by Robert Clay
You must have seen it, that early morning sunrise. A bright white dome peering over the horizon, the eye of life scattering the cold dark shadows of the night. I stood up and breathed deeply, glad to have another day, but something was wrong. The sun shouldn't rise into a mushroom shape. Some invisible unforgiving monster was racing toward me, sweeping aside trees birds and houses in it's path. I opened my mouth to rage against the coming of the light, but the blastwave struck and turned me to dust.
Robert Clay, whose full catalog is here, is a Seafarer now stranded on land. He lives in Cornwall in the UK.