Oil

Oil …

It defines us, refines us, reminds us.

It watches over us, and sorts the wheat from the chaff.

Like a defined sentry the liquid wish flows from pipe to mouth, filling those hungry souls and keeping guard at the same time.

It pumps out its blessing regularly, on a regular basis and at a regular time. Things thrum, moments pass, people wait, then celebrate, then eat and move on, coming back only for more.

And yay, the flashbulb in their minds. Nothing is Real is the tune sung, and the words cry out. Nothing is …

Oil.

Prompts: oil refinery picture, flashbulb, sentry

by Ailsa Williamson

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