David Bickley

  • david ian bickley

Making sure no one noticed, Carl pulled the device from his trouser pocket, took another sip of his gradually warming beer and contemplated the last twelve hours. It was the smell of the thing that had done it, something half remembered from a childhood he’d never had. The smell had brought it close to his face and then he felt the vibration, in his forehead. As soon as he touched it to his skin, at the site of the gentle buzzing, he saw, like he had never seen before — a world apart from this one, but where he also dwelt.

Seed by David Bickley. Image by David Severn.