The Writer’s Thoughts

His earlobe felt cool as he pressed it against his earcanal and sighed. It was a dreary wintery afternoon in what should have been a pleasant day in the middle of April. Bloody global warming. He wasn’t complaining too much though as he sat at his desk, playing with his earlobe once again. The moody weather was actually perfect motivation to write because he knew that if the sun was out, then he would not have been sitting at his desk. He gazed longingly at his art work but the dark clouds and lack of indoor working space put paid to that desire. The dreary weather matched the nature of his thoughts, which had led to the earlobe playing.

What if it didn’t work? He knew that the topic he was writing about was hugely political and controversial. That was why he had refused to be drawn into it despite his strong opinions and instead addressed it from a human perspective. So much pain and suffering. Surely any human could realise it and want it to end. No matter their political, religious or racial ties. Common factors which united humans together: love, pain, grief and the desire to live a peaceful happy life. They were all present in what he had written, yet he hesitated. In front of him in deep blue ink was the human face that he had painted onto the conflict in order to remind both sides that there were more important things than their squabbles. What if it didn’t work?

What if humans were incapable of seeing reason? Did that mean they could no longer be united? It seemed as though their thirst for violence and destruction was unquenchable. Justice was being overrun by greed. Decency was being destroyed by pride. Love was being martyred by wealth. The bonds which had held humankind together were breaking.

“We need an alien invasion to bring us together,” he muttered drily.

“Maybe I am an alien.”