As Are Moth-Eaten Clothes Jack says I’ve always got to carry around this machine, big as a TV, with loopy wires coming out of it and wriggling around in my stomach. Sometimes if I’m tired he carries it, or sets it on some wheeler, but most days I’ve got it settled in the crook of my arm or against my hip. It’s hard to play football with the other kids when I’ve got to hold it, and can’t drop it neither. Jack says I oughta be grateful I can run around at all.
It’s not too heavy, the machine, it’s just a box with some gooey slush in it and a place on top that flashes numbers in red. Jack checks the numbers every sixty minutes, on the dot, even at night when I’m asleep. He’s awful smart. He says the numbers are my blood pressure and glucose and oxygen and stuff, and there’s one number that’s the estimation numeration of months I’m still functional, and I don’t understand any of it. I
Listen, out in the Belt, we do things differently. Not just from the Inner Worlds, but from each other. No two habitats are the same. We're all little islands of culture and history, separated by hundreds of thousands of kilometers of empty space. But the one thing that does run through all of us is the importance of maintenance. It has to. Where it didn't, habitats failed. Societies collapsed. People died. But it wasn't always like that. Enough failures ensured that trait was selected for.
Earthers don't get it. They have open sky. Free air. Stable ecology. Sure, they had to learn the hard way the importance of managing all of that on a planetary scale, and their society almost failed because of their negligence, but they really have it good down there. Our margin of error is smaller. Resources are more scarce. We've got to budget accordingly.
It's called the Three-Generation rule. Basically, people get lazy. They get used to the idea of having a stable ecosystem around them. They ski
Knight RunKNIGHT RUN:
THE KNIGHT FINDS himself running through the ancient corridors of the Kardian basilica. He can hear the echoing cackle of the Graven Witches as they swoop down and swipe at him with their bird-like talons. The Knight is panting and he does not see a way out of this maze. In his hands, he holds a precious crystal that once belonged to his Lord, Magtherion D'Legato, a well-respected aristocrat from the City of Bandine. The Knight is out of options and though the Gods may damn him for breaking his vows, survival becomes his priority. He opens a wound in his chest, quickly carving a hold large enough for the crystal and ignores the fiery pain and gushing fountain of blood that is sprayed over the ground by the force of his rapidly beating heart. In desperation, the Knight slams the crystal shard into his wound and immediately loses consciousness.
Engage syno-shift, creature signature recognised. Welcome to CORTEX. User registration: Lifeform
Megatron x OC (Submission for Contest)She trembled in the chains she was held in, her spark sinking as she realized help wasn't going to come. Biting her lip, she looked down, trying not to let anyone see the tears that welled in her optics, threatening to fall to the ground. She couldn't blame the Autobots for not coming; fliers weren't bots they just weren't. Her wings drooped as much as the chains would allow as she sighed and sniffled slightly, wishing she could wipe away the tears.
The door slid open and she tensed, not looking up, knowing from the heavy footsteps just who it was, biting back a whimper of fear. Megatron stopped in front of her and smirked. She would be an excellent addition to his army once she was reprogrammed of course. He turned to Shockwave who was standing at attention.
"You may begin." He walked away as Shockwave smirked and stepped forward, his optic flashing. The door slid closed as the femme screamed in fear and pain.
Less than a week later, Megatron looked down at the kneeling fi
SomedayJane and Ellis floated parallel to one another across the vast canvas of space, eyeing the marble-like planets that slowly crept past them. Their skin reflected the starlight with a dull orange sheen. Ellis had called it 'planet gazing,' an activity he apparently thought suitable for a date.
"Do you see that one below us?" Ellis said, pointing to a round blue mass.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked. "I'll bet it's beautiful on the surface, too. Like the way the dust begins to spiral when a star is forming."
"Something like that," Jane said. She didn't understand his excitement. Planets were nothing interesting. They were just stars without the fire; black holes without the absence of color; asteroids with an atmosphere. They were just specks of light that littered the sky. The only remotely interesting thing she knew about planets was that the gas in their atmosphere were extremely lethal. Big whoop, she thought. Floating, atmospheric rocks of death. Ellis sure knew how to
Contact LightThere is a shiver along my circuitry when he comes in to check on me. I hear my gears whirr faster, but only for a moment, before my system re-adjusts their speed. I watch him from the corner of my eye, the task before me boring, monotonous, while he is exciting, lively. Lively. I run the word through my processor, its meaning sparking along my wires, slithering between my circuit board. He stops in front of me, glasses falling against the bridge of his nose.
He scribbles something on the clipboard he is holding and I watch as the ligaments and muscles flex in his arm. I rotate my vision down to my own arms, similar in design, but slimmer, more delicate. My shiny copper exterior glints, but I can see the spider web of veins on his skin. They pulse with vitality and intensity.
I remind myself that I only have circuits, wires, gears, metals. He looks into my line of vision, eyes blinking as he pushes his glasses up.
"C9, how are you functioning today?"
I run a systems diagnostic, careful
The world will deconstruct while your eyes are closed, in that split second when you’re not looking. Stars will fall and galaxies will explode, and people will vanish into thin air like trailing puffs of cigarette smoke under a neon light. You’ll be left alone with stardust and ash and a feeling that you once knew the meaning of life, but you forgot to remind yourself to remember.
Fourteen years, three months, and twenty-six days. That’s nothing, after everything you’ve been through, but they were still the hardest. It was hard to think with stardust in your hair and ash in your lungs and the smell of smoke still lingering in the air, and the lights and the sounds and feel of grime on the walls and grime on your skin. It was hard.
Please, don’t blink.
See, it’ll happen again. You’ll rebuild the world, making clockwork people in a clockwork town with no idea they don’t exist, because it’s no fun of the
An Atheist's Mental NoteHer body, while only alive for barely twenty years, will take, in my opinion, another two hundred to be fully decomposed. The days of rotting flesh, vermin and foul gasses have long passed, but it was sufficiently elongated as to drive away all who would interfere with this interment process. Those who fear the distorted sleeping face of an abandoned physical shell and refuse to return to this isolated field have forever left behind the possibility of laying eyes on a genuine treasure of fated circumstance.
A single stroke of lightning, gulfed down with an ocean of rain, curved her into a cloudy figure of glass, as though she had only lived as a manifested recollection of time's incessantly drumming cascades of sand. Internal organs, of course, were not spared and had begun their return to living ash, melding this sleeping statue's reproductive organs, hips and entrails into the prolific soil, sadly before the electric phenomenon occurred. Her hair is a series of
It Works On WoodThe sonic doesn't work on wood. Well, he'll just see about that!
Amy turned her head, a puzzled scowl on her face. The sound led her to one of the doors in the Tardis corridor. She could hear loud thumping sounds, and the sonic screwdriver.
"Doctor?" she said, leaning her head in around the door, very carefully.
"Look, Amy!" The Doctor was inside in his shirtsleeves. Red braces over a blue shirt, waving the sonic screwdriver around like a sword.
The room was trashed, littered with splinters of wood, broken timbers, charred 2x4s and what looked like the remains of a campfire.
To be fair, the rest of the room was completely bare, nothing but soot stained white walls.
"What in heaven's name are you doing?" Amy demanded, pushing the door wider and scowling, with her hands on her hips.
"Experimenting!" he yelled, weaving the sonic back and forth in a figure eight. It was giving off such a high pitched squeal that Amy squeezed one eye shut and winced.
She stared at where he was