The lamp wouldn't turn on. But it turned on yesterday? She checked the bulb, but it wasn't there.
"What the fuck?" she noted, as she glanced around the room. This was instinctual and odd as she knows no one else is within 25 miles of this cabin, the middle of nowhere in South Dakota.
"If I didn't move this bulb, no one could have," she debated aloud to herself. "There's no one else here but me, unless..." she muttered, her voice trailing off in a way that she tried to prevent from sounding desperate, to prevent herself from scaring herself...
Isolated figure on the shore. That's what I first saw when we landed on this planet.
The grey world spoke to me of desolation but I knew this was just the difference between Earth and it's brilliant wonder of nature with different hues and Velna our new home.
It took a long time to adjust to the constant blandness and we were given medication and daily visual meditation in the form of implants.
Now, six years later I still long to see the verdant green of the Welsh valley and the sparkling turquoise of the Mediterranean waters.
I regret taking...
Millions died during the War of the Worlds in 2080. Not just on Earth but on our sister planet, Gaia. The worst problem was a lack of water, the oceans and rivers poisoned, rainfall scarce during those times, not like in the early part of the century with nearly daily showers, floods especially in England.
I was a child during the war and helped my dad keep our secret. Wells on our land. Water coming from underground sources, still pure enough to drink.
We could not share, we would have been killed for even a cup of our water.
Sometimes...
Nostalgia. Oh, how I love the feeling.
Staring across the dim room at my parent's house is where it began. Noticing the wooden draws that I painted a warm orange in primary school strengthened it. Opening the bottom-left draw, revealing my well-loved Nintendo, Nokia, and iPod is where it ended.
Nostalgia. Oh, how I miss the feeling.
I ran my rough fingers across the chipped edges of my iPod, drumming my fingers across it's back as I remembered the Beyonce songs that would blast through my little ears every night, while singing, or rather, screaming, the lyrics to 'Halo'.
Nostalgia....
It was there in the cold, I didn't beleive what I was seeing at first. I felt the chill that he must have felt, tasted the salt that he must have tasted and beneath my feet felt the soft caress of the sand as the rushing tide pulled the sand from under me.
It was a hat, that was all that was left soaked in brine and covered in seaweed.
I could picture him, pulling off his clothes with a cold determination on a warm summers day. In sight of noone he walked to the bin and buried them underneath...
In the morning, he'd wake up, stretch a bit and roll up his things into a small bundle and be on his merry way. There was a gym nearby with public access to the showers, where he'd wash his clothes and hang them to dry on a curtain bar somewhere as he brushed, shaved, showered and took care of his other personal grooming.
After that, he hopped on the back of a trolley and got his exercise for the day walking from the trolley stop on the edge of town to the orchard just a mile down the road. He'd...
Wine.
"Wine is the one thing we have left in common," he thought, looking out over the set table before him. She had opted for the house red, as he did. She hadn't drunk much of her glass; no time for it between the business at hand. He had gorged himself of his own glass.
She drew some papers from her bag. Starched, sparkling papers with her lawyer's mark on them.
"Her lawyer's mark on her," he thought.
He motioned the waiter to quickly refill his cup. He emptied it with equal alacrity.
Not words, but papers passed between them....
100 feet away, and we still couldn't talk. She sat there behind bars on a rotting metal cot while I was wearing designer jeans with a designer purse, just to visit her in jail.
I stared at her through the glass, and she hung her head until the guard whispered to her that someone was there to see her. Slowly raising her head, she looked toward the plexi-glass visitors room; the room where we could watch the prisoners like they were in a zoo or something.
She looked up at me and gave a the smile you give that still...
She was beautiful, her hair fell in raven waves down to the small of her back, there was a crimson ribbon taming it. She wore a long skirt and a half corset over a white sleeveless blouse, the srimson was the only colour she wore, everything else was dull greys and browns.
He was furious, how could they twist his words this way, corrupt what he wrote. It was his story, it was supposed to be new and revolutionary but all he got was the same tired cliche, over and over again. So much for modern reinterpretation.
So much for...
The raven sat and contemplated the traveler beneath the moon's harsh gaze. She struggled onwards, leaning heavily on her cane, cloak pulled tight against the bitter cold. Any moment now, she would look up and see her fate sillouetted against the silvery orb.
Just then, a cloud passed between them. The sudden shadow caused her gaze to flit skyward, but all she saw were cotton clouds outlined by silver light. The harbinger of death waited for her to notice him, but once again her eyes looked earthward, focused on the path before her, now brightly illumined by the heavenly bodies....