python sketch.

As I leave the centre, a giant guy comes in. I’ve been recalled to active duty by star fleet. In fact, so have my two colleagues. We follow the giant. Our unicorn friend, Rkell, is injured, he has called for our assistance. His horn glows red. I wonder where the ‘y’ went from the end of his name.

We track the alien that attacked him. Like a giant spider or crab, with a Paisley patterned underbelly and inner mouth. The other two follow it round a corner. I climb onto the roof for a better vantage point. It sees me and crashes through the wall. I pick up a bread knife and slash and stab at it, it jumps toward me and I stab in through the heart.

πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€

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