"WOO HOO!!!"
Avat's heart raced as he tore through space in the Drakon II, his brother and the rest of their squad behind him. He ran his fingers along the control pad and the shuttle rotated quickly until he was "upside down" relative to the others. "Easy there Hot Shot," Vish chided. "This isn't a race. The controls just need a light touch."
Avat cursed under his breath. "Understood," he said louder and easily righted his ship. The Drakon, named for its resemblance to the beast of ancient mythology, and moved effortlessly in the vacuum of space, sending data directly...
Never before had he entered this room. The dream of the golden sea was clearer in his mind than ever before. There was nothing in here beside a small woorden bench under the high window. When a girl suddenly spoke behind him, Entas froze to the spot. She said his name. Then she started to sing. And he knew: this is her. It must be her. She knew the lines and the melody nobody else in the world could possibly know.
Entas, she said, I'm here.
He turned around.
The light behind her was so bright that he only saw...
"What is it you have to do again?"
Richard pointed at the screen. "You have to get the butterflies to land on that tree."
"Which one, the one on the left?"
"No," he said, "the other one, the little one."
His son crossed his arms. "Dad, this game is so lame! I don't see how you could have played this thing. The graphics suck!"
"Hey, this is 16-bit resolution! You should have seen some of the old 8-bit side-scrolling games. The graphics on them were even worse, but they were all we had. And do you hear those sound effects?"...
Never before had he witnessed such decadence. In every direction he sees strangers from a planet he has not lived on. They do not share his world. Humongous flashing screens paint the slopes of this urban valley with a grotesque LCD glow, electrifying the smoggy night and blotting out constellations he was accustomed to observing. A foreign land indeed.
They had told him about these men, and their women and children, of their social clubs and religious events and twenty-four-hours-a-day informational overload. He had watched the training videos explaining how to communicate in their language, how to mimic their gestures...
Midnight
On the roof.
A shouldn't-be time in a shouldn't-be place,
Thad pecked a shouldn't-do cigarette from the packet and lit it with a burst of flame that violated the darkness and fizzed against the silence.
He exhaled a plume of smoke, pushing it away from his body with his breath, but it hung about in his personal space as if it was reluctant to go too close to the edge.
He looked up. Some mist up there was blocking out the stars and, for now, the moon was balling along behind a strip of cloud. There wouldn't even be...
Holmes pulled up his chair, muttered to himself for a second then cleared his throat.
'We have your bizarre first appearance as a Scottish small holder, otherwise known as a Crofter, if I am not mistaken. At first I thought this was a silly pun on your name, dear brother. "M' small holding' being rendered as "My croft".'
Mycroft nodded.
"Yet, you knew I would see through your disguise even if Watson was fooled." He turned to me and smiled apologetically. I dissembled, but had to admit he was correct. " And we must not forget the excellent Western lilt...
The noises that, at first, filled every pocket of air, immediately and harmoniously silenced. The overcast sky of smog and gas cracked open like chick which has been waiting weeks to hatch, the yellow feathers shined through. And all was quiet. The men did not speak, they dropped their arms, but their guns' falls were muted by this minute of peace. Even the men dared not to speak. Enemies were no longer so, there was no definition between men, just as there are no barriers between the birds which were the first to make a sound. A song which awoke...
Divinity. Envied by those less fortunate to be born into royalty and riches. I look at the fat men that I cater to and the goddess-like wives. Oh how I despise these fat sultans of our backwards society. I watch everyday, as they come down to the pool, indulging their disgusting appetites, and scarfing down another man's hard labor. Ceaselessly, they surround themselves with more and more food, women, and indignifying entertainment. How is it that there is such a place where the fat and lazy sit on their asses all day, where as the hard, working, and noble servant...
He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet.
"The Internet. It's gone!"
"You mean the link's dead? Bloody broadband…"
"No, it's gone. 404s everywhere," the bearer of bad tidings paused to pant some relief into his lungs, "there's nothing left. All the World's knowledge is…"
"… gone."
They looked at each other.
"Hell, what are we going to do this afternoon?"
"I don't know. Work? Maybe?"
They sniggered.
13 days later, when Society had collapsed, one was eating the other, barely able to remember what a 404 was. He was surprised they'd lasted that long....
The tracks screeched as the train hurtled through the curve. "Is this normal?!" she screamed, "Are we going to die?"
"It's looking likely!" he shouted back as he tumbled into the roomette. Crawling on his knees, panic leapt into his eyes. He scanned the floor, sweeping his hands over the carpet, under the seats.
"What are you looking for?" she shouted as she braced herself in the hallway.
"Nothing. It's nothing. You know, at times like these, when disaster looms, we must ask ourselves what motivates us, what grand ideas guide us in our illusory walks towards our certain doom....