A Satirical Phantasy
Copyright © 2010 by Bradley Stoke
As we stole past the burning hulks of cars, our skin brushed by litter raised high by the cold wind, it was difficult to imagine the safe world and the secure way of life that was all I’d known just a week ago. A day that began with breakfast, on the dawn of a Suburban day much like every other Suburban day. As usual, my preparation for the day ahead was a bowl of cereal, two slices of toast with marmalade and butter, and a cup of instant coffee. The television burbled in the background, where it caught the reflection of the early morning sun slanting through the window.
Outside, the Suburbs was stirring. There was the low whir of the milk float, the revving of cars preparing to leave for work, the slamming of doors and the purposeful tread of commuters along the pavement. Sparrows and blackbirds serenaded each other from the hedges and trees. A postman paced by, oblivious to the stream of commuters as he sifted through post that he would dispense with a dull thud onto doormats already cluttered with free newspapers and unsolicited promotions.