The sun is dying. The world is dying. But I am going to live.
I walk down Main Street one final time. The sky is orange, but the orange is not sky—thick smog clouds blocked it out long ago. Only a touch of color finds its way through.
I cannot remember a time
Finlay’s alarm blared at eight a.m. ship’s time, waking him from another dream about Alaia. He opened his eyes to a room flooded with cold light. The stale, chilly air of the ship filled his lungs, and the distant engines whirred sharply.
For one moment, he still felt her arms around him.
Jacob nudged the Joint Venture’s harvesting controls, unable to hide his grin of triumph. “Fifteen. I win!”
“Cheater. Four of those were clustered together.” Seelia’s scowl didn’t hold, and her matching grin prompted a warm glow somewhere between his clavicle and navel. She sprang up from her control chair
I died three hundred and ninety-nine days ago.
The doctors told me that I didn’t really die. I just lost 46.6 percent of my human body. It felt like dying when they dragged my broken frame out of the rubble and inferno of the explosion and filled the empty spaces with wires and metal.
Recent Comments