The Diet

"I f***ing hate dieticians. To them reality is entirely about obsessing over what they eat and what they drink."

Jacob Bricklebury was a senior researcher for MI1, specialising in robotics and the innovation thereof. His current occupation was designing reconnaissance and combat drones, specifically in reducing aerodynamic drag and efficient refuelling. To him his work ultimately contributed to the scale and length to which a war would be fought, the weight of casualties on both sides of the battle and the overall geopolitical landscape of the war zone and resulting debris. Consequently when a dietician enters his life and demands that he stop eating crisps, he decries it as an infuriating triviality.

Rückstadt and Vorausdorf

For the benefit of The Council, the following is a brief synopsis of Rückstadt and Vorausdorf and a typical inhabitant thereof. Most information has been expunged through lack of interest, but the finer points remain.
- Dr. Clemént

On the morning of the 13th February in the year 1843 Abbie Wrycroft awoke on the outskirts of Bickley wood, Southeast of Bristol, nestled amongst the grasses and hedgerows. As she stood, brushing the dew from her tangled hair and blinking into the terracotta sunrise, she began to wonder what nocturnal escapades may have led her to her current location. The setting was familiar, the landscape recognisable but not enough to pin down the memory. It was not long before confusion had gotten the better of her waking mind. She would have preferred to continue to sleep in the grass, had the alarm on her mobile phone not awoken her.

Drabble - Needs

Entity A cast its genetic manipulators in frustration, putting and end to the clacking and weaving of the day. Another garbled web of DNA, another creature with skewed instincts spun by A's ever-failing needle-conductors. Good for nought but genetic memory of their origin, Entity B was tasked with housing this failure.

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Mary's weekend began visiting her grandmother, rocking in her chair, knitting cardinalities of woollen outerwear into the third digit.

"I don't know how you do that Nan," she confessed, "It looks really awkward."

"Oh, I don't know dear," as she clacked, "it comes so naturally to me."