Cossathington Smithe had been skimming the creme colored page for hours. He looked between and inside the lines, struggling desperately to make sense of the documents that had just been delivered. It wasn’t the lighting in his cramped basement office, or the extra small font, that made it so difficult for him to decipher the communique; it’s importance was simply lost on him.

After two years shuffling paperwork for Derision Corps, a planet-wide migratory coordination firm, he had never received such a cryptic memo. On the page, front or back, there were only .. lines which read.

“We are not now, nor have we ever been.
We can not now, nor could we ever.
We have lost, and failed our every goal.
And now, we are leaving.”

Who, he wondered, was this “we”?

(Authors Note)
I’ll continue this eventually…

Recently:

• 5
• Coffee del Negro
• Rusty Fender