Butter slaps down in the hot pan. Sizzles. Golden bubbles forming at its edges. Water boils in the kettle. Bacon is placed, its white fat stained gold by the lake of butter. It hisses. Coffee whips out into the air as water is poured into the vessel. He sips. The rich tang opens his senses.
He looks out the window. Clouds form in the upper atmosphere of the world below, swirling in fluffy formations. No one is down there. Not a single soul. So when they arrive, it will be to conquer a world recently deserted.
But someone has to hold them back, at least for a little while, so they can evacuate the next planet on the warpath of this horde. He won’t make it, he knows.
Until then, he at least as the false gravity to keep the melted butter from flying around the kitchen.
Paddy Dobson
16th April 2022