I find her in a pile of her broken wings. She’s like my grandmother’s drawings from decades ago, from her travels before the gates closed.
You were told it would end in flames, and the beauty and destruction shall burn through you until there’s nothing left.
You dream of the stars, regardless of how they tell you not to. You wide-eyed boy, caught up in your fantasies of flight.
He stands in front of you, an impassable force, not by physicality, but by nature. In the months you’ve been apart, he hasn’t grown an inch.
There’s sheer beauty in movement. She only recognized that when it was ripped from her.
Humans are the only intelligent beings. The first and last. They have everything they need on Earth, and no one bothers them.
The world had veins of tarmac criss crossed over her surface. When the information age ended, everything went black.
Spacefaring has two constants. The universe is impermanent, and you never know what you’ll encounter.
It’s a ripped apart world. Shattered continents and the skies churn with poisonous clouds. A world where time doesn’t exist.
It rains acid here. It isn’t bad, but it’s like my eyes are burning out of their sockets. Like most lonely inhabitants of this desolate city, I stay inside.