Grayson
Well-known member
- Awards
- 1
His bubblepod stumbled amongst the ashy clouds of Neo-Manhattan. Electrical storms were common this time of year. Lightening bolts flashed before him illuminating the hovering vehicle. The Pilot was distracted. Not because of the treacherous conditions. He was despondent. As his finger engaged the autopilot feature, his mind drifted; the left part of his mouth twitched. Flashes of her smile pierced his mind and as uninviting as they were, he welcomed them.
The field was an intoxicating purple. Strands of her thinly blond hair floated in the wind.
Plates crashed on the fine tile.
Suddenly, his dashboard flashed a bright blue. The bubblepod was failing to maintain altitude. With swift dexterity, the Pilot engaged the dash and prepared to land. Stumbling down through he clouds like a drunkard, the bubblepod drilled through the clouds. He saw land amidst the shadows of the electrical clouds. It was dead land. The soil was rotted from the core since the planet stopped rotating.
The legs of the bubblepod shook like a terrified child. As they touched the blackened earth, the left leg snapped and twirled and it left it's master. The bubblepod tipped and rolled; the Pilot maintained focus. There was nothing he could do. He knew this wasn't the end, so he didn't witness it's feeling. He knew what it felt like: the out of body experience; the calming, almost soothing conversation with the self. The right brain separates from the left and the two engage in a final discussion. The right smokes a cigarette, while the left stares with a straightened back.
No, he knew this wasn't the end.
The bubbledpod came to halt on it's right side as it crashed against what looked like old automobiles. The pilot, unscathed, unbuckled and attempted to open the door.
Jammed. Systems offline.
Fearing his exposure to the lower atmosphere, he found a protective mask and leg pressed the door off its hinges.
It was cold, but not windy. Icy but not uncomfortable. He knew he needed to repair his vehicle. Fortunately his toolbox was intact. In it was IronFlex's Laxabolic. The pilot applied a dollop to his neck and proceeded on his journey.
The field was an intoxicating purple. Strands of her thinly blond hair floated in the wind.
Plates crashed on the fine tile.
Suddenly, his dashboard flashed a bright blue. The bubblepod was failing to maintain altitude. With swift dexterity, the Pilot engaged the dash and prepared to land. Stumbling down through he clouds like a drunkard, the bubblepod drilled through the clouds. He saw land amidst the shadows of the electrical clouds. It was dead land. The soil was rotted from the core since the planet stopped rotating.
The legs of the bubblepod shook like a terrified child. As they touched the blackened earth, the left leg snapped and twirled and it left it's master. The bubblepod tipped and rolled; the Pilot maintained focus. There was nothing he could do. He knew this wasn't the end, so he didn't witness it's feeling. He knew what it felt like: the out of body experience; the calming, almost soothing conversation with the self. The right brain separates from the left and the two engage in a final discussion. The right smokes a cigarette, while the left stares with a straightened back.
No, he knew this wasn't the end.
The bubbledpod came to halt on it's right side as it crashed against what looked like old automobiles. The pilot, unscathed, unbuckled and attempted to open the door.
Jammed. Systems offline.
Fearing his exposure to the lower atmosphere, he found a protective mask and leg pressed the door off its hinges.
It was cold, but not windy. Icy but not uncomfortable. He knew he needed to repair his vehicle. Fortunately his toolbox was intact. In it was IronFlex's Laxabolic. The pilot applied a dollop to his neck and proceeded on his journey.
