Monday, November 27, 2006

Second Coming

December. Armoured cars can’t enter the valley now, and patrols are few. The guerillas hide the child in a manger, not expecting trouble.

Half a kilometer away, a concealed radio beacon beams its message to the stars. Satellites whirl, the location is pinpointed. Somewhere in the night, three jets turn screaming, missiles ready to fire.

(55 words)

3 comments:

jj said...

nice post!!

Space Bar said...

aha! heat seeking missiles, slouching towards bethlehem to be born. nice.

thistle said...

there really is no hope for us, is there? :)