Life squeezes from the left, the right, the top and the bottom. We think we look like people, but people is actually the shape of galactic silly putty.
My friend says he likes the image but the colors scare him.
A Short Story
Judgement was issued. It was inevitable. Karma or whatever that strange force of balance is in the universe finally caught up with him. That force of balance always going after the singular being while the institutions of power crushing those underneath it into dust rumble on down a path of destruction for ages.
The accused is shackled, arms and legs splayed out, marks of punishment clear across the body. Before this day, always managing to slip this way or that, avoiding the crushing blow of a hammer or sharp edge of a sword. The consequence of a lifestyle finally catching up. A bitter, final end.
The executioner stands, thinking for a moment, then preparing implements this craft required. Soon the ground beneath them would be the crimson color of a job well done. The sharpening stone slide down the length of the blade. A comforting sound to all but the intended recipient.
Her eyes were dry. But the welling up of tears threatened to burst forth, betraying a calm demeanor. Seeing this, the end of him. Looking away was the only solace. Saying another goodbye would only increase the pain and sorrow threatening to wreck that cool facade.