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Mr Fitzgerald had often thought that there was no greater joy in life than falling asleep in a hammock. What could be better than spending a lazy afternoon passed out in suspended woven heaven? It all sounds idyllic, but Mr Fitzgerald's life was in a downwards spiral, and when you throw away important things, you are only going to attract scavengers.
He awoke. There were two oddities that he found surprising. Firstly, he was not drunk anymore. Secondly, his world had turned a dirty white. As his mind cleared and his vision focused, he realised his sleep had allowed his world to become engulfed in a cerebral vortex of seagulls.
They writhed and they swarmed and they stared. Their blank pitiless eyes seemed to bore into his very soul. His apocalypse was upon him and it was greedy and ridiculous. His past was relayed to him off unclean wings and tears began to trickle down his mournful face. As the droplets hit the fabric he was laying on, the seagulls began to melt away. Warm light bounced off their blurring feathers in colours of astonishing gold and aubergine. The sun was rising; Fitzgerald had never seen anything so beautiful.
He awoke. There were two oddities that he found surprising. Firstly, he was not drunk anymore. Secondly, his world had turned a dirty white. As his mind cleared and his vision focused, he realised his sleep had allowed his world to become engulfed in a cerebral vortex of seagulls.
They writhed and they swarmed and they stared. Their blank pitiless eyes seemed to bore into his very soul. His apocalypse was upon him and it was greedy and ridiculous. His past was relayed to him off unclean wings and tears began to trickle down his mournful face. As the droplets hit the fabric he was laying on, the seagulls began to melt away. Warm light bounced off their blurring feathers in colours of astonishing gold and aubergine. The sun was rising; Fitzgerald had never seen anything so beautiful.
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Mr Fitzgerald had often thought that there was no greater joy in life than falling asleep in a hammock. What could be better than spending a lazy afternoon passed out in suspended woven heaven? It all sounds idyllic, but Mr Fitzgerald's life was in a downwards spiral, and when you throw away important things, you are only going to attract scavengers.
He awoke. There were two oddities that he found surprising. Firstly, he was not drunk anymore. Secondly, his world had turned a dirty white. As his mind cleared and his vision focused, he realised his sleep had allowed his world to become engulfed in a cerebral vortex of seagulls.
They writhed and they swarmed and they stared. Their blank pitiless eyes seemed to bore into his very soul. His apocalypse was upon him and it was greedy and ridiculous. His past was relayed to him off unclean wings and tears began to trickle down his mournful face. As the droplets hit the fabric he was laying on, the seagulls began to melt away. Warm light bounced off their blurring feathers in colours of astonishing gold and aubergine. The sun was rising; Fitzgerald had never seen anything so beautiful.
He awoke. There were two oddities that he found surprising. Firstly, he was not drunk anymore. Secondly, his world had turned a dirty white. As his mind cleared and his vision focused, he realised his sleep had allowed his world to become engulfed in a cerebral vortex of seagulls.
They writhed and they swarmed and they stared. Their blank pitiless eyes seemed to bore into his very soul. His apocalypse was upon him and it was greedy and ridiculous. His past was relayed to him off unclean wings and tears began to trickle down his mournful face. As the droplets hit the fabric he was laying on, the seagulls began to melt away. Warm light bounced off their blurring feathers in colours of astonishing gold and aubergine. The sun was rising; Fitzgerald had never seen anything so beautiful.