You May Never Have Seen It Coming

   Tiny white lights going away backwards in the rear-view vision mirror.
A stowaway, frozen, wedged solidly from the extremes of temperature
experienced at great heights, hand-sewn tunic the only sign of his presence
beside discarded orange syringe safety caps on the ground amongst the boulders above the valley being dug for the new hydro-electric scheme dam, a body has been discovered in the city bay harbor, found floating with only a note written in an indecipherable code, a message still today unknown, an adoptee who became a high achieving medical student, even stitched his own clothes, but never could cope with not understanding why they didn't love him enough to keep him, all the signs were there but he wasn't, beneath where the wheels fold up in to, and out of, the compartment upon the landing, or taking off, of a large intercontinental passenger jet, falling to splinter from solid on impact in the town square of a small village in the alps, at some undisclosed location in Europe in 1452. Taken to be buried in an unmarked grave, 10 days later, the anonymity which could not be revealed disappeared on board a trip on a London to New York bound ocean liner in September, 1911.
   Performing an automatic, lunar, self-test, solitary, temporary wakeful state between dreams, nocturnal intermission on the side of a distant mountain in the tall stands of trees where no one lived for miles around and where the wind had fallen still, without power or any known way out, despite the warnings of strangers approaching, the wild animals rope had been cut by thought blade by saboteurs with improvised matchbook cigarette timer fuses in their utility belt compartments, hiding all around in every urban parkland, written in the material of shadow, stooped, bent down and scraped at the floorboards for the tiny bronze key, but it was only a shape, a blemish in the timber grain on the background of an image of a passenger ship on the stamp of a long forgotten love letter, never sent, concealed between the end-papers of an ancient volume chronicling the once lost and hidden knowledge contained within the burned to heat the Roman baths Alexandrian library, seated upon the highest and most inaccessible shelf of a bookshop, somewhere in an invisible lane way in Paris in 1875 where, in a huge, high-backed, burgundy, velvet padded armchair, the diminutive, bald-headed, purple bearded and three eye bespectacled book-seller smoked a sweet, plum-cake scented tobacco fuming pipe, still in his threadbare flannel pyjamas under his heavy, brocade dressing-gown (yet barefoot) whilst immersed in subdued contemplation and disturbed only from his incessant reading by the occasional interrupting inquiry or request of a patron to make purchase, just yesterday through the small, stained-glass window depicting events of the 1969 Apollo Moon landing, located in an unmapped sea-bed laying nautilus shell that was on the head of a long ago, battle scar tattoo streaked, broken-spirited, subdued, captured and confined space-monster, living solitary on this tiny, remote, unpopulated sub-antarctic island, perimeter surrounded by upon contact electric shock delivering undersea cable netting cage, all the while under potential threat of attack from the ever-vigilant and inaction inducing undersea flotilla of patrolling wind up submarines.
   All of this, the executive decision of someone wearing upon their person a white, linen dust-cover sheet, seated in a long ago closed up, archaic, many roomed mansion, in the entirety of which every piece of furniture had likewise been, decades preceding, protected against ages worth of dust settling, when the late night white Winter moon shone her pale beams through the left open slit between the curtains at the tall window. Yet another, with their story not told before they died, very much committed to staying there, motionless and silently waiting to jump up and surprise any unsuspecting unexpecting visitor to the house in the eight dimensioned circuit-board city street, where, in a large, plastic kit assembled by a holidaying by the seaside, cottage staying, nine and a half year old school boy adhesive glue blob affixing manufacturing process produced six legged, miniature llama drawn model carriage, the future, 'King Larry the Umpteenth Master of the Billiardian Self Replicating Android Rat Vampyres' was failing to win a reprieve from the advanced negative side effects of the psychic icicle melt, gold foil wrapped and laser light beam focused upon him and his entourage to ensure against contamination of the proof reader's sample prints of a text containing every word in the English language in every combination possible that had been exhaustively and successfully formulated and which, in doing so still retained some type of logical sense, as had also once been attempted when all known cooking recipes had been exhausted, creating a cooking show content crisis when all the earth's TV chefs had been paralyzed by the ceasing of their capability to yield anything recognized by even them as new, or even that which the most advanced and thoroughly knowledgeably superior of all the sentient, digital database resident, virtual, gourmet chef software program functions, incorporated as standard in to all new automated cooking devices from the beginning of the twenty second century and beyond were incapable of doing, as reported during a routine interception by the members of an, here to remain, in the interests of national security, unnamed intelligence agency responsible for observing and recording all known inorganic, absurdist, segue purge technique violation offenders, also.
   This was when everyone, employing as a standard-use guide point of common language reference, a form of communication utilizing only ever common internet colloquial abbreviation acronyms, and was in a time in which, as with the very nature of life itself, you may very well have never seen it coming.

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[Brett Hernan]

Edit: Changed erroneously used term, 'anachronism' to intended term, 'acronym'. (Not that it probably makes much difference!)