Dust to Dust

"I'M SIGNIFICANT!" screamed the speck of dust.

And he was. He had been flicked off Julius Ceasar's tunic as he was stabbed by the Guardians of Democaracy.

He had been a part of the red tikka on Subhas Chandra Bose's forehead as he signed a document in blood.

He was the first to be hit by a radioactive particles at Nagasaki.

He had been catapulted a million miles into the atmosphere and finally landed on the arms of a lone protester who stopped rolling tanks in China.

He was a significant speck of dust.

But now he was being judged. His crime: Hitching a ride on a space shuttle and trying to escape - leave this gravity well.

You see, specs of dust weren't allowed to leave here. It was in their contract. It didn't stop millions of them from trying each year though.

So he was now being judged. The judge: A large, heavy rock. One of the Establishment. Oh they didn't mind not leaving. They had it good. Comfortable. Once people grow up, they have no idea what's cool anymore.

Our Significant Speck of Dust sighed. He knew the end result. Prison. Sentenced to a life of drowning in an ocean and living on the sea floor. A refugee dust particle forever with no chance of escape. He screamed his lungs out.

I think it's time we got this bit of dust to a psychologist.