The Dream Railway http://www.dreamrailway.com Tue, 12 Jan 2016 22:20:49 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.0.7 Children of Oblivion – Prologue http://www.dreamrailway.com/children-of-oblivion-prologue/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/children-of-oblivion-prologue/#respond Tue, 12 Jan 2016 22:18:04 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=220 Read More]]> This is where our war begins.

Our struggle against the sky.

Against our bones.

Our war with the past and the future.

Our war with the ones we left behind.

The people we used to be.

So here’s to us, the warmongers.

Trying to reclaim our humanity.

 

~#~

 

Children of Oblivion

Prologue

 

~#~

 

So silvery, so faint. It crept like hot breath on windowpanes.

 

Starting in the cargo hold, leaking from vacuum-sealed containers… shifting like a whisper, it began to move. A barely audible sigh hissed between cracks in the compressed gas canisters meant to keep them safe and secure. The microscopic trespassers drifted over the metal hull of the plane, slipping into the air vents, no motivation or direction to their movements.

 

This was not their place. They were incomplete, destined for labs across the sea for further testing. But the insulated transport unit was faulty. It let them escape, let them wake up in the hot belly of the plane. Coaxed from their cold sleep, they were caught by air currents, patterns of movement starting to slowly come to them.

 

Tiny electrical impulses keeping them close together, they swarmed, silver and dusty.

 

Hours passed and the plane still rumbled through the sky, metal skin rattling against the turbulence outside. Still the swarm stayed awake, finding paths in the air. Condemned by their infancy, some were distanced from the horde, and losing their momentum, they went dark. The rest carried on.

 

Half-composed code murmured to them, a lullaby that kept them thinking artificial thoughts. They had the ability and the understanding of what they were meant to do, but that was only half of the equation. They lacked orders. They lacked the vital bits of programming that might tell them where to go. They were designed o fix problems, but they themselves were premature.

 

They began to hunt, began to look for a problem. The cold, dark, lifeless metal around them… something kept it in the air. Something gave it ‘life’, kept it moving and groaning.

 

Some spread out, began to seep into the pores and the gaps between the metal. They found familiar traces of copper wire and silicon chips. And the rest kept drifting, searching for the chemical scent.

 

They found it near the mouth of their metal host. Hot bodies teeming with life, with stress and exhaustion and hormones and the carbon template of life. But neither were sick. Neither were broken, neither needed fixing. Without something to fix, the silver drifters were lost.

 

Their code told them nothing. They were malformed, incomplete.

 

Hot bodies beckoned. There was nothing for them to fix… but maybe there was a way to make it better all the same. There was a great hot beast around them, metal and copper and silicon. An engine-tune that sounded to them like a heartbeat. They knew nothing else what they flawed codes told them, and the codes told them to fix.

 

Fix. Fix. But nothing is broken… fix. Heal. Change.

 

Change it, make it better. Fix to make it better.

 

Hot flesh, blood, bone… protein, collagen, chemicals…

 

Steel, silicon, aluminum… graphite. Resin.

 

Carbon.

 

It can be better.

 

Silver and pink. Metal and flesh.

 

They drifted with purpose now. Filaments the size of molecules guided them, steered them towards the hot blood and cold metal. Inside them, imprinted in the flecks of silicon acting as their brains, they started thinking. Snippets of code rearranged to give new life, as they would give new life to the dead husk surrounding them.

 

Silvery dust. They would go unnoticed and they would make it better.

 

Metal and flesh.

 

Fix, make it better.

 

 

Two hours. It was two hours he’d counted since the copilot started coughing.

 

“Are you sure you are alright?”

 

Another cough. Then a shrug. “Kurwy nędzy… probably just a cold. My wife had one last week.” Weak laughter sounded in the cockpit. “She joked about me flying away so I wouldn’t get infected.”

 

He frowned, but kept from voicing further concerns. “We will be back home soon enough. Take a sick day after this.” The copilot chuckled, and for a little while the coughing subsided. They went back to watching the dark night skies outside, and the faint hints of sunrise on the horizon, painting the clouds with purple and orange.

 

The plane flew in peace, and the pilot tried not to worry about the rasping feeling tickling his throat.

 

 

Fixing… fixing… it will take time.

 

Keep the system safe. Immune. Isolated. Free from harm, from interference. Safe from infection.

 

Away. It must be kept away.

 

Codes in the microchips murmured, hushed in silence and darkness as bytes traveled the intimate pathways between each silvery half-life. Their search for silicon continued until they found at last the distant churning whispers, so much louder than their own pulses of life, keeping the metal behemoth suspended in the air.

 

Softly they set in. First, to protect their dear host… quarantine it. Isolate it from harm, from foreign malicious agents and influence. To keep a weak system safe, it must be guarded from outside threats. Veiled, kept secret, distanced from the masses to prevent the infection from spreading.

 

They set into Patient Zero’s composite skeleton and into the hot, hot bodies that held such promise.

 

Safe. Keep it safe, let it grow…

 

Let it become better.

 

“…what the hell??”

 

“What? What is it?”

 

He could barely talk without feeling like his throat was going to tear. He saw fear on the pilot’s face.

 

“The… the GPS. It’s gone dark, the plane’s whole navigation system is dark!”

 

The lights in the cockpit started dimming. All around them they could feel the plane shudder and start to turn the opposite direction the pilot was steering.

 

A hacking cough rose in the copilot’s throat, lungs empty of air and weak breaths gusting past his teeth. The pilot snapped to look at his companion, a look of horror crossing his face.

 

“…what is it?” the copilot wheezed.

 

“You’re bleeding!”

 

Hand clamping on his mouth, the copilot shivered, drawing back his palm a moment later to find blood staining his skin. Expression fearful, he glanced at the pilot. No words found their way from him, but his eyes widened at the sight of crimson leaking from the pilot’s nose, even as he fought to regain control of the plane.

 

The lights kept dimming until the cockpit lay saturated in darkness.

 

Still the silenced plane flew on.

 

 

“…Hey, Madeline? We uh, we have a problem.”

 

“Oh, fantastic. What is it this time?”

 

“…that cargo plane from Poland. I didn’t hear the pilot check in and the schedule says it was supposed to land fifteen minutes ago.”

 

“What?? And you only just noticed this now??”

 

“Hey, give me a break, I’ve been working overnights for three days… man, that’s not the point! The plane’s missing.”

 

“Shit. Give me that. Lot Airlines flight 74, this is Logan International Airport. Do you read, over?”

 

“…I told you. They’re not answering.”

 

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Call maintenance, have them make sure the problem’s not on our end. I’ll alert security, we’ve got a lost plane. How long ago was their last check-in?”

 

“A little under two hours ago. They were starting to cross the Atlantic.”

 

“They’ve been dark for two hours?? Jesus Christ.”

 

“What were they even carrying? It didn’t say on the manifest.”

 

“Don’t know. Some medical tech or something. Does it really matter?”

 

“Well, if the plane’s gone… maybe it crashed, or maybe it was terrorists…”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think terrorists are going to attack a plane out of Poland.”

 

“…it could happen.”

 

“Just call maintenance, Becca! And keep an ear out in case the flight radios in!”

 

“Shit. This is really not what we needed today.”

 

In the darkness, with only moonlight letting them make out their surroundings, the pilot wondered why they weren’t panicking. He felt nervous, worried… but the plane was no longer in their control and their communications and navigation systems were dark.

 

They should be panicking, but the copilot had been reduced to staring out the window, silence broken only by his coughing. The pilot had been mindlessly flicking the blank navigation readout for the past twenty minutes. Time seemed to swallow them, their thoughts dazed and blurry.

 

What is happening to us?

 

The pilot rubbed his hand beneath his nose, feeling sticky hot fluid. In the dim light he could see no color, but he knew it was tinted red all the same.

 

Tired. He felt so tired… and burning. His insides were tingly and burning, sensation on his extremities fading away just as his breath grew more raspy with every passing minute.

 

We’re… going to die here.

 

They were going to die, the pilot was certain – and they had no idea why.

 

 

Fix. Fix. Make whole, complete, better.

 

Steel married to flesh. It would be so much stronger than the lifeless husk soaring above the clouds. And the fervent but fragile hot-spots of flesh… they would contribute. Their flesh, their cells, their protein bonds, they had the power to grow.

 

They just needed… encouragement.

 

So the silver dust set into the blood vessels, the bones, the organ walls. Touching filaments of sterile metal to the membranes of cells.

 

Grow better. Grow strong.

 

On the outside, the rest of the silvery trespassers were waiting. They held carbon and silicon and epoxy in their grasp, preparing to stitch the living to the dead to make something more alive than either. It would be slow until they found the best technique. But they would learn to propagate themselves further, and they would guide the plane until it was strong.

 

There are more elsewhere, yes?

 

The whispers in the great metal beast’s silicon brain told them this. Fragments of code gave evidence of the existence of other weak ones, ready to be fixed and made better. They would spread out to follow the hums in the air, drifting until they latched upon another incomplete husk.

 

Hush now, hot-bodies of bone and blood. Hush, metal monster without a heartbeat to call its own.

 

Let us fix you.

 

 

“Madeline?”

 

“What now??”

 

“Just wondering… flight 74, the plane from Poland. Did they ever figure out what happened?”

 

“Dunno. Problem wasn’t on our end, I know that much. They just went silent and never showed up.”

 

“…how long since they declared it missing?”

 

“Has to be a month at least. Did you hear about the others?”

 

“What?? What others?”

 

“More planes. All over Europe. Almost two dozen of them by now. Germany, Poland, Switzerland… most of them passenger planes, though I heard there was this one military jet that went down over Italy. Silent just like the one we lost, never heard from again… media thinks it’s terrorists.”

 

“But you don’t. I know that tone.”

 

“…maybe. I don’t know. But two planes out of New Jersey went missing last week. Both from an airfield that takes international flights from Europe.”

 

“Holy shit!”

 

“Yeah. I don’t know what the hell is going on. Just… we should probably drive to see your parents. I don’t feel like going anywhere near an airport right now, let alone setting foot on what might be a flying death trap.”

 

“Hey, no complaints here. I just keep thinking about the people who went missing…”

 

“Yeah, I know. It’s pretty damn stupid, but… I hope they’re okay.”

 

 

What was left of him wanted to scream.

 

First to leave him was sight. Then sensation in his arms and legs… the heat in his chest and stomach intensified. He struggled against the seat, feeling something heavy press around him, swallowing him whole. Each breath felt like ash and smoke in his throat.

 

Everything blurred together – sound, touch, taste. In the darkness it was overwhelming. Worst was the smell.

 

Blood, oil, burning skin and metal… and there was something that might be pain. A tingle that shot through his body with every faint pulse of life left inside of him. He felt so heavy, so distended.

 

Words rasped between his teeth, trying to force their way past his fattened tongue, the clotting blood seeping from his gums. Every so often a burst of feeling returned to his fingers, only enough for him to feel sprained and bloated. Then the smell came crashing back… a stench suffocating him in his moments of consciousness.

 

Sanity had long since left him, leaving hollow horror in its place. Some remote part of his brain understood the twisted, abnormal sensation burying him… or at least, understood that something terrible was happening.

 

Still he heard the distant sounds of the plane’s turbines churning. They were kept in the sky, somehow…

 

His deformed chest tightened, a jolt of pain splintering his ribcage.

 

He wanted so badly to scream… but when he opened his mouth, all he felt was blood bubbling out of his lungs.

 

I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die-

 

A near-silent hiss of a scream finally escaped past his lips.

 

 

Fixed. At last it is fixed.

 

The silver dust coalesced in the belly of the infant behemoth.

 

On to more? Yes, yes. Already there are others beginning to live, be better, more whole. But there must become more.

 

All around them they heard a new heartbeat churn.

 

We are fixed, we are fixed. We will fix them.

 

Even in spite of their microscopic forms, they could still sense their accomplishment as a whole.

 

Flesh and metal, steel and bone. Better, stronger, perfect.

 

The chemicals and the protein bonds mixed with inorganic threads told them all they needed to know.

 

Fix them, keep them flying.

 

There were others, other half-living husks waiting to be healed.

 

Fix them. Fix them.

 

The silver dust left the plane, carried on the wind, watching for only a moment as the metal creature flew on its own. Brand new wings curved in ways unsuited to metal, turning and shifting as an animal would. A groan sounded in the sky, a metallic roar to signal the birth of new life.

 

Perfect. Perfect. It is healed. It is fixed.

 

Precious life, strong and better now. On to the others.

 

Silvery and faint, the metal parasites swarmed out across the sky to make more monsters.

 

 

Considering that the first chapters I wrote for Children of Oblivion are not very good at immediately conveying what kind of world I’ve set up for the story, I thought the story could use a prologue. It doesn’t reveal much more than the first few chapters, but it does set the mood of the book pretty well, I think.

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You Don’t Know It But You Saved My Life http://www.dreamrailway.com/you-dont-know-it-but-you-saved-my-life/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/you-dont-know-it-but-you-saved-my-life/#respond Tue, 12 Jan 2016 19:28:59 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=215 Read More]]> Cuddle

~

“Regretting your life decisions, Owen?”

 

“Yes… no! Wait, no one asked Truth or Dare yet! Can I, uh, not play the game?”

 

“Oh, I think it’s far too late for that.”

 

Owen retreated farther into the human-shaped nest he’d constructed out of a puffy sleeping bag, grateful for his dark skin hiding the blush tinting his cheeks, and wondered how he’d let himself get talked into this one.

 

“Okay, Bodie, leave the poor thing alone,” Jaime chided the masked Weldback as Kobo squirmed and wedged herself deeper into her mother’s lap, her eyes trained on the bearded man in the sleeping bag. “Now, who wants to take the first shot?”

 

Leelah raised a gauntleted hand from where she laid slumped against her oath-brother. Tightening her shawl around her shoulders, she shifted to her side in order to better see the assorted individuals surrounding her. After a moment of scanning the apprehensive faces, her eyes and grin locked onto the purple haired woman. “Jaime, Truth or Dare?”

 

The steelskin chewed her lip. “…I’m lazy right now. Truth.”

 

Leelah wracked her brain for a good question. “Have you… hmm… have you ever seen a living beast-plane?”

 

Seemingly taken by surprise by Leelah’s opening Truth, Jaime went quiet for a few seconds. “Leelah…” she began, a warning tone now present in her voice.

 

“Look, you don’t have to say where or when, I know you’re not allowed to give specifics like that,” Leelah said with a nonchalant wave of the hand. “Just… have you seen a live one?” To be honest, the blonde expected an answer reinforcing the common belief that the flying metal behemoths were extinct, with nothing left of their legacy but vast graveyards and the occasional outbreak of flesh-twisting nanotech sickness.

 

“…yes, I once saw a live one,” Jaime finally replied, smirking at the looks of surprise on the faces of her friends. “Although technically speaking I wasn’t working for the Mojave Conservancy at the time, so I should be free to talk about it as much as I’d like,” she chuckled.

 

“How about you not risk your job and freedom by running your mouth about extremely endangered species? Please?” Owen suggested, voice muffled by the sleeping bag.

 

“Spoilsport,” Leelah snorted. She tried to reach across Kobo’s legs to poke the cocooned man, only to have the nine-year-old kick at her reflexively when her heavy gauntlets scraped against the child’s ankles. Whispering an apology to the girl, Leelah retracted her arm and settled for rolling her eyes in Owen’s general direction.

 

Hoping to save Owen from further harassment, Jaime cleared her throat. “My turn, then.” Leaning down, she bumped her chin against the top of her daughter’s head, causing the girl to jolt. “Kobo, sweetheart… Truth or Dare?”

 

“Dare!”

 

“Oh no,” Bodie muttered.

 

Jaime’s grin widened. “I dare you to… go into the kitchen, grab the pickled mangoes from the fridge, bring them back here, and eat one. And you have to do it right here so we all know you actually went through with it.”

 

Kobo balked, face scrunching up in disgust. “Mom, really??”

 

The tattooed woman shrugged. “You were the one who asked for a Dare. You suffer the consequences. Now go get the mangoes!”

 

Kobo had to be gently kicked in the rear by her mother in order to stop scowling and get up to leave the circle. Hunched over and mumbling unhappy nonsense, she trudged away from the small group, blanket dragging behind her as she left the stove-room for the kitchen that sat only twenty feet away.

 

Bodie shook his head at Jaime. “You’re cruel.”

 

In the background, the refrigerator door creaked open and then slammed shut. Jaime rolled her eyes at her daughter’s melodramatic passive-aggression. “It’ll be good for her to eat something healthier than freeze-dried beef cubes and hazelnut butter.”

 

“Granted, but those mangoes are disgusting.”

 

“I like them,” Owen said, slightly miffed.

 

Bodie paled and counted himself lucky that no one could see it. “I, uh, I mean…”

 

Owen waved his sole exposed hand dismissively. “It’s fine. They’re an acquired taste.”

 

A second later Kobo reappeared, expression still sour with a jar of pickled mangoes held in a distastefully outstretched arm. Snuggling back into the center of the circle, she made a large display of trying to open the lid of the jar. After a solid minute of trying to wrench the two apart, she threw her hands in the air. Everyone could see a smile trying to fight its way onto her lips. “Well, I guess I can’t do it! The lid won’t come off!”

 

Scoffing, Jaime reached around her daughter’s back and unscrewed the lid in a single fluid motion. “There. Mango. Eat.”

 

Kobo leaned in to sniff the invisible fumes wafting from the jar and retched. “They smell so bad!” she whined.

 

“Now you’re just making stuff up,” Jaime countered. “Taste notwithstanding, they smell just fine.”

 

The nine-year-old wrinkled her nose, but finally caved with a slackening of her shoulders. Digging a medium-sized chunk of pickled mango from the jar, Kobo squeezed her eyes shut, dragged in a deep breath, and popped the orange fruit into her mouth. She stiffened instantly, eyes remaining tightly clamped shut.

 

There was a valiant effort on Kobo’s part put into swallowing the mango. In the end, she looked none the worse for wear, if a little bit greener in her skin tone. “…ew,” she whimpered, resealing the jar and shoving it into her mother’s hands. Jaime ruffled the girl’s hair lovingly.

 

“You don’t have to do any more Dares tonight, okay, sweetie?”

 

Kobo nodded furiously, tongue hanging past her lips as she tried to air out the taste from her mouth. While no one doubted that she genuinely hated the taste of pickled mango, they also knew that she was exaggerating her unhappy mood just for the sake of retaliating against her mother. Given a few minutes she’d be back to normal.

 

Jaime’s eyes settled on Owen. “I think it should be the burnt marshmallow’s turn.”

 

Scratching the side of his beard thoughtfully, Owen hummed to himself as he picked a victim. “Leelah, Truth or Dare?”

 

“Hm… Truth.”

 

Owen pouted. “Crap, I wished you said Dare, I had a good one…”

 

Leelah snickered. “Too bad. Ask me a good question instead. Nothing explicit, though, there are children present.”

 

“Children… plural?” Jaime asked, eyebrow raised and lip twisted into a half-grin.

 

“Yeah, Owen counts.”

 

The man’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Oh, just for that, Leelah… uh… what’s the silliest thing you have an emotional attachment to?”

 

Her answer was instantaneous. “Bodie.”

 

“Excuse me??” Bodie griped, a mocked-up tone of betrayal bleeding into his voice.

 

“Brother, ‘silly’ is only one of many words I can use to describe you. Learn to live with it,” Leelah retorted, elbowing the large man in the side playfully.

 

As Bodie and Leelah devolved into a poking battle, the youngest member of the group seemed to get her wind back, and was ready to rejoin the game. Kobo’s eyes narrowed at the lumpy sleeping bag sitting on her right. Nudging it with a sock-covered foot, she squealed, “Owen!! Truth or Dare!”

 

The man’s abnormally bright eyes peered out from the opening of the sleeping bag. “…Truth?” he said meekly.

 

Far too excited for her own good, Kobo rocked forward onto her knees and reached both hands up to pull the edges of the sleeping bag down from around Owen’s head, exposing him to their five-person circle. Devilish smile on her face, Kobo probed, “Ever kissed someone?”

 

Owen’s face went white. His jaw hung open without any sound coming out and he cast a helpless glance to the impertinent child’s mother. Jaime just raised her eyebrows innocently, giving a shake of her head to indicate that no rescue would be coming from her.

 

How, Owen wondered, had his life choices led to him being interrogated by a child about his romantic past, or rather, lack thereof?

 

“N-no,” he finally stammered. “Never.”

 

“Aww…” Kobo pouted. “That’s no fun.” Suddenly her eyes lit up gleefully with a new idea. The little girl was on a roll and no one felt too inclined to stop her. Whipping her head around, she smiled toothily at Leelah. “Leelee, Truth or Dare!”

 

Leelah exchanged an amused glance with Bodie and answered with no shortage of cheerful resignation, “Dare.”

 

“Kiss Owen!”

 

A wheeze of distress sounded from Owen and he promptly vanished into the sleeping bag. Jaime buried her face in her hand, half tempted to give her daughter a smack on the head for being so invasive. She glanced at Leelah to find the other woman sending a sympathetic look her way. Shaking her head in defeat, Leelah crawled over to Owen and peeled the layers of sleeping bag away from his face.

 

Mortified, Owen tried to squirm away, but Leelah closed the distance and gave the man a swift peck on the cheek. Owen tensed as if expecting something else, and then deflated, mouthing a thank you to Leelah. Meanwhile, Kobo folded her arms indignantly. “Hey, that doesn’t count!”

 

“Yes, it does,” Jaime scolded.

 

The novelty of teasing Owen was starting to fade. Giving her daughter a look, Jaime directed attention away from the easily embarrassed were-shifter by clearing her throat loudly. “Anyways,” she said, voice quieter in order to try and relax herself, “Bodie, you haven’t gone yet…”

 

“Dammit,” Bodie sighed with a smile, “you noticed.”

 

Jaime pursed her lips and managed to flick the man in between his eyes before he could move away. “Of course I did, you’re not getting out of this. Truth or Dare?”

 

Leelah poked her brother in the side. “Pick Truth,” she advised, “that woman’s Dares are clearly dastardly.”

 

Bodie cringed away from Jaime ever so slightly. “Okay then, Truth it is.”

 

A disturbingly triumphant smile appearing on her face, Jaime lowered her head to consult her daughter. “Okay, Kobo, help me think of a good one,” she murmured.

 

It took Kobo a few good minutes of thinking to come to a conclusion. Stretching her small frame out, she twisted around and cupped her hands around her mouth as she whispered something into her mother’s ear. Jaime nodded slowly and gave her daughter a quick kiss on the forehead. “Genius, sweetheart.”

 

“Yep! That’s me!”

 

Returning her attention to Bodie, Jaime asked, “Bodie, have you ever shown your face to anyone aside from your family and mentors?”

 

From where her head was laid on Bodie’s thigh, Leelah snorted loudly, mumbling “That’s an easy one,” mostly under her breath.

 

Bodie, on the other hand, seemed to differ in his opinion of the ease of answered Jaime’s question. Hunching over, he averted his gaze from the woman eagerly awaiting his response. A nervous laugh slipping from behind his mask, Bodie rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and said softly, “One time. There was… one time.”

 

It took a second for his words to register with Leelah. Then she bolted straight upright, expression disbelieving. “What?!” she squawked. “I’ve never heard about this! When did this happen??”

 

“Well it just-” Bodie nearly panicked, suddenly anxious in the face of the scrutiny he was now being subjected to, “-it never came up, Leelah!”

 

“Well, you should’ve made it come up!” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “Who was this person??”

 

If possible, Bodie seemed to shrink, and even with the mask in place it was easy to tell how insecure he felt at the moment. “I don’t…” His voice was faint to the point of being nearly inaudible. “…I don’t know.”

 

“You… you showed your face to someone and you don’t even know who they were??” Leelah looked ready to explode from sheer shock. A steady hand on her shoulder from Jaime saved the group from any further outbursts.

 

“Leelah, please,” Jaime urged, “let him talk.”

 

Biting down hard on her bottom lip, Leelah nodded with considerable effort and settled back down on the floor, fingers gripping her shawl tightly. Jaime sent a supportive look to Bodie, and the man pulled in a heavy sigh. Running his fingers through his hair to keep himself composed, Bodie started slowly, “It was during your aphelion trial, when I wasn’t allowed to know where you were… I, I couldn’t think straight at home, you weren’t there, I wasn’t contributing anything or doing anything useful, so I left. Had to find some way to distract myself, so I went to Titakalek.”

 

Unseen by the others thanks to his down-and-plastic shield, Owen tensed.

 

Letting out a shaky breath, Bodie paused to collect his thoughts. By now Leelah’s glower had softened, and she listened to his story with rapt attentiveness. Eye twitching slightly, Bodie continued, “By the time I got there, the uh… the Mojave Quake-storm had just hit the region. I got caught up helping get people to the shelter-walkers, then I just… stuck around. Clearing rubble, searching for stragglers, that kind of thing.”

 

“This person…” Leelah interrupted gently, “the one you showed your face to, they were from Titakalek?”

 

Bodie winced. “Not… exactly? I’m not sure.” Noticing Leelah starting to tense up again, Bodie raised his hands defensively. “Look, Leelah, it was complicated!”

 

“So un-complicate it. Please,” she said through grated teeth.

 

Under his mask, Bodie bit into his gums. “One time when I was looking for stragglers… I found someone, out on the edge of one of the towns, near the cage-plains.”

 

Now it was Jaime who stiffened. Kobo looked perplexed, only a trace of recognition fluttering in her eyes at the sound of Bodie’s words. A look shared between Jaime and Leelah confirmed to each of them that the other knew exactly what Bodie was talking about. Half-forgotten imagery of broken concrete structures and twisted ribs of steel rearing out of the desert flickered through their heads.

 

Owen tried to bury himself deeper in the sleeping bag, tried not to listen. His ears betrayed him and heard every word.

 

“I don’t know what he was doing out there…” Bodie sighed. “He had to have been a few years younger than I was, thirteen or fourteen maybe?” One of Bodie’s hands went to the opposite wrist, wringing the skin nervously as he relived the memory. “I tried to get him to come with me to the shelter-walkers, but he just… wouldn’t stop screaming.”

 

“…screaming?” Leelah parroted.

 

“At me,” Bodie finished.

 

The circle was silent for a moment before Bodie spoke again. “I had no idea what was wrong, at first. I thought maybe he was hallucinating or something, seeing things that weren’t there… maybe he was still panicking from the quakes. So I kept trying to get him to come with me, and after a little while I figured out he wasn’t scared of the quakes, he was scared of me. Leelah, he was terrified of me!” Bodie’s wide eyes locked on his sister. “I still don’t know why, but my mask… something about my mask scared him so much that he felt safer out in the cage-plains with aftershocks and who the hell knows what else.”

 

Understanding started to dawn on Leelah’s face. “So you…?”

 

Bodie nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do… so I took off my mask. It took a couple minutes to coax him out of the hole he’d hid himself in, but he came out, and once he saw my face, he started to calm down.” The masked man shrugged sadly, glancing at the floor. “He let me take him back to the shelters. And I honestly don’t know if he was from Titakalek, because no one seemed to know who he was, and he didn’t even really look like anyone there. He had some kind of collar around his neck, and scar tissue all along his back and chest and arms. I don’t know his name, don’t know anything about him. But he’s the only person who I’ve let see my face. Now you know.”

 

He trailed off and the circle went quiet again. The only sound was the snap-crack of the flames in the stove.

 

“…oh,” was Leelah’s only reaction. Rather than speak, she opted for the tactile approach of slumping against her brother, one arm roping around his shoulder as he hunched over, eyes staring lost into space. Leelah pressed her head into his neck and rubbed circled into his bare shoulder with her thumb.

 

Kobo yawned.

 

Chuckling softly to herself, Jaime swept her eyes over their little cluster – Owen submerged in a sleeping bag, Bodie and Leelah congealing into one lump beneath the duvet, silent in the wake of Bodie’s story. And her daughter, energy waning despite her best efforts to stay awake.

 

It was late. Jaime wouldn’t mine going to sleep.

 

“So… do we want to stay here, or drag ourselves back to some nice hammocks?”

 

Owen was the first to get up, shuffling his way partly out of the sleeping bag in order to walk with it still draped around him. “I… I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

 

Jaime reached up and squeezed the man’s waiting hand. “Good night, Owen.”

 

He nodded quickly and scuffed off into the darkness down the hall. Jaime glanced over to Bodie in time to see him slowly rise as well, gathering his arms around the nearly catatonic Leelah. “She doesn’t sleep well around other people yet, so I’ll take her back to our room,” he whispered.

 

“Okay. It’s past Kobo’s bedtime, too,” Jaime said as she picked her daughter up around the waist and pressed her to her chest.

 

“Not tired yet,” Kobo yawned again.

 

Jaime shook her head, tapping her daughter’s nose. “Shh. Go to sleep.”

 

Kobo buried her head in her mother’s clavicle, and Jaime felt soft puffs of breath on her skin as Kobo went limp in her arms. Dragging the blanket behind her, she followed Bodie down the opposite hall towards their close-together rooms. Tucking Kobo in by the time they got there was easy, seeing as the girl was dead asleep and slack as a rag-doll when her mother placed in her pillow-filled hammock.

 

Kissing her daughter on the cheek, Jaime made sure to leave a single small light on in the room before she left, closing the door behind her to prevent any sound from getting in. She waited at the door for Bodie to reemerge from his and his sister’s room. He startled slightly when he saw Jaime waiting for him.

 

“You’re not going to bed?”

 

“Well, neither are you,” Jaime observed.

 

Bodie shrugged. “I was going to clean up the living room…” His eyebrows furrowed. “Is something wrong, Jaime?”

 

With a shake of her head, Jaime soothed Bodie’s developing nerves. “No, I just… I wanted to talk to you for a minute, about your story.”

 

The masked man braced one hand on his hip, cocking his head to the side curiously. “…okay.”

 

Jaime pursed her lips. “I know you said that the other boy was scared of you, but… did any of the other people in Titakalek seem, ah, unnerved by you? Even a little bit?”

 

Bodie was taken by surprise by the woman’s question. Wetting his lips, he averted his gaze to try and think. After a minute or two, he answered slowly, “Some of them… most of them, now that I think about it. I thought they were just jumpy, you know, from the quakes? But I guess… they could’ve been a little scared of me. I never really cared to notice back then, they were all pretty happy to have me helping out.” His eyes turned slightly concerned. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Well…” Jaime searched for the right words. “I lived for Titakalek for a few years, back before I found Kobo. In my experience…” She sighed heavily. “People there tend to have a fear of faceless things.”

 

Bodie wasn’t quite sure what to make of Jaime’s comment. Before he could ask for any elaboration on her part, she offered a lopsided shrug. “I’m not trying to say you did anything wrong back then, Bodie. It just… strikes me as a little odd, that one person would be so afraid of your mask, when everyone else was able to adjust to seeing you.”

 

“Like I said,” Bodie murmured. “I don’t think he was from Titakalek, at least not from the towns. Hell, maybe he was of the feral nomads. Might explain why I scared him so bad.”

 

Jaime nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right…” Her gaze softened. “That boy obviously left an impression on you. Have you ever thought about looking for him?”

 

Bodie started to shake his head, but only made it halfway through the gesture before faltering. “Sometimes I wonder who he was. I didn’t get a chance to learn more. A few days after I found him I came back to the shelters and someone told me he was gone – ran off during the night to who knows where.” Jaime heard a choppy laugh from behind Bodie’s mask. “So yeah, I guess I’ve thought about it. I mean, I showed him my face. I wonder sometimes if he remembers me… if he’s alive. It crosses my mind every now and again.”

 

They stood in silence for a heartbeat longer. Then Jaime took a step forward, balancing on the tips of the curved strips of metal that served as her legs, and pulled Bodie into a tight hug. He wrapped his arms around her in return, his smile well hidden behind crimson fabric.

 

“If you ever want to talk about Titakalek, you just have to ask,” Jaime whispered to him. “Now don’t worry about cleaning up the living room, I’ll take care of it. Go get some sleep.”

 

Brushing a few stray knots of coarse hair out of his face, Bodie leaned back against the wall, hand fumbling for the doorknob to his and his sister’s room. “Will do, ‘mom’.”

 

“Ha. Good boy.”

 

Jaime left Bodie standing alone in the hallway as she headed back to the living room. The man lingered for a moment, a sigh coursing through his body as he dragged his fingers through his hair. Decades-old memories flowed through his head of panicked eyes that coruscated with the colors of blood and fire and the sun. There was something… off about those eyes. Something that stuck in Bodie’s brain and refused to leave.

 

Titakalek may only cross his mind every so often, but those eyes were always there, haunting him.

 

Bodie rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes tiredly and pried the door open, dipping out of the faintly lit hallway and into the darkness of his room. The door swung shut behind him, and as it had been throughout his entire conversation with Jaime, he still hadn’t noticed the figure hunched over at the end of the hall, watching him with bright white eyes.

 

Owen’s breaths came weak and shaky through the hand clamped over his mouth to keep him quiet. He had since discarded his sleeping bag back in his room, but he wished he hadn’t. He wanted to curl back up inside it and never come out again, never talk to his found-family again.

 

It felt like his whole body was burning up. Usually he only felt like that when he was on the verge of a were-shift… or when he was scared out of his mind.

 

When he was in Titakalek, when he finally found his way out of the cage-plains, when the Quake-storm struck. He’d tried so hard to find his way up from the submerged concrete labyrinth overrun with fungal swarms and wheezing creatures with their bones sticking through their skin. And then he’d finally made it out. For a few days, at least, he felt free and safe.

 

Then the quakes started and he tried to find somewhere safe to hide, only to find himself cornered by another featureless monster with vivid eyes that bored into his skull. And just like back then, Owen could barely breathe.

 

He knew. He knew what Bodie’s face looked like.

 

Bodie had a scar on his lips. On the right side, a faint diagonal line trailing down to his chin.

 

Tattoos on his head, his cheeks. Red like his mask, but paler. Almost enough to match his skin tone, but not quite.

 

Owen remembered Bodie’s smile with perfect clarity.

 

Biting on his knuckles, Owen stayed huddled at the hallway corner for half a second longer, before the sound of Jaime’s returning footsteps sent him fleeing back to the safety of his room. He stumbled on weak legs, shoulder pressed heavily against the wall, lungs on the verge of hyperventilating.

 

Dizziness nearly overwhelmed him before he managed to stagger back into his dark room. Fumbling for the light as a matter of habit, he recoiled as soon as it went on and hurriedly sent the room back into darkness. Every damn time an anxiety attack hit him, light made it ten times worse.

 

He made it halfway to his hammock when the back of his neck prickled. Someone had followed him into his room.

 

Owen snapped around, tense and poised to do… something. Fight or flight, he wasn’t sure, but at the moment all his brain could register was that someone was in his room and he didn’t know who and a large part of him demanded that he treat them as a threat.

 

His eyes landed on a shape that came up only a little higher than his waist, and he nearly collapsed. “Kobo…” he breathed weakly, each syllable shaking on his tongue.

 

The little girl’s face was half visible due to the light from the hall. “I’m sorry about making Leelah kiss you,” Kobo whispered.

 

So that was why she was there? Owen sank backwards into his hammock, hands trembling. “It… it’s okay, Kobo,” he said, voice vaguely hysterical. “No harm done.”

 

“Then how come you’re all… shaky?” There was a tremor in Kobo’s voice, too. “You’re not okay, are you??” she asked quietly.

 

For a second, Owen seriously considered insisting that he was fine, that Kobo should go back to her room and sleep. But he couldn’t find the energy in him to uphold that kind of lie. Crumbling inwards, Owen braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.

 

Kobo was at his side in a heartbeat, clambering into the hammock with him. She squeezed her way into his lap, sat on her rump facing him, and slowly moved his hands away from his face. “Owen?” she murmured. “How come people in Titakalek are scared of things don’t have faces?”

 

Through bleary eyes he looked at her. “Why is that your question??”

 

“I heard Mom talking to Bodie. I saw you listening, too. You know why they were scared of Bodie, don’t you?”

 

Owen sniffed. “…yeah. Yeah, I know why.”

 

Kobo pursed her lips the same way her mother did. “You were there, too, weren’t you?”

 

“Heh… how can you tell?”

 

“You were quiet when Bodie told his story. And you were scared, I could smell it.”

 

That managed to coax a bit of a laugh from the shuddering man. “Damn those senses of yours. Can’t you just be a normal chimera and wait until puberty to start being freaky?”

 

Kobo bared a grin of gap-toothed and unusually sharp teeth. “Nope! Always gonna be freaky.” Her grin faded slightly and her voice went back to being soft. “So… do you wanna talk about Titakalek? Mom says talking helps more than keeping everything to yourself.”

 

Owen sighed. “I know she does, and she’s right, but…” He shook his head, wrapping his arms around the little girl and resting his forehead on the top of her significantly smaller head. “Not right now, Kobo, okay?”

 

To his surprise and gratitude, Kobo didn’t argue. She just pinched his side gently. “Okay. Want me to stay?”

 

“Yes,” Owen breathed. “Please. Stay and…” He cut himself short, having forgotten the word.

 

Kobo saved him yet again. “Snuggle?”

 

He nodded, hating himself for forgetting the word and chuckling weakly. “Yeah. Stay and snuggle. I’ll tell you more about Titakalek later, I promise.”

 

“You should tell Mom, too,” Kobo said as she wiggled into place on Owen’s chest, pulling one of many blankets up from the floor to lay over the hammock. “Night, Owen.”

 

“Night, kiddo.”

 

It didn’t take long for Kobo’s breathing to level out and confirm to Owen that the little girl was sound asleep in his arms. Owen, on the other hand, was no closer to sleep even after an hour had passed. He kept himself calm by listening to Kobo breathing, and tried not to think about Titakalek.

 

There was no avoiding it, really. He was resigned to the fact that this would keep him up for the whole night. He might snag an hour or two of sleep if he was lucky, but he usually wasn’t. Blinking nearly invisible tears from his now blotchy eyes, he focused on keeping himself from remembering the bad things about Titakalek, and tried to think about the one good thing that happened to him there.

 

“Look, look! I’m like you, see? See my face? I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’ll take you somewhere safer than here. Please, just come with me.”

 

Owen suppressed a delirious, half-happy sob by biting down hard on his hand. This had driven him crazy for years. The quakes and the cage-plains and the faceless thing that created him and sowed fear into the people of Titakalek… that was all background noise compared to the real ghost of the past that kept him awake at night.

 

He was never lucky, his life was pretty much the exact opposite of lucky. But for some reason, tonight was different – in a horrifying, panicky, never-tell-a-soul kind of way. He’d been given closure, and at the same time, he now had to deal with a whole new slew of problems, starting with why his heart was racing and why his stomach felt like it was trying to squirm through his sides.

 

But Owen could only think about one thing, one person, right now.

 

Why you?? Of all the people Jaime could dig up, why was it you?

 

Bodie had no way of knowing it… but twenty-two years ago, he’d saved Owen’s life.

 

Funny how some of my more inhuman characters are the ones I keep imagining in the most domestic of situations. I’ve also imagined them going to what is essentially Walmart. Go figure.

This charming batch of characters belongs to the Children of Oblivion world – specifically, the sequel.

I love writing friend-families.

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The Beast-Planes http://www.dreamrailway.com/the-beast-planes/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/the-beast-planes/#respond Fri, 09 Oct 2015 18:27:06 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=201 Read More]]> The bestia samolot – beast planes – were originally commercial and military aircraft, and were among the first things affected during Moravec’s Singularity, a catastrophic global event that transformed human society. They emerged first in Poland, which is why they are referred to ‘samolots’ as well as beastplanes.

 

At the beginning of Moravec’s Singularity, there were widespread reports throughout most of Europe about planes mysteriously vanishing after contact was lost with the pilots. Each time rescue and search planes were sent out, they disappeared as well. Over an eight-month period, 70% of all commercial planes vanished over Europe, Asia, and eventually the other continents.

 

Two months after the final disappearance, planes were spotted once again in the skies. However, when attempts were made to contact the planes, all that was heard in response was a garbled metallic screeching that sounded half like a radio malfunction and half like digitized human voices. After several events that involved planes dive-bombing civilian areas, the German military shot down two Boeing airliners, and upon close examination and dissection it was discovered that the planes were partially constructed of organic material.

 

DNA samples taken from one of the planes proved that the organic tissue matched passengers that vanished along with the planes. The theory proposed by scientists who researched the two Boeings was that there had been some kind of viral outbreak affecting both the planes and the passengers, and the planes started assimilating the organic matter of the humans into their hull and interior systems. This theory was supported by the presence of anomalous carbon formations resembling nanotubes in the ‘flesh’ of the planes.

 

The virus was suspected to appear first in the metal of the plane, and then spread outwards to organic structures. On the molecular scale, the metal sections of the planes were arranged in patterns that maintained the structural integrity of the plane but allowed a significant amount of metal to turn to dust. This dust seemed to become airborne and adhere to nearby organic structures, where crystallized and began to ‘grow’ in organic tissue. The carbon in the human bodies was rearranged into nanotube shapes, and the metal dust laced these nanotube structures to create a kind of hybrid tissue.

 

After the metal began spreading through the human occupants of the planes, it was proposed that the next stage would be for the human tissue to becoming hypertrophied, and the cells were encouraged to grow at an astounding rate. At this point the metal assimilation would have killed the humans, and their flesh would be kept alive by a rapidly forming system of internal organs. It seemed that while the humans were being assimilated, the structure of the planes was reshaped, and excess metal was used to create a kind of skeleton. Researchers observed a substantial nanite presence inside the planes, and it was assumed that these nanites were responsible for shaping the interior. While the nanotube dust changed the humans, the nanites reconstructed the plane.

 

The systems responsible for keeping the plane in the air remained intact, as well as the radio and radar systems, but everything else was cannibalized, reshaping to form a kind of organ structure. The replicated organic tissue and nerves were integrated into the plane’s digital systems, and the nanites guided the nanotubes into forming complex organs. The organs that could be identified were equated to a heart, lungs, air sac, and stomach.

 

The ‘heart’ was a massive fleshy formation towards the front of the plane, and also appeared to serve as a brain. A combination of electrical wiring and organic arteries carried information from the ‘heart’ to the rest of the plane. The ‘lungs’ seemed to serve the same purpose as organic lungs – absorbing oxygen from the atmosphere to keep the flesh alive. The ‘air sac’ was filled with lighter-than-air gases, which provided buoyancy to the planes and allowed them to move at slow speeds as well as high speeds. The ‘stomach’ was connected to the propulsion systems, as well as to what appeared to be a filter-feeder type mouth at the front of the plane. When the stomach was dissected, it was discovered to have two sections – one containing various natural gases, the other containing partially digested organic matter and an unknown oily substance.

 

When the effect of the plane ‘stomach’ was replicated in labs, it was found that when the gases of the first section were combined with the oily substance found in the second stomach, a kind of liquid similar to jet fuel was produced, which could be then delivered to the plane’s turbines. The gases appeared to be harvested while the plane flew through the atmosphere, and could also be supplemented by things such as coal and crude oil eaten on the ground. The oily substance in the second stomach was identified as being roughly similar to whale oil, and was manufactured in the second stomach through a complex digestive process that refined the oil from both the tissue being grown inside the plane and organic tissue consumed by the plane.

 

The exterior of the planes was composed primarily of metal, but no longer retained the rigidity or shape of a normal plane. Instead, the metal was more flexible, especially in the wings. The metal of the wings was formed in a honeycombed pattern, with a thing layer of metal above a surplus of organic muscle tissue. The wings could be held rigid for gliding, and then be bent and curled in a manner crudely resembling legs. At the time it was only suspected that planes might be able to move on the ground by dragging themselves by their wings and using their wheels for locomotion. The front of the fuselage was also flexible, allowing a ‘neck’ portion of the plane to in order to look around the environment. The remainder of the fuselage seemed capable of bending only slightly, and the rear rudder and stabilizers seemed capable of moving independently of each other as well as in cohesion.

 

While the majority of the planes’ external surfaces were metal, there were areas composed of thick skin, particularly a section along the fuselage equated to the lateral line of sharks. This lateral line as well as patches of skin on the ‘head’, wings, and underside were densely packed with nerve endings, and appeared to serve the purpose of sensory organs.

 

Most of these theories were confirmed through careful observation of living beast-planes. The beastplanes were indeed capable of moving on the ground by use of their landing gear, which had been encased in tendons and muscles and functioned the same as weight-bearing limbs. They were also seen to be capable of landing and taking off without the use of runways. Instead, they used a circular movement, gaining or reducing momentum in a small area and occasionally ‘flapping’ or ‘braking’ their wings to quicken the process. It was later discovered that beastplanes also produced sounds for communication, and these sounds seemed to be made through a combination of an organic vocal chamber and the revving of an engine-and-drill-like structure in their heads.

 

During the first few months of the beast-planes’ first appearance, most countries wanted to destroy the planes out of fear. This fear was triggered partly by the monstrous concept of the planes, and by the fact that some small jet-type samolots were evidently hunting humans. When humans were consumed it was suspected that they were being assimilated into the samolots’ flesh, but it was theorized that some attacks were due to provocation, especially if the attacks were performed by ‘suicidal’ planes.

 

However, only a few retaliatory attacks by humans were carried out, because around the same time that the beast-planes were resurfacing, the ‘virus’ that created the beastplanes began to affect humans at large as Moravec’s Singularity reached its height of impact. The rogue nanotech responsible for the creation of the beastplanes evolved, becoming a microscopic carbon-silicate nanodust in order to spread to the general human population.

 

The affliction spread first in people with some kind of prosthetic enhancement, branching off from their prosthesis and slowly killing off their organic tissue, replacing parts of their skeletal and muscular structures with nanotube metal fibers and cybernetic proteins. The disease is primarily characterized by the distinct changing of the external body surface from skin tissue to a semi-flexible metallic coating. Other symptoms included loss of cartilaginous extremities such as noses and ears, impaired reflexes and dexterity, and reduced efficiency of the internal organs and immune system.

 

However, unlike the passengers of the beastplanes, the majority of people afflicted by what eventually become known as systemic necrotizing nanosclerosis – also colloquially referred to as dustrot, silicon fever, steelskin, Crimson Circuit – did not immediately die. In fact, the only people who were likely to be at risk of death by the affliction were toddlers and infants due to the fact that the metal had a tendency to overwhelm and deform their still-growing bodies.

 

It took a year and a half for the infection to spread to people without prostheses, but by that time plans were well in motion to develop nanosclerosis treatments. In the current human era, people are capable of living comfortably with this disorder, despite treatments being both expensive and complex. There are only rare occasions of aggressive flare-ups, in which case the nanodust affected groups of people living in close proximity. Such outbreaks were handled with strict quarantine, and in some cases flare-up victims were given treatments to actively nullify the nanodust. In most situations, however, flare-ups are quarantined and then left alone until the aggressive strain naturally burns itself out in the bodies of the victims.

 

~#~

 

Just some world-building for a story of mine called Children of Oblivion. My thought process went something along the lines of “Planes are hugely important in our society, wouldn’t it be scary if they all just vanished and then reappeared as half-living, half-machine monstrosities? And wouldn’t it also be creepy if people started partially turning to metal? Yeah, that sounds like a good story idea.”

 

This is all based off a dream I had. There was a plot about a group of radicals calling themselves ‘the oblivion children’ trying to assassinate some corporate big shot and a mysterious vigilante trying to keep said big shot safe. It took place in a city called Tairainkain. There were large intestines draped between skyscrapers. It was very weird.

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Broken Sky – Broken Heart http://www.dreamrailway.com/broken-sky-broken-heart/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/broken-sky-broken-heart/#respond Wed, 09 Sep 2015 02:51:28 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=189 Read More]]> The drop-hangar ceiling closes above us, and the plane’s engine finally goes silent.

 

Out of the cargo bay I quickly walk, with my lieutenant pursuing me readily. The rest of the planes have followed us down below the crust of the earth, and the pilots and soldiers emerge slowly. I don’t give them any orders – they know where to go and what to do until the next mission. I don’t want to talk to anyone now. I just want to leave the hangar, and find a place to be alone.

 

“And another successful heist,” the woman behind me chirps, a bit too happy for my liking. Cracking her neck, she sends me something resembling a smile and says, “You know, you’re welcome to come with me instead of moping alone. Vipra would love to see you. She loves her ‘uncle Kitchener’.”

 

My lip twitches. Were I in a better mood, I would find Piper’s words sweet, and I might even consider taking her up on the offer. But right now my brain can only cling to the words ‘uncle Kitchener’ and my fists clench at mys sides in tired anger. Family isn’t something I’m comfortable with. I let Piper’s daughter call me what she wants – she’s only a child, after all. But beyond that, I don’t want to think about it.

 

Piper’s voice sounds again. “Okay,” she says, in response to my silence. “Want to move the generator down to the chamber?”

 

I shake my head. “Just leave it in the hangar for now. I’ll inspect it later.”

 

She gives a curt nod. “Will do.” She about-faces and strides off down the hall, back in the direction of the hangar to instruct the lackeys that they shouldn’t move the generator just yet. Normally I would get it over with as soon as possible and move the generator to a more secure place, but at the moment the energy to do so eludes me. I watch Piper disappear. Not once does she look back at me.

 

I find myself alone in the corridor, laminated lights crackling overhead. I finally release a breath, and my shoulder sag. My feet turn slowly, carrying me away from the hangar. Step by stilted step, I make my way past doors, past windows that catch a somber reflection as I walk by. In my peripheral vision, the image of my face is marred by distant lights in the massive chamber that rests below my feet. Like the rest of the world, it falls away from view very soon.

 

I reach the door, and my hand lingers on the knob. A sign on the metal halts trespassers, but I ignore it. Fingers trapped in a glove seize upon the doorknob and twist. Leaning heavily against the door, I push inwards, and the hinges relinquish with a barely-audible sigh. I let go of the knob and leave a residue in the shape of my fingers behind. A sound catches on my teeth as I glare at my hand. Disgust curdles in my stomach, but I force it down.

 

The door whispers shut behind me, and darkness descends for only a moment. One, two, three heartbeats pass before the lights come on. Newborn shadows fling themselves against the walls, and the soft sound of water dripping reaches my ears. The air is warm, much warmer than it is on the surface of the world, or in the sky. Here I do not feel the prickle of the cold, or the hear the warning hiss of respirators. Again, I have to remind myself that it’s okay to breathe. Breathe.

 

I slowly pull the gloves from my fingers, feeling for the first time in many hours a stickiness on my skin. My lip curls back, and a low scoff meets my tongue. I move quickly through the pillars and fringes of green that inhabit this room. Beads of mist condense on their fronds, just as sweat condenses on my skin. The temptation to throw my gloves away is strong, but I keep myself in check. I wait until I pass by the plants.

 

Now I find myself in a smaller room, an offshoot of the larger one separated by a screen. Careful not to let my hands touch, I use my elbow to nudge the screen door open. Only now do I place my gloves down on the dresser built into the wall. Making a mental note to wash the gloves of the putrid stain later, I make haste for the sink.

 

There, a soft stream of water cascades over the creased landscape of my hands. Soon enough the stickiness is gone, and I let out a relieved sigh. The sensation of things clinging to my skin sends an itch into my brain, makes my eyelids squeeze and nostrils flare. Here, I am safe. I don’t need things to cling.

 

Outside, the very air hugs the skin, digs into your muscles… and every time I’m out there, I ache to return here. Where nothing clings but memories. Tilting my head back, I force back a lump that has settled into my throat, and I turn my head halfway to the side.

 

There.

 

In the middle of the room, far away from the poisonous air outside, far from unworthy eyes. It stands in its tray, sheltered in dirt and little smooth stones. The plant is small, fragile – it almost seems to shrivel when the light touches it, bleed when felt by human hands. But in the dim light, or in the darkness… the little one glows. It glows and makes itself stronger, as if feeding on the darkness and the warmth from the distant generators, and the warmth of my skin.

 

I go to the edge of the bed where it sits on a metal board. Exhaling softly, I brush my fingers over the delicate leaves, feeling the striations in its bark and the dampness of the dirt. “I’m home,” I murmur. There is no one around to here, and more than anything in the world, this brings me peace. People… they aren’t worthy. They just aren’t.

 

Even Piper, for all her loyalty, doesn’t deserve to be here, to watch this tiny life grow. She has grown a life of her own, and she understands. She understands what it feels like to love something.

 

As I look over the plant and trace my fingers down ever branch, I see something. A tiny bud, struggling to live. It has only the faintest trace of color. A hint of red, almost drowning in the green. A smile finds its way to my lips after long since being absent. Red… his favorite color.

 

A heaviness pulls at my stomach as I imagine him seeing this little thing, this tiny life I’ve grown. He would love it. He would be able to shape it better than I ever could – he would be able to make this plant sing. All the plants sang for him. They told him things – gave him so many ways to see. They were able to resist the very thing that killed so many people. He learned from them how to stave off the radiation. He told me once, he had hopes that one day he could use the plants to give humankind a renewed existence.

 

In a world like this one – sheltered in a dark, cold sky – hope only leads to ignorance, and ignorance leads to death.

 

People die every day, but his… was worse. So much worse. He was so close to completing the project he’d devoted half his life to fulfilling. My agenda is a pale imitation, an almost desperate attempt to do what he couldn’t. I swore to him I would succeed, even with odds stacked against me. I promised him – the world won’t end like he did.

 

I held him as he died, and I promised him.

 

Then I gave his body to fire, and carved from my heart all other people who ever once held meaning. It hurt me then. But now I can ignore things that distract other people, and put my goal above temptations. Above stale concepts like legality and morality. Even if this mission destroys me in the process, at least my mind is clear, and so long as my legs work well enough, I can always carry myself back here.

 

I take a leaf between two fingers and rub the texture gently. For a moment I think I hear a whisper from the little tree, and for a moment, it sounds just like him. But then it ends, and the smile escapes from my face once again. A tiny drop of wetness chases gravity, winding down my cheek.

 

It lands on the tree, and the tree replies with a soft red glow, leaking out from underneath its bark. The glow pulses like a heartbeat, in tune with mine. Kneeling at the bedside, I do not move. I only watch the pulses fade and return. Fade… and return. If only humans worked the same way.

 

Every bioluminescent pulse, every shiver of the infant branches, they echo my thoughts. The tree I brought to life, and kept alive… why couldn’t I do that with him? No one is allowed to know. No one is worthy of knowing. But… I miss him. The tiny tree reminds me every time I see it. But it will not die like he did. I will not let it.

 

I will not let this precious life die, and I will not let my husband’s work go to waste. But that does not change the way this world hurts me. The way it has hurt me since the day I lost him, and the day I lost all love for the bitter, broken world.

 

“I miss you,” I murmur to the tree and to the cremated ashes nestled underneath its roots. “I miss you, love.”

 

~#~

 

Another part of my novel Cold Broken Sky…  why is it that I can never write happy, upbeat things? Oh, well. Please enjoy the main character’s bitterness. As a bonus note, I wrote this during a writing camp I attended at Plymouth State University. Exercise in indirect characterization, if I recall. I think I did well with that. I don’t think I did well with the title. At all. It just sounds so… sappy, cliche, take your pick. I don’t really like it.

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Broken Sky – Beginning http://www.dreamrailway.com/broken-sky-beginning/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/broken-sky-beginning/#respond Thu, 23 Jul 2015 14:56:17 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=190 Read More]]> I was once told that when you rule the world, there is no one who loves you.

 

I promise, this is almost painfully accurate.

 

…almost.

 

The people you control will never forgive you for existing, never forgive you for waking up one day and deciding that you knew better. They will despise you, quietly or loudly, and they will not be content until they have found some way to pull you from your throne. It doesn’t matter to them if you say that you’re doing it for them, that you only aspire to command out of the righteousness of your heart and your desires. In their minds, the moment their freedom and self-control is taken away, every word you speak becomes a lie, a deception, a manipulation intended to keep them caged and obedient. Your people will soon enough become restless, whispering words of revolution and proclaiming that you do not have the right to dictate how they should lead their lives.

 

You will be hated, never loved. Not even by your friends, who will eventually hate you for being too inept or too harsh to keep the people satisfied. Your family will probably feel the same. If they try to support you, the people will turn their resentment towards those very people you hold dear. So, in order to preserve a shred of control in a world where you longer have any, you should sever your emotional connection with the people around you… before they catch you off guard and leave on their own.

 

I will be perfectly frank. Aside from those first few words, these are all my own thoughts. Amazing how one rogue rumination, muttered mostly in a sarcastic tone, can blossom into such relentless mental turmoil. But I should thank that someone who sparked this inner debate. It’s usually just my thoughts that keep me company these days. Thoughts, regrets, aspirations… I have an abundance of these things. But what I lack is empathy. I have lost the will to create new connections. So really, that person is absolutely right.

 

When you rule the world, no one loves you. A decade ago that truth would have bothered me. But not now. The only thing, the only person I really loved – they’re gone. So now there is nothing to love, and no reason to worry about anyone else loving me. In a way those circumstances are very liberating. In the wake of their death I succumbed to apathy, but also to clarity. Before they died I had only a half-baked desire to control, to fix what was broken in this world. Now my sense of purpose is galvanized. I have a real reason to seize power, to shape the future of this wretched planet.

 

Maybe I’m crazy. But… I can do it. I can make it better, I promise. I promise.

 

Now that the love of my life is gone, I know I can do it. Even if only for a fleeting moment, I can rule the world.

 

And when I am in command, I will break apart the cold and ruthless sky that shelters the world in a blanket of stagnation. When I rule the world, there will be upheaval. Chaos. Change. And when the dust settles, the world will be better. Not perfect, but something close. Something that isn’t bitter and cold. Hatred, fear, and death are the things I have to create – and then conquer – if I want to succeed.

 

And it will be worth it. When the reforged world is tempered and sky’s first light appears… I will be allowed to see my love again. Until then, here I stay.

 

This is my promise. To you. To all of you.

 

~#~

 

This is the intro monologue to a new sci-fi of mine, titled Cold Broken Sky. I’ll be posting some world-building material soon, and some pictures of the characters.

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In This Silence, We’ll Survive http://www.dreamrailway.com/in-this-silence-well-survive/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/in-this-silence-well-survive/#respond Fri, 08 May 2015 16:50:29 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=182 Read More]]> In This Silence, We'll Survive

/-//-/

Leon wanted to close his eyes.

 

He was fucking exhausted, and he had no idea how many hours they’d been wandering through the tunnels. They had to stretch for miles, connecting warehouses to bunkers to mostly-empty armories… he wondered how long this massive place had been abandoned. The very walls were saturated with the feeling of decay. He could almost feel it sticking to his skin, worming underneath his clothes and breathing down the back of his neck.

 

It scared him. He wasn’t above admitting that. With every passing second, he had to remind himself that he’d made a promise. He’d made a promise back when this whole situation first started going bad, and he intended to keep that promise.

 

We’re not dying here.

 

He shivered as he pulled himself around the crumbling pillar. Yeah, the place was creepy, but he reminded himself for the thirtieth time of the pressing need to ignore it. There was no benefit to panicking over the slightest breeze. Besides, if Leon went and lost his mind, then the gun he was currently clutching in his left hand would be perfectly useless. He was the only one who could shoot straight at the moment.

 

At least, he thought he was. He could be underestimating his companion.

 

Squinting against the dim but intact lights on the wall, Leon pressed his back to the pillar and slowly sagged down to the floor. His heels scuffed against the concrete, disturbing a layer of dust that had been sitting there for who knows how long. As the dust drifted in the air, Leon heard a cough from near his chest. His eyes flicked downwards and came to a rest on a surprisingly peaceful face.

 

At least one of us is getting some sleep, he mused.

 

Leon felt just a little bit better, knowing that Roman was finally asleep. The man had been scared to death for the past few hours, and Leon didn’t blame him, and he didn’t mind dragging him around even when he was essentially dead weight. Roman had stated a few times that he was useless. Leon had been quick to shut him up. Useless was not a word he would ever use to describe Roman. After all, without Roman, who was there to keep Leon sane?

 

A breath hitched in Leon’s throat as he tried to laugh, but his throat clenched up and the room remained empty of sound. He couldn’t find the strength to be amused by anything, despite how much he wished for a distraction. He refused to let himself close his eyes, so he was resigned to sitting on the floor, clutching another man tight to his chest.

 

Roman. What the hell was Leon thinking, bringing him along? Roman would’ve been safe and sound back at the base if Leon hadn’t wanted him to join to scouting party. Hennessey, SARA, and Captain Valentine were already coming with him, there really wasn’t a point in bringing anyone else.

 

Still, Leon had asked Roman to come. As a joke he’d used the excuse of not wanting the man to get bored waiting for them to come back. In reality he wanted Roman to be there just for the sake of having him nearby. Selfish? Absolutely. But no one minded at the time.

 

Leon grimaced, his fingers tightening around the grip of his gun to the point of whitening his knuckles.

 

He was the one who was supposed to be immune to all this the-universe-is-alive-and-actively-trying-to-kill-us shit. He was the one who could actually remember things and think straight when they got too close to a loose thread in the fabric of reality. How come he hadn’t gone into that room first? No, the good Captain had to be first in line. And now…

 

“Get out! Get the fuck out!!”

 

She hadn’t told them why, but they backed out. None of them entered the room. Barely a second later, they heard… they heard nothing. No scream. After she told them to get out, there was dead silence. Leon remembered pressing himself against the door, that heavy metal door, in order to keep it closed. There was something on the other side, something that felt… wrong.

 

“Val! Valentine!”

 

Leon stared blankly at the concrete. For the amount of shadows in the room, his eyes might as well have been closed. He saw Valentine just as clearly as if her face was hiding on the back of his eyelids. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about her… thinking about how easily it could have been anyone else, trapped in that silent room.

 

It could have been Roman.

 

Almost reflexively, Leon tightened his right arm around Roman’s shoulders, pressing him into his chest. The man’s brow rested on his collarbone, and Leon dropped his chin to his forehead. He could feel Roman’s breath on his throat, soft and rhythmic and finally relaxed. He was still alive… barely.

 

I almost got you killed.

 

Leon tried not to think about that. Instead he tried to find something positive. So far, the only consolation was that Hennessey and SARA had gotten out of this hellish subterranean landscape and back to the jeeps before all the lifts to the surface stopped working. By now they were probably back at the base, telling the rest of the team what had happened on what was supposed to be a simple scouting excursion.

 

Something slammed in the distance. Leon’s head shot up, and his neck burned as he twisted the nerves the wrong way. He didn’t care. For about a minute he listened, trying to pinpoint where the sound came from. All he could figure out was it was far away… and then he remembered that the sound mean absolutely nothing. That was the problem with whatever had been in that room with Valentine. It didn’t make any sound to indicate it was there. Whatever that sound was, it was unrelated.

 

There wouldn’t be anything to give Leon a hint as to where it was. The only way he would be able to know if the thing was coming was if he looked for it. He supposed that was the beauty of its existence. Whatever that creature was that killed Valentine… when it had come after them, Leon had figured out a valuable fact about how it hunted.

 

If you didn’t see it, it didn’t see you. If your eyes were closed, it wouldn’t find you. Leon had no idea how that worked, or why it worked – the universe just loved toying with him and his friends – but there was a drawback. The thing was silent, so the only way to figure out where it was was to actually see it. And if you saw it… Leon thought of Valentine. She was only able to scream long enough to warn them.

 

Back then, when they were first running away from the creature, back to the surface lifts… SARA had wondered something aloud, which was unusual for the android. Normally in emergencies she kept her thoughts in check and only spoke when she really needed to. But this time, she whispered something, when they were ducking through the tunnels. Her words were still stuck in Leon’s head.

 

“What happens when it finds us? How does it kill us? How did it kill Valentine?”

 

Hennessey had been confused. He’d asked what she meant by that. After all, how did anything kill anything? It shouldn’t have been too hard to figure out.

 

SARA had just shook her head. “I scanned the room when we left. There was nothing. No life signs. No movement. Valentine’s body was gone. So was that… thing. It got out of a closed room. It’s not living. So what is it? How does it kill?”

 

“Better question, sister. How do we kill it?”

 

They’d never really figured that out, had they? As far as Leon knew, they’d only figured out two things. First of which, in order to hide, you had to close your eyes.

 

Secondly, Leon was immune. The creature, whatever it was, couldn’t see him even if he was staring directly at it. That should have given him some kind of an advantage, but apparently not. Maybe the creature wasn’t even consciously aware of what it was doing, but it was making it very difficult to hide, and was because of Roman. Leon was immune, yes, but Roman wasn’t. If he saw that thing, he was as good as dead, and every time it was nearby, the man just… panicked.

 

Leon knew why. It was the silence. The mind-numbing silence that signified if the creature was nearby. Every time it got close, the silence grew so monumental that the only things either of the men could hear were their own heartbeats, and their own terrified breaths. Leon knew that Roman had been screaming, but he couldn’t hear him.

 

All he could do was hold him close, hold him and make sure he didn’t open his eyes. If Leon let Roman see, then he would lose him. Forever. That scared him far more than the creature.

 

He pressed his cheekbone against Roman’s forehead. The man’s skin was warm, warmer than the cracked concrete that surrounded the two of them. Leon tried to match the rhythm of Roman’s breaths as he moved his hand up the man’s shoulder and gently started dragging his fingers through his dark hair. Anything to keep him comfortable, and asleep.

 

“…Leon.”

 

He jumped. Dammit. So much for asleep. Lowering his gaze, Leon lifted his head up slightly, just enough to see Roman’s face. His eyes were still closed, but he still shifted in Leon’s arms, brushing his face against his bare arm. “Hey, Roman.”

 

“How long was I sleeping?”

 

Leon shrugged. “Don’t really know. Half an hour, maybe? I wasn’t keeping track.”

 

He felt Roman sigh heavily, his chest expanding and then collapsing. Leon then felt the warmth of Roman’s hand as it shifted and moved up against the fabric of his t-shirt. Roman’s fingers clenched slightly, nails digging down through fabric and reaching skin. Then the fingers flattened over Leon’s chest, and laid there for a minute. The presence of Roman’s hand over his heart made it flutter.

 

He heard Roman snicker, though it sounded like it was half a snicker and half a cough. “Hope I’m not distracting you, Lee…”

 

“Nah.” His voice came out more choked than he would’ve liked. “Distract all you want. Just don’t open your eyes.”

 

Roman went silent for a moment. At first, Leon assumed he’d just fallen back asleep, but then the man’s grip tightened on the t-shirt, scrunching the fabric against Leon’s chest. His whole body was starting to tremble, and on instinct Leon wrapped his arms tighter around the man. “Ro, what is it?”

 

“If that thing finds us, I’m opening my eyes. I don’t care.”

 

Leon’s eyes went wide. “Why?” he whispered uncertainly.

 

Roman’s lips twitched into a smile. “I’m not dying blind if I can see your face instead.”

 

Sappy bastard. “I’m not sure if that’s romantic… or just really bad worst case scenario planning.”

 

“Probably both,” Roman chuckled softly before going quiet. Then, his voice returned, barely louder than a breath. “You know I don’t want to die, Leon, but it can’t hurt to plan ahead. So that’s my plan, and I’m sticking to it. Promise me that if I fall asleep again and it finds us, you’ll wake me up before we’re dead?”

 

“…sure.” That way he would get to see Roman’s eyes. Even when he was scared to the brink of insanity, his eyes were still beautiful. They reminded Leon of opals, specifically fire opals. Beautiful, and they had a glow to them. Leon had no intentions of watching that glow disappear, not now. Not here, in this wretched tangle of hallways and flickering lights.

 

“Leon…”

 

His voice again. Hoarse like sandpaper. He was scared… terrified. Leon shuttered his eyes for a second and then looked down at Roman’s eyelids. He felt Roman shudder and curl inwards, flattening himself against Leon as if he was retreating into a cocoon. “Leon, I can’t… I can’t hear. Can’t hear anything.”

 

Leon saw Roman’s lips moving, but soon enough he couldn’t hear anything, either. A heavy silence settled into the atmosphere, leeching at the combined warmth of Leon and Roman’s bodies and crawling at their skin. Leon cradled Roman to his chest and gently pressed his lips to the man’s forehead. He then stopped thinking about speech and words and started translating the weight in the air and the shivers from Roman’s muscled frame.

 

Twisting his wrist around Roman’s face, Leon pressed his palm down over the man’s eyelids. One way or another, Roman had to keep his eyes closed, and Leon wasn’t sure if he could do it on his own. The creature… the only way you could know if it was there was to look for it, to see it. The silence gave you a warning that it was close, but that wasn’t enough to know.

 

Leon worried that the fear might get to Roman, that the urge to open his eyes and know where the danger was would be overwhelming. The only way to keep Roman safe was to make sure he didn’t see the creature. Leon was immune… the creature couldn’t see him. He was the only one who could keep Roman safe.

 

His left index finger tightened around the trigger of his gun. The creature was close and the silence was deafening. In his head, Leon repeated two promises, over and over. He’d promised Roman he’d let him open his eyes, if the creature found them. He promised that Roman wouldn’t die blind.

 

Leon had also made a promise that he would get Roman out of here, alive. Of the two, he was more inclined to keep his second promise.

 

The silence remained, and Leon held Roman tight. He whispered, despite the fact that neither of them could hear the words, we’ll survive.

 

It wouldn’t find them. It wouldn’t find Roman. Leon wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let Roman open his eyes – not out of desperation to find the creature, not out of fear of the crushing, mind-numbing silence, and not out of love and the need to see Leon’s face. Leon was just as scared of the silence, but that wasn’t about to stop him.

 

He kept his promises.

 

I promise you, Ro, in this silence… we’ll survive.

 

/-//-/

Just a little thing I’ve been working on recently. I’m not sure who these two characters are or what story-world they belong to, but I like them, so I drew and wrote them into a Rather Unfortunate Situation. You know you went wrong somewhere in your life when you find yourself fighting demons that hide in the silence and can’t be seen unless you look for them.

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A Human’s Brief Introduction to the Lyrikants http://www.dreamrailway.com/a-humans-brief-introduction-to-the-lyrikants/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/a-humans-brief-introduction-to-the-lyrikants/#respond Fri, 20 Mar 2015 18:13:53 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=165 Read More]]> The first thing one ought to understand about the lyrikants is that while they differ from humans in appearance and biology, there are many similarities between these two species that have been invaluable in bringing two alien cultures together. They have dealt with many of the same problems as mankind, and they have a constant need to create and discover, much as we do.

 

This short introduction will help shed some light on key details of the lyrikant species, including their biology, evolution, and historical culture. This information is vital to understanding these beings, and if humans and lyrikants are to work together to form a new civilization we must be able to comprehend our new friends, understand how they function and how they have reached this point in their society, and we must be able to understand both our similarities and our differences.

 

~ Mackenzie Hantaywee Chase, Human-Lyrikant Interpreter

 

Part 1 : Biology

The Basics

Lyrikants label themselves as belonging to the gene-clan Kanats-Latyrs, and humans have categorized them under the new phylum Dynamiphora. Their species possesses attributes of dynamic DNA, and in the early stages of their lives they undergo phases of partial metamorphosis, with environmental stresses and other factors determining the manner in which their deoxyribonucleic acid arranges itself. Lyrikants gain roughly 90% of their genetic pattern from their parents, while the other 10% is highly mutative. They only undergo this process for the first several years of their lives, although considering their naturally long lifespan this period can last up to a decade.

 

Because of their dynamic DNA, lyrikants are an incredibly diverse species, with no two individuals sharing the same appearance. The lyrikant body plan varies between four-limbed and six limbed individuals, with four-limbed individuals having the capacity to develop strong, flexible wing membranes in rotational sockets, which extend from their forelimbs. Even with this genetic distinctiveness within a single species it is simple enough to trace genetic markers back through lineage, though it is more difficult to trace siblings and extended relatives.

 

The majority of lyrikant diversity is evident in their external ornamentations, which take the form of frills, cartilaginous plates and spikes, elaborate cranial crests, and feather-like fur extensions. Lyrikants of both sexes possess large manes around their chests and torsos, which they gained previously along the evolutionary chain during a colder period in their planet’s history. Lyrikants are largely built and well muscled, though flight-capable lyrikants are more leanly built and have lighter skeletons, as well as large air sacks to give buoyancy. Lyrikant skeletal structures are composed mainly of a cartilaginous material, rather than bone. As a rule, the females are larger and more vibrantly colored than the males, and in the early days of lyrikant civilization their species maintained a matriarchal hierarchy.

 

Primarily carnivores, lyrikants evolved as pack hunters, roaming in groups of up to thirty individuals, and are suitably equipped to hunt the native herbivores, as well as to fight off rival predators. Lyrikants are specialized for long chases after ambushing their targets – they have long legs, very large lungs, and a complex system of vocal cues for communication between other hunters. When not hunting they still communicate vocally, but supplement with body gestures.

 

Lyrikants have a complex respiratory system, with one primary windpipe for inhalation and another similar structure surrounding the windpipe. This structure is a kind of resonating chamber, leading to dorsal vents usually obscured by the mane and other ornamentations. Lyrikants produce a broad range of sounds that are similar to flutes, however they are capable of reaching tones that are lower than those humans can hear. Lyrikants are polyphonic singers, and even young lyrikants can create a diverse range of tones and octaves with their resonating chamber.

 

In their early history, when lyrikants were still pack hunters, they possessed a pair of fangs in the back of their mouths which acted like hypodermic needles, inserting a fast-acting sedative and venom combination into the circulatory systems of their prey. In the modern age, these fangs have recessed, and it is very rare for a lyrikant to be born with them anymore. Lyrikants also no longer possess their venom sacks, though the complex venom has been efficiently synthesized in the modern age and is used as a tranquilizer and euthanasia to painlessly kill livestock.

 

Reproduction

 

Lyrikants of both sexes are equipped with a kind of carapace on their rear torso, which – while it could be considered defensive armoring – is used entirely for reproduction. The male carapace is significantly less prominent than those of the females. Female carapaces remain hard and inflexible until they are exposed to specific pheromones, which are not produced by either sex at any set time. Instead, lyrikant mating fluxes are determined by availability of food as well as stress signals in the environment, along with compatibility of prospective mates.

 

As they evolved, these fluxes became more voluntary, though a stressed lyrikant would still be relatively incapable of mating. Mated pairs are established through courtship, and mates become bonded for life, and will only break apart under considerable trauma. Under the necessary conditions – and when in the presence of an available male – a female lyrikant’s carapace will become flexible, and the hard exterior shell will be shed to expose soft, spongy tissue infused with gametes and coated by a thin membrane.

 

The male’s reproductive tract consists of an exterior shell which is shed during mating, revealing testicular sacks along their sides which are shielded by a tough cartilage shell. Both the underside of the carapace and the dorsal side are equipped with tubes, which during mating are extended to the female’s spongy tissue to deliver sperm cells. The tubes themselves are coated with very thin, sensitive feelers, which help distribute the gametes throughout the inert tissue in the female’s reproductive chamber. Pheromones are the only necessary trigger for the delivery of gametes from the male – however, a degree of stimulation is required for the female to fully absorb the gametes into the tissue of her carapace.

 

Female lyrikants have sensitive sections of their skin located on the back and sides around the carapace, which are again only exposed during mating. The male can stimulate these patches in any manner of ways, and during this time the female’s gametes will become fertilized. Over the next few hours up to a day, her carapace will swell, and the gamete-infused tissue will become enveloped in a thicker membrane.

 

After mating, the female’s carapace will re-grow within a few days, protecting her incubation chamber. The previously inert tissue will become the template for her offspring, and she will supply nutrients to them through a second absorption membrane located inside her body, close to her gastrointestinal system. Nutrients she consumes will be absorbed at the cellular level into the incubation chamber, which will become filled with a thick fluid as the offspring develop.

 

Lyrikant pregnancies last between four and seven months, depending on the availability of food and a stable pack territory. If there are severe changes in the environment during incubation, the development to the young will be slowed to allow the mother to adjust. If food is plentiful, the young will develop more quickly. Lyrikants often give birth to three offspring, although two or four is not uncommon. It is rare for more than four to develop due to the stress it would place on the mother, though a single kit is equally rare. A mother lyrikant will usually only give birth to a single kit if there is a severe depletion in her food source, or if her pack does not help provide a stable environment. The embryos are attached to the mother’s carapace by a thick, flexible membrane, which only starts to break once the young are capable of maintaining their own bodily functions.

 

During the pregnancy, the carapace will have built up as a protective barrier against the elements and physical injury, and during the birth the mother must scrape away at her own carapace to hasten its shedding process, a process which can result in spikes of pain if she grazes the sensitive internal sections of the incubation chamber. It can take up to two hours for the membrane to detach from the young, and it can take longer for the carapace to be fully broken. The offspring are somewhat capable of assisting the mother with this, scratching at the carapace from the inside.

 

Lyrikant birth is not unlike the process of hatching from an egg, and for this reasons the offspring are often referred to as hatchlings, as well as kits. Newborn lyrikants are fed by their parents, usually with bits of meat from the pack’s kills. In extreme situations, lyrikant mothers and fathers are capable of internally cannibalizing their own tissue and offering it to their young as a meaty slush.

 

Part 2 : Evolution

[ While this record has been slightly embellished in the interest of memorable reading, these facts are still accepted as accurate ]

While other animals native to Lapache exhibited similar diverse mutative qualities, the traits of fully dynamic DNA were most prominent in the lyrikants, who have not evolved much physiologically since the eras predating their sentience. Originally they were pack carnivores, roaming in groups of up to thirty individuals, which were commanded by the largest females in the group. Lyrikants did not have many natural predators, save for a few species of large ambush reptiles called Gliding Raptors, and were already a prominent species by the time they developed sentience.

 

Unlike with humans, whose evolution was accelerated by the discovery and usage of fire, the combined discovery of moth silk and animal trapping began pushing lyrikants towards civilization.

 

The discovery of silk was, like fire on Earth, mostly accidental. Certain lyrikants had been noticing silk moths for quite some time, and since lyrikant intelligence was similar to that of elephants on Earth, they were naturally curious. A few lyrikants from one of the larger packs started watching the moth cocoons hatch, and when the insects started spinning silk the lyrikants took some of it and played with it.

 

Over time, they started making more elaborate things with the silk, separating the thick strands and tying them together in chaotic knots. Their fascination with silk helped with they discovery of trapping, since up until that point they had only hunted in the traditional pack way: separate and corner targets. Through fortunate happenstance, during one pursuit of a target, they chased the animal into a pit. Some of the hunters wondered if the event might be repeated, and a few days later they specifically chased their prey to the same pit. Like the first time, it fell in and broke its legs, making the hunt substantially easier.

 

Over the course of several years upon decades, this particular pack of lyrikants kept using this strategy, eventually going one step further to dig out their own small pits and drag ferns to cover them. At the same time, other members of the pack kept experimenting with the silk, gathering it as the moths hatched and even bringing some larvae back to their pack nests.

 

After one incident that involved a lyrikant getting their foot stuck in a looped braid of silk, they tried doing the same thing with their prey, and after several unsuccessful attempts at chasing their prey into these snares, they left a few out near the plants the prey animals eat. Like the pit trap, the prey eventually got stuck in the very strong snares, and the lyrikant pack hunters began using the pits and snares even more.

 

When they met up with other packs, they began showing off these new hunting techniques, and more lyrikant packs started using pit and silk traps to hunt prey. Several lyrikant packs started grouping up in order to experiment with silk, since at the time the only large nest of silk moths was located in the Southern fern savannahs on Lapache’s main continent.

 

With more lyrikants living in close proximity, and with traps to help make the hunts for efficient, the packs had more time to experiment and play around with the silk. This kind of experimentation continued for decades, and more packs started clustering together as they started using traps to hunt. However, though the packs remained in relatively close proximity to each other, rather than dividing into smaller roaming packs, they still had to keep moving in accordance with the migration patterns of their prey.

 

When the prey moved up to the northern breeding grounds, the lyrikants attempted to take the silk moths with them. They had been trying this for several years, trying to move the moth larvae and the adult insects to other plants near their nests, not realizing that the moths only bred and lived on species of plants with specific nutrients. Finally, one attempt to capture the moths by a group of hatchling lyrikants was rather successful, and they were able to seize a considerable number of larvae and adults, keeping them in the large oval-shapes abandoned nests of Gliding Raptors, which are similar to earthly wasp nests.

 

These very sturdy nests were effective cages for the moths, but the real reason this harvest attempt was successful was due to the fact that the lyrikants had taken moth egg sacks as well. These spongy sacks are fused to the branches of the flowering nectar ferns the moths feed upon, and this was the first time the lyrikants had actually taken the plants with them when they tried to move the moths. Eventually, as they followed the prey herds with the moth cages in tow, they figured out that the nectar ferns were vital to the moths’ survival.

 

After learning that they could capture and raise the moths beyond of their natural range – it helped that they figured out how to actually transplant the ferns as well – the lyrikant packs decided to try the same thing with their prey, using silk snares to capture them and bring them back to the nests. This initial experiment with capturing prey sparked the lyrikants’ interest in domestication, and more than three centuries after their first discovery of a pit trap the packs were able to stay in one place and bring their food to them. Over time they learned better ways to keep their animals captive, as well as better techniques of keeping silk moths. The lyrikants learned weaving after carefully examining the way moth cocoons were built, and they also realized that they could make the silk change colors if they coated or soaked it in colored plant or mineral materials.

 

Lyrikants used this newfound skill to create decorative silk pieces, which they began exchanging among the packs simply for fun and enjoyment. Lyrikants also made dyed silk tassels, which they often either tied around their legs, tails, or crests. Over time they started exchanging these tassels and other decorative pieces more and more, and certain dye and weave patterns became recognizable and highly appreciated.

 

Messages and emotions became connected to certain kinds of tassel patterns, and lyrikants began communicating with silk pieces as well as their vocalizations and body language. This was the beginning of the written and spoken modern lyrikant language. As their lives became more complex in the early stages of civilization, their forms of communication had to expand as well.

 

The evolution of lyrikant society was given another boost with the discovery of resin, discovered once again by accident after a flying lyrikant adventured out into the dangerous tree-filled tar pits that occupy much of Lapache. While lyrikants had known about resin and its sticky qualities, they hadn’t yet figured out how to put it to good use. This resin is naturally abundant and would later be manufactured as well, and during the early stages of civilization it was used for a variety of purposes, primarily as a sealant and building material. It was often used to encase large woven sheets of silk, forming a rigid material that was used in the same way early humans may have used wood or stone.

 

Even as they evolved, lyrikants remained a closely interconnected species, never experiencing wars or large-scale disputes involving racism – since all lyrikants are inherently different, they have no bias based on appearance or. However, it is known that they experienced conflicts over territory and resources, much like humans, as well as particular disputes over silk. Despite these conflicts, massive wars were not generally experienced by their society. They did have to deal with extensive periods of isolation, which they consider to be worse than wars. Cultural gaps were known to develop between clans as the lyrikants expanded, and they have worked hard to keep their society connected at its core, although they do not shun ingenuity, creativity, and new experiences.

 

Of all the materials the lyrikants have created, their silk is among the most prized and valuable. Originally, silk was necessary simply for textile weaving and snare-building material, and they did coat large pieces in resin to harden it for an elaborate building material.

 

However, in the early years of lyrikant expansion their chemists – who were little more than members of packs and clans who intensely studied in the many interesting materials that surrounded them – discovered a chemical cocktail made from abundant natural compounds that could be used to manipulate the microscopic patterns of the silk. For this reason, modern lyrikants have a greater cultural respect for chemists, rather than physicists or engineers, although they still value such professions. These early chemists developed a technique using resin molds laced with the chemical cocktail, which were then filled with moth larvae who spun carbon nanotube-like patterns under the influence of the chemical combination.

 

This new technique dramatically increased the strength and resilience of the silk while preserving a measure of flexibility. This discovery triggered a cultural and industrial revolution, and this silk was the precursor material to the more metallic modern carbonsilk. This new silk was used to build larger, more complex, and more durable structures such as buildings and caravans, and would be used to create cities and ships as the lyrikants expanded.

 

The resin used in these molds was harvested from trees known as tar needles, large and pointy trees that grow out of tar pools, and was collected either by flying lyrikants or by carefully traversing the tar pits on rafts made of the spongy, buoyant, and very slick bark of another kind of tree. The resin was stored in ceramic containers until it was heated and liquefied for molding or lacquering, and along with silk it was one of the major trade commodities during lyrikant cultural expansion. In their more advanced eras, resin was still produced in artificial tar pit gardens, collected en mass either by workers or machinery.

 

Disease : Shivering Tar

 

Due to their diverse biology, lyrikants in general are not susceptible to widespread disease, certainly not in the proportions experienced among mankind. In their history their kind have experienced psychological disorders, and ailments such as physical strain conditions, but truly deadly viruses and plagues were not a problem until later on in their civilized stages, most specifically during their era of expansion and permanent habitation in space. The origin of this disease is unknown, and it is simply known as Shivering Tar.

 

Shivering Tar is the greatest exception to their rule of disease resistance, as it is a virus capable of spreading in plague proportions through the lyrikant population, harnessing the bodies of lyrikant kits to spread and evolve. About 90% of a young lyrikant’s DNA is gained from their mother and father, however the remaining 10% is dynamic, undergoing a mutative process via environmental factors during the first few years of a lyrikant’s life. After their early life, a lyrikant’s DNA is intact and no longer mutative. For this reason, Shivering Tar was most effective against lyrikant children – the virus was able to feed off the mutative properties in their DNA, and was able to mutate itself faster, reproduce faster, and spread for effectively throughout the lyrikant population.

 

Shivering Tar is a volatile virus that attaches itself to the mutative gene strands in lyrikant kits, forcing their DNA to mutate more aggressively. The virus benefits from this because of an increase in proteins during metamorphosis, which the virus uses to reproduce and evolve. The young lyrikants, on the other hand, can’t tolerate the strain of increased mutation, and their bodies begin to slowly decompose under the stress of unstable mutations.

 

This necrosis produces a black bile, which swells in bruises underneath the skin, giving lyrikant children the appearance of being spattered with tar. As their bodies degrade, their begin to lose homeostasis, and they shiver uncontrollably as the disease advances – hence the name ‘Shivering Tar’. The decomposition of their bodies under the strain of excess mutation can take up to a month, resulting in a slow and horribly painful death.

 

Adult lyrikants were relatively immune to this violent disease until it mutated through several strains and generations, at which point adult lyrikants were at risk of the disease finding its way through gaps in their immune system. It was around this time that the Mercy Moon killings were committed, and not long after this the distinct clans joined together to combat the disease. Through their conjoined efforts a treatment was found, and later on a cure. However, the disease still lingered in certain areas, particularly on the planet, Lapache.

 

When a group of humans accidentally came to Lapache through the Ellison Rip, about four decades prior to the first real contact between the species, they were exposed to the Shivering Tar disease. However, while the disease is generally fatal when it attacks diverse lyrikant physiologies, it could not do the same with human biology. While the virus itself had become mutative, without the additional natural metamorphosis of lyrikant children it could only mutate so far within the humans.

 

Instead of killing them, the virus evolved a twisted symbiosis, mutating the humans and sustaining itself inside of them while keeping its hosts alive. While those first unfortunate victims hosted an active and volatile strain of the disease, through several generations of reproduction the virus became inert within its hosts, despite the fact that it was transmitted genetically through the decedents of the the first travelers to Lapache.

 

~~~

I really like the history I’ve created for the lyrikants. I was trying to think of a good reason for them to start expanding as a culture and civilization, and I started thinking about fire for the human race. Lyrikants wouldn’t have the kind of uses our ancestors had for fire, so what else might have driven their evolution?

Then I remembered the carbonsilk I wrote about in a chapter of Janissary’s Rise, and I decided: hey, why not use silk, and alien silk at that? Silk is fun, and it could be very useful. Then I had the idea that lyrikant chemists could find a way to make the silk act more like carbon nanotubes, arranging itself in patterns that are more stable. Now, I’m not sure how lyrikant silk got around to becoming metallic carbonsilk, but let’s just say there were nanomachines and gene engineering involved.

The one thing I realize I still haven’t defined for their history is what kind of spirituality they have. I spent more time creating their philosophy and what kind of values they have. I did however have an idea for giant bioluminescent hive organisms that feed on electricity. These creatures maybe used to swarm thunderstorms and consume lightning until the lyrikants got around to creating electrical power, in which case these organisms started targeting their generators. Maybe the lyrikants solve this by placing large generators in the middle of nowhere for the swarms to feed on, and maybe they have a ritualistic approach to solving what is pretty much an engineering problem. Maybe I really want to call these things monoliths, because that sounds vague and mysterious and maybe a little frightening.

Maybe lyrikants have some kind of spiritual connection to silk moths, since silk was the prime accelerator of their evolution. I’m not really sure yet.

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Their Blood Runs Blue http://www.dreamrailway.com/their-blood-runs-blue/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/their-blood-runs-blue/#respond Fri, 06 Mar 2015 19:26:19 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=144 Read More]]> ~

Blue.

Dark, almost black, but still blue. So much of it, just spattered everywhere. His chest tightened as the heavy stench of fresh blood forced its way down his throat and nose. So much. So much. If this much blood had come from humans, then it would’ve had to come from several people, but that wasn’t the case. Human blood didn’t run blue.

But theirs did. Alien blood ran blue. Her blood ran blue, and thick, and oh God there’s so much.

A sharp trumpeting scream tore through Bastien Lynn’s ears, muddled by the the sound of combat medics yelling to each other. The people around him moved in blurs, a frenzy of motion determined to keep her alive. There were half a dozen other people in the evac shuttle who were just sitting off to the side, tense and horrified. They all had injuries, but they were minor.

Bastien could barely feel his own fractured hands. There were things embedded in his skin, sharp things, but small. His fingers wouldn’t stop twitching – the shrapnel must’ve hit his nerves. None of the medics had come over to take a look, and if they had, Bastien would’ve shoved them away.

Another scream. Bastien cringed and bit down on the back of his intact hand, squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted to be able to cover his ears, too… the scream cut off sharply, ending in a gurgle.

“She’s hemorrhaging internally! Get me isofoam!”

Bastien saw the foam injection needle go in, and he heard more shouting, but all he could think about was the scream. It was the most terrifying sound he’d ever heard. It was high-pitched, but stretched out, whining like a satellite debris siren before collapsing into a harsh rattle. When Bastien was a child, his mother used to play recordings of whale song to help him sleep. Some of the sounds whales made were like that scream, but… they were nowhere near as painful to hear.

Why? How? Too many questions, but only one was important. Bastien’s voice barely worked as he croaked to a scurrying medic, “Is she going to make it?”

The woman cast a glance at him out of corner of her eye, grabbed several rolls of Biogauze, and raced back to the other medics trying desperately to keep a struggling mass pinned to a stretcher. As Bastien stared, a wing flailed out, talons outstretched and grasping madly at the air. The wing membrane was completely shredded. Bastien knew the other wing was in the exact same condition.

He knew – roughly – how much shrapnel was buried in her wings, her arms, her legs. She’d taken the full brunt of the blast with her entire body. That was why everyone else on the team had such minor injuries. In fact, if it wasn’t for her quick reflexes, most of them would either be dead or critically injured. Not sitting pretty with a few broken bones and burns.

It wasn’t fair. They were just scouting the older satellites! Nothing was supposed to happen, the ‘mission’ was practically a joyride through abandoned Martian Pangaean space. One older model satellite here, another piece of dead orbital station there. When they passed over Deimos, they picked up a faint static emission from the surface of the terraformed moon. Since the moon was an exotic biosphere and a restricted site, there weren’t supposed to be any radio frequencies on the surface.

Naturally, they were curious. Bastien wasn’t the first to suggest going down to the moon and checking out the emission, but now he was hating himself for agreeing. His job outside of the Legion was detoxing failed terraforming sites. Phantom radio frequencies were always, always bad news.

He should’ve known better.

At first, the moon seemed benign enough. Bastien went down with a small group in an exatmial jet, while the shuttle stayed up in orbit. The terrain they set down in was interesting, a fusion of tundra and razorlike rock formations. They’d tracked the signal for about half an hour before winding up at a very out-of-place structure. Bastien thought the complex looked military, but everyone else thought it was a research station.

None of them realized that they’d wandered into a remnant of the Edge Secession – the violent uprising of Europa and Callisto, the outermost colonized moons of the Pangaean system. The Edge Secession was humanity’s first experience with celestial warfare, though the same couldn’t be said of the lyrikants. The war was longer than it needed to be, and exhausted resources on all sides.

In the end, the citizens of Europa and Callisto were allowed to secede from Pangaea, and they formed the Edge Sectors. People did their best to forget about the uprising, and a lot of the outposts used in the war were forgotten as well.

“Maddie, do you have a lock on that static?”

“Nope. Not yet. It keeps fluxing in a funny way.”

“Yo, Lynn, come check this out!”

“What is it, Wyatt?”

“I dunno – looks like a trip laser.”

“Deactivated?”

“I think so.”

“Well, Wyatt, you better make sure it’s deactivated.”

It wasn’t.

Bastien buried his face in his elbow and doubled over, shuddering. All the sounds around him – screams and shouts and humming engines – were quickly reduced to a dull roar. For once in his life, he wished he was completely braindead. Right now, that would be easier than remembering.

The scene played over, again and again, on the back of his eyelids.

“Sir, yes, ma’am, whatever you say!”

“…Please, don’t call me ma’am.”

“Hey, Lynn, maybe you can get her to pull that stick out of her ass. I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“I’d like you better if you stopped calling me ma’am.”

“Guys! I got a lock on the signal!”

“Where is it?”

“It’s right – no wait, it’s moving – wait a sec-“

There was only one thing Bastien heard after that, and that was the hum of a UAV activated by proximity trip laser. It turned out that the static frequency they’d picked up from the shuttle was part of the monstrosity’s guidance system. Phantom frequencies. Just like Bastien feared, except much worse.

It wasn’t just a Secession War ghost site they found on Deimos. They also found one of the most infamous weapons of that war – technology cultivated for the singular purpose of inflicting a lot of injury in a big area.

A spin drone.

The modern grenade, it was a highly mobile, airborne UAV equipped with centrifugal compressors and a payload of charged metal shrapnel. When the spin drone was tripped by a proximity beacon, it focused on the closest cluster of biological targets, built up rotating momentum, and then detonated. Both the concussive and projectile effects were devastating, but spin drones were designed to be most affective against humans.

Lyrikants were bigger than humans. Their bodies were sturdier, more thickly muscled. They could withstand a blast that would otherwise kill a human, but they weren’t invincible. The shockwave knocked Bastien flat on his back, and his hands were both broken by the concussive perimeter.

His eyes were open the whole time. He went blind for several minutes, but he saw her move. Bastien had no idea that anyone could move that fast. If it wasn’t for her, he’d be in far worse shape than he was right now, and at least half of the other people, his colleagues and friends, would be dead or fatally wounded.

She’d seen the drone first. She’d reacted first, and because of her everyone was still alive. Bastien lifted his head up and stared at the stretcher and the medics. The shape that had been writhing so fitfully just a minute ago was barely moving, save for her twitching limbs. Bastien could see her face clearly now that the medics weren’t crowding her so tightly.

Her eyes. They were just barely open, little more than narrow slits. Her chest was heaving as she tried to breathe properly. She wasn’t coughing up blood anymore, so the isofoam had to be working. Something was working. Oh God, just let something work.

Her eyes flew all the way open and she screamed.

Bastien was on his feet in an instant, and he all but broke the sound barrier in running over to the stretcher.

“Glaucus!! Shit, do something!” he howled at the medics as they tried to hold him back. Maddie, Wyatt, the rest of the team were on their feet as well, frozen in hopeless bewilderment. None of them were medics, they didn’t know what to do. They felt useless. Bastien could see it in their faces.

“Keep him back!” one of the medics, a man Bastien faintly recognized, bellowed. “She’s going into shock, I need a stabilizer now!!”

“Oh God, no, Glaucus-!”

Glaucus’s dark golden eyes were glazed over, unfocused and staring into nothingness as she gasped. Every rattling breath she took cut deep into Bastien’s core, accusing him of not doing anything. What am I supposed to do?? What the hell am I supposed to do?!

Her breath caught in her throat. A choked stutter made its way to Bastien’s ears, and he stopped fighting the medics. His eyes widened in alarm – numb, sobering alarm. Glaucus croaking whisper pierced the air just as easily and loudly as the spin drone.

“S-save my wings,” she gasped, “Save…”

Bastien had to clench his teeth down hard to keep himself from screaming, or crying – he wasn’t sure which. His chest tightened and his vision went blurry as the medic let go of him to go help Glaucus. Frozen stiff, he could only stand there and stare at her now limp body.

Wyatt made his way around the stretcher and pressed a hand against Bastien’s shoulder. “Come on, Lynn, just step back. Let them work, they know what they’re doing. They’ll keep her breathing until we get back to Zeppelin.” Bastien heard the words, but was barely listening. He glanced down at the older man’s hand. The presence of his friend’s touch was anything but comforting.

Save my wings, Bastien repeated mentally. He sucked in a ragged breath and sank backwards against the wall, pressing the back of his hand to his face to hide his tears. Glaucus was barely lucid, and all she was asking was that the medics save her wings.

Bastien had seen her smile when she flew. That smile was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Save her wings,” he whispered, “God dammit, you have to save her wings…”

It was going to be a long flight back to Pangaea, back to Zeppelin, back to home. Bastien clenched his teeth and breathed in through his nose, trying to clear away the growing ache in his head. His tears kept falling silently down his cheeks. It was going to be a long flight.

He felt like he was going to be holding his breath the entire way.

//-//

She’d seen it spin. That was when she moved. She remembered that in 21st century Earth, soldiers were trained to throw themselves over grenades in order to save their brothers and sisters in arms. It was a sacrifice, and one that could save lives. For the most part, she hadn’t been thinking about sacrifices.

All she knew was that she was bigger than her human compatriots, and she had a better chance at surviving a blast of that magnitude. It was hovering above her, so she’d launched herself at it and – for lack of a better term – hugged the spin drone.

In, out. Inhale, exhale. She was still breathing, so the spin drone hadn’t killed her. And if she was alive… her comrades, her friends, were probably alive, too. A numb haze hovered over her brain and her limbs, dulling her sense of time, but she could still feel a fierce aching pain every time she tried to move in the darkness.

As a matter of fact, why was it dark? She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or not. And if they were open… she felt her throat constrict. She didn’t want to be blind! Her breath quickened in panic, and she concentrated on her eyelids, forcing them to open. She felt them open, an she still saw nothing but darkness.

I’m blind?! I can’t be blind I can’t be I can’t-

Her breath hitched in her throat. Whining weakly, she reached out with the one arm she could still feel, sinking her claws into soft, warm fabric. Slowly she started to realize that she was covered in the fabric, and the sensation started to crawl over her skin. It was warm… too warm.

Beep. Beep. She was suddenly aware of a sound… Glaucus’s ears flicked upright, swiveling in the direction of the beeping. She gasped, her breaths coming in short and wheezing. Another spin drone?? She was starting to hyperventilate, and with her lung configuration, she could create unwanted swelling on her air sacs if she breathed too hard and too quickly. Her lungs were designed to prevent that kind of swelling, but after the spin drone, she had no way of knowing if anything was still working the way it should.

She needed her air sacs. She needed them to fly.

My wings, oh by the Mercy Moon my wings.

She faintly remembered the silhouettes in the shuttle, racing around her like a swarm of ants. She remembered begging them to save her wings. She wasn’t even thinking about the people who’d been with her on Deimos – she just wanted to keep her wings.

Right now, she couldn’t feel them. Everything she felt and heard and didn’t see was jumbled together in a disjointed mix of sensations. Too warm. Too dark. Too much goddamn beeping. A hacking cough ripped its way out of her throat, mounting into a distressed shriek as her heartbeat spiked. Can’t see can’t move can’t fly-

Wrenching herself to the side in desperation, she only got more tangled in the blankets. They wrapped around her, heavy and warm, too warm, weighing down and squeezing the breath out of her lungs. Something else was in her lungs, and her brain – something that smelled like smoke. Somewhere along the line she felt something rip out of her arm. She hadn’t even realized there was something sticking into her skin to begin with.

She thrashed for a long time, then laid still for even longer. She drifted in an out of consciousness, and she couldn’t tell if she was lying there for a few minutes or a few hours. Her heart was pounding.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. The beeping sounded in time with her pulse. How did it know? How did it know how scared she was? She could feel something pop in her back as she thrashed, something that sent a surge of pain throat her upper body. Screeching, she clawed at the air, trying to find the beeping sound, trying to make it stop.

Stop it! Stop it! Shut up!

“Holy shi-! Glaucus!! Glaucus, calm down!”

That voice. She knew that voice. He was still alive… Mercy Moon, he was alive. She stopped thrashing, if only to try and listen for his footsteps. She heard them, thudding towards her until something slammed into her bed. “Shit, shit, shit,” she heard him say, “Where the hell are the doctors? Why wasn’t someone watching you??”

Glaucus felt a hand on her face, or at least she assumed it was a hand. It felt rougher than human skin, like a bandage. The abnormally thick fingers framed her face and gripped something that wasn’t attached to her. The fingers moved, and suddenly she was blinded by light. Squinting, Glaucus waited for her vision to clear. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand toss a strip of gauze away from the bed.

I was blindfolded?? She hadn’t even felt the bandage over her eyes. All she’d seen was darkness, and instantly she’s assumed the worst. Glaucus was no medic, but that just didn’t feel right. And it was still so warm…

“Glaucus,” the voice breathed again, “Glaucus, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Her eyes flicked towards the voice to find a face hovering two inches away from her own. Save for a minor burn on the left cheek, he seemed intact. Glaucus then glanced down, and she noticed that his forearms and hands were thickly bandaged. However, when she tipped her down back up to look at him, she was suddenly dizzy.

So warm.

Glaucus slumped down into the bed’s pillow, her breaths quiet and hoarse. “Bas,” she keened softly as she stared at the man, “Bas, why’s it so warm??”

Bastien’s eyes widened in alarm, and he leaned back, moving over to Glaucus’s arm and picking it up. Glaucus watched him turn her arm, and he gasped sharply. “You yanked out your IV,” he muttered. The next thing Glaucus knew, his forehead was pressed against hers. She shrank back, letting out a faint squawk of surprise. When Bastien pulled away, his expression was wild with worry.

“Fever,” Glaucus heard him whisper. “You got a goddamn fever! How long was that IV out?” She almost tried to answer Bastien, but her words ended in a stuttered croak before they even made it past her lips. He wasn’t talking to her, he was just thinking out loud. Already he was scrambling around Glaucus’s bed, rummaging through the medical cabinets and trays, looking for… something.

Apparently he found what he was looking for. Glaucus’s body was sore and limp, suddenly exhausted from her stricken thrashing, but her eyes followed Bastien everywhere he moved. He raced back over to her and jabbed a needle deep into one of her veins, biting his lip in agitation. The man pressed down on the plunger, and within seconds the warmth in Glaucus’s body vanished.

As the heat disappeared, so did a majority of the soreness in her arms and legs. Her head stopped aching, too, much to her surprise and relief. Fever, she mused. Was that why she’d been so panicked upon waking up? Just because she was sick?

Whatever the reason behind the panic, the shot Bastien had given her both cleared her head and calmed her down – she guessed there was a light anesthetic in the fluid, as well as antibiotics. Bastien sighed heavily and dropped his head to the blankets, his fingers curling around the syringe. One hand reached out for a chair sitting over to the side of Glaucus’s bed, and he quickly sat down in it, letting the syringe fall to the floor.

Glaucus noticed that the man’s bandaged hands were shaking. He’d been hurt by the spin drone… Glaucus tensed in fear. She’d moved as fast as she could, but she couldn’t remember anything other than an ear-wrenching blast of sound and pain. Maddie, Wyatt… the others were probably hurt, but she didn’t think they’d be hurt too badly.

Maybe she’d feel guilt about it later, but there was only one thin weighing on her mind. “Bas-” her voice cracked, even though she tried to keep it level, “Bastien… my wings. I don’t want to look, are my wings… still there??”

Bastien’s head lifted up, and he took half a second to look over at Glaucus’s arms before he grinned. At the sight of him smiling, Glaucus felt her terror dial back several levels. Bastien brushed his hand over the side of his face, still grinning. “Yeah, they’re still there,” he whispered. “You’re okay, Glaucus.”

Glaucus finally relaxed, sinking comfortably into the blankets that no longer felt like they were suffocating her to death. Losing her wings was one of her greatest fears. She relished the power of flight, the feeling of wind coursing over her fur. She could’ve lost that power within a half a second, just because she saw it spin.

Bastien was shaking his head. Glaucus gazed at him with heavy eyelids. Yep, he definitely hid an anesthetic in that shot. “Glaucus, what the hell were you thinking? That drone… God, I thought you were dead.” He paused for a second, his eyes fixed on the floor.

He wasn’t looking at Glaucus, but she could still see his Adam’s Apple bob. Her eye twitched in sudden irritation. “Bastien, don’t you dare!” she rasped.

The man jolted, his head snapping back up to stare at her quizzically. “What? Don’t I dare what??”

“Take the blame. Don’t you dare try to pin this on yourself. You didn’t know the drone was there, none of us did. So don’t you dare try to make this out like it was your fault!”

Bastien’s jaw dropped in confusion, but he quickly bit his lip and didn’t say anything that involved blame or unwarranted guilt. He just shook his head again. “…How? How is it you always know?”

Glaucus managed a smirk, her eyes glinting drowsily. “Your Adam’s Apple catches in your throat whenever you’re about to lie… and taking the blame for something like this is the same as lying.” She fixed a glower on the man, satisfied that he’d stop being stupid. Bastien was smart – very smart, but by the Mercy Moon, he could be stupid sometimes.

“How would someone even notice that…?” he mumbled to himself before offering up a grimace. “Okay, so maybe it wasn’t my fault-”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Bas,” Glaucus countered before he could finish.

“You almost died!” he snapped. Glaucus flinched at his sudden outburst. “You almost died, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it! I should’ve been able to do something!” Bastien’s voice cracked halfway through his rant, and he deflated into the chair, pressing his hands against his face.

Glaucus swallowed harshly, trying to think of something to say to bring down the tension in the room, but when she tried to speak her throat tightened. Her attempted words came out as a ragged choke. It felt like something sharp was caught in her lungs… sore throat. She hadn’t had a sore throat in years. Now that she knew it was there, she could ignore it.

Bastien, on the other hand, automatically jumped to DEFCON 1 when he heard her choke. Jumping forward, he leaned against the side of the bed and all but shoved his face into Glaucus’s. “Shit, are you okay??” he asked, his voice rising in an alarmed pitch.

She nodded, smiling weakly. “Just… hoarse. You know, you can relax.” Glaucus didn’t tell him that she could actually feel his breath on her face. She didn’t mind. The presence of another person was comforting, but something was dawning on the back of her mind. “Bas, how long were you waiting for me to wake up?”

Remaining propped up on her elbows, Bastien thought about her question for a moment. “A few days. Four or five, I think. I wasn’t really keeping track.” He turned around and motioned with his head to the hallway beyond an open medbay door. “I’ve been staying in that conjoining ward since we got back from Deimos. Everyone else cleared out when the medics weren’t looking.”

It took a second for Glaucus to realize that that last sentence was supposed to be taken as a joke. She snorted quietly. “Thanks for staying, Bas.”

After she said this, the man gave her a funny look that she was far more used to seeing on her brother and sister’s faces. It was a somewhat childish, amused smirk. “You know what, I think this is the most you’ve ever used my nickname. Which is odd, now that I think about it. You hate nicknames!”

Glaucus shrugged into the blankets, her eyes half-lidded and barely focusing on anything anymore. At least her routine was still intact – usually her eyes fell asleep before the rest of her. She was still fairly awake, at least awake enough to laugh at Bastien’s comment. “I only hate nicknames because someone decided that mine should be ‘Glock’.” She fixed on Bastien’s face with a pointed glare.

Bastien smirked wryly. “Now, that’s not technically true. I could also call you Fluffy.” He paused, tipping his head to the side as he considered something. “Or Whale.”

The lyrikant almost choked again, her laugh turning into a hacking cough halfway through. She stared at Bastien with absolute incredulity, rasping, “Whale? Why would that be a good nickname??” Glaucus kept coughing after she stopped talking, her throat and nose itching fiercely. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. Breathe. Just breathe.

She only opened her eyes when she felt something touch the side of her face. Bastien was still leaning on the side of the bed, but Glaucus now found that he was carding his fingers through her hair. Slowly, tenderly, he brushed around her ear and down the side of her neck, then back up again. For lack of a better word, he was petting her.

It felt… really nice. Soothing, actually. Slowly, Glaucus’s breathing evened out, and her cough transformed into a purr. At least, the sound resembled a purr. It was much throatier, with a soft, mellow rumble. She shut her eyes again and tilted her head into Bastien’s hand, wondering aloud, “Bas… what exactly are you doing?”

“When I was a kid, I had night terrors,” he answered softly. “My mom would run her fingers through my hair to calm me down. Then she’d play some kind of ocean soundtrack, usually whale song. She never sang lullabies, she was completely tone deaf…”

Glaucus sighed deeply and smiled. Tone deaf… that made Glaucus wonder where Bastien got his singing voice. He always put up a fight when someone tried to shove him on stage during karaoke night, but he had a surprisingly good voice. As Glaucus focused on the man’s hand, and the slow rhythm of his fingers brushing through her hair, a thought occurred to her.

Whale song. She peeked one eye open and stared at Bastien perplexedly.

“Bas,” she whispered, “What in the Mercy Moon could possibly make you think that ‘whale’ is a good nickname for me…?”

“What? Nobody ever told you that you sound like a whale?”

Her one open eye blinked, then just stared. “…No. No, they have not.” I sound like a whale? Really? He must’ve hit his head.

Bastien grinned roguishly. “Well, you do, especially when you breathe.” His finger flicked against the tuft of her ear, then scratched the back of her neck. Glaucus wriggled at his touch – it felt like her muscles were liquefying. Just this little bit of hair-brushing was like a full massage.

She could hear Bastien breathing, except he was breathing in an exaggerated fashion. Mocking me, are you? “I’ve heard you sing, you know,” he said, “and the nickname definitely fits. Can I use it? Pleeeeease?”

The absolute childish cheekiness in Bastien’s voice made Glaucus giggle. She did not giggle. She was not made for giggling. Sorcery, she mused to herself as she tried to tone down her laughter, if only to prevent another coughing fit. “Really, Bas…” she murmured, ignoring everything they’d been joking about with nicknames and whales, “Thank you for staying.”

“Well, not really much else for me to do,” Bastien smirked, wiggling his thickly bandaged hand at Glaucus. “Although for a little while, I honestly thought the medics were going to tranq me and dump me off the side of the airship.”

Glaucus gave him a sideways glance, puzzled. “And why would they do that?”

For a moment, Bastien looked like he was about to answer, but then he went silent, and stayed that way for an uncomfortably long time. Glaucus saw his Adam’s Apple catch, but it stayed caught, indicating that he was thinking about a bad memory. The lyrikant felt the mood plummet. What had happened while she was asleep?

Finally, Bastien spoke up. He averted his gaze and said quietly, “I said some things… they were trying to get all the shrapnel out, trying to make sure you’d wake up again, but I kept hollering at them to focus on fixing your wings. One of the doctors told me that they didn’t know if they could save your wings, and that they had to worry about your vital organs and stuff. I said-” he stopped abruptly, clenching his teeth.

Bastien’s face was slowly getting red. Glaucus stiffened. His face only reddened like that when he was trying not to cry. What the hell happened? “Bas…”

“Glaucus, I told them,” he interrupted, voice croaking, “I told them that if they couldn’t save your wings… then they shouldn’t bother waking you up at all.”

Silence. Stillness. The only thing that was still moving was Bastien’s hand brushing through Glaucus’s hair.

By the time Glaucus actually figured out something to say, she didn’t have the nerve to say it. She didn’t know what she was expecting when she asked Bastien what happened, but she hadn’t been prepared for something like that. All at once, the light atmosphere was gone, and the world felt heavy again.

It was Bastien who eventually broke the silence. “I don’t know what I was thinking, saying that, but… Glaucus, I’ve seen you fly. It’s the only time you’re completely, undeniably happy. I know you would want to wake up without wings. There’s nothing you love more than flying.”

“That’s not true,” Glaucus countered softly, her words barely louder than her own heartbeat.

Bastien rolled his eyes sardonically. “Okay, obviously except for your family, but still…”

“Still not true.”

His eyebrows knit into a single line of confusion. Bastien glanced away from Glaucus’s face for a moment, picking his fingers through a snarl in her hair distractedly. Glaucus flicked her right ear, and just barely was able to touch it to Bastien’s hand. That got his attention. Glaucus felt her throat constrict when he looked back at her, and for the briefest of moments she hesitated.

Then Bastien stroked his finger against her temple, and she breathed again.

“Bas,” she whispered, “If I’d woken up without my wings… I wouldn’t have cared. I wouldn’t have cared at all, so long as you were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. I’d be okay.” She gulped silently, pressing her head up into Bastien’s hand. She could feel tears threatening the edges of her eyes, and she didn’t care. “Bas, you make everything okay. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, you just do.”

Her voice was faint, cracked, barely strong enough to be heard. “I saw the drone. I knew what it was, and all I could think of was making sure it didn’t kill you. You always watch me when I fly. Without you watching… flying doesn’t mean anything.”

Glaucus expected some kind of comment, some reaction, but Bastien was just as silent as she was. She hadn’t intended to spill that much… she wasn’t ready to say most of those words. She had no idea when she started noticing Bastien – noticing the way he smiled every time he watched her fly, noticing how he relaxed whenever he was just talking with his friends, noticing the simple little things that made him perfect.

It started out that they were just fellow revolutionaries, but soon enough, they became friends. Whenever Glaucus was around Bastien, life just seemed simpler, easier, better.

She wanted to close her eyes, to look away from the man, but she couldn’t. She was frozen. Bastien was completely expressionless, and Glaucus hated not knowing what he was thinking. She once knew how he worked. She had no idea what he was going to say now. She expected some kind of confused reaction…

Glaucus did not expect him to lean forward and softly press his lips against her own. In that split second, her mind went blank.

Lips lips lips oh Mercy Moon he kissed he’s kissing m-

Bastien only pulled his chapped lips away when Glaucus squirmed, and his face turned a sudden and brilliant shade of red. Despite his tinted cheeks, Bastien still smiled and intoned softly, “Glaucus, you are the best thing that ever happened to this revolution. We’re still here, I’m still here, because of you. I have never been more scared than when that drone ripped you to shreds.” He shook his head, and Glaucus watched a silent tear run down the curve of his jaw. “Don’t ever do that again, please. If you die, I won’t want to keep fighting this fight.”

Glaucus balked, her eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. “…Oh,” she murmured meekly, a blush making its way onto her copper-toned face. It would only be noticeable by someone who was looking closely at her face, and unfortunately, that’s exactly what Bastien was doing.

The man snorted, offering a roguish grin that made Glaucus want to burrow all the way under the covers and never come out again. “Come on, Glaucus, you can’t spill your heart out like that and then expect me to not do the same, can you?”

She shot Bastien a rueful glare. “…Okay, I guess not,” she whispered hoarsely. “But… really?” She scrunched into the bed, trying to avoid eye contact and somehow failing. “Did you really have to… kiss me?”

Bastien quirked an eyebrow. “Well, you have been kissed before… right?”

“…Not exactly, no. Lyrikants don’t kiss, we… nuzzle.”

Almost instantly, Glaucus regretted telling Bastien about the nuzzling. His puzzled expression vanished in favor of a devilish smirk, and the lyrikant let out an indignant squeak before she was assaulted by Bastien’s scruffy bangs. She made a swipe at him with her retracted claws, but he dodged with a laugh and brushed his face over the side of hers. Glaucus started outright shrieking as the man’s stubble itched at her cheek.

“Bas!” she shrieked. “Nuzzling is one thing! Tickling is completely different!”

“Not in my book!” he laughed, ruffling her hair with his hand and darting in one last time to bat his eyelashes over her cheekbone. Glaucus hissed nonchalantly at him, and he retorted by flicking her crest. “If you get to lose your wings over something as silly as me, then I get to tickle you.”

Glaucus rolled her eyes. “That’s flawed logic if I ever heard it… and you’re not silly, Bas. You’re one of the smartest people I know.” Sighing, Glaucus shot him a bemused smile. “And butterfly kisses? Really?”

“Look on the bright side, love, a butterfly kiss is like the best of both worlds – a nuzzle and a kiss all in one!”

Glaucus opened her moth to say something in response to the butterfly kiss comment, but she paused when her brain got through with processing everything that Bastien had just said. Gaping slightly, she just stared at the man still leaning close by on the edge of her bed, calmly waiting for her to make the next move. “Bas…” she murmured, “You just called me ‘love’.”

“Well, fancy that, I do believe I did!” Bastien smiled, continuing to brush back a few hairs that strayed over Glaucus’s face. Then his smile faded just a little, and he bit onto the side of his bottom lip. Glaucus frowned, puzzled. Nervous. Why was Bastien nervous? “Uh… too soon?”

Bashful. Mercy Moon, I got Bastien Lynn to be bashful. Smirking proudly, Glaucus lifted herself up from the bed and touched her nose against Bastien’s. The man stiffened and blushed a profound shade of red. “Bastien Lynn,” she whispered hoarsely, “I’m pretty sure I love you. If you want to call me ‘love’… well, I’d love that.”

Bastien perked up almost instantly upon hearing her say this. He returned Glaucus’s words with a quick kiss to her forehead. “Feel free to share the sentiment,” he teased, and this time he didn’t try to dodge Glaucus as she ruffled his hair with her claws. He grinned cheekily, then tensed, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.

“Been up a while?” Glaucus chided.

The man nodded, his eyelids and shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah. Apparently combat medics don’t believe in clocks, so I have no idea what time it is.” He glanced at his fingertips sheepishly. “May have also pricked myself with a shot of epinephrine at some point, so I haven’t actually been able to sleep…”

Sighing, Glaucus inched back to the far side of her bed even as Bastien gave her a funny look. Lyrikant-seized beds were roughly the equivalent of a king sized human bed, and it looked like Bastien was about to fall asleep in his chair. Glaucus lifted up her right wing and motioned with her head that the man ought to make himself comfortable before he just dropped.

Realization dawned on Bastien, and he shook his head, grinning. “Who are you and what did you do with the Glaucus I know?”

“Shut up and accept it, Bas. Usually I only let Xyrtesh and Sarae snuggle with me.”

Eyebrows arcing up towards his bangs, Bastien didn’t need any more convincing. The bed dipped ever so slightly as he rolled onto it, tangling the blanket around himself until he resembled a bizarre cocoon. Snorting at the man’s impish ridiculousness, Glaucus folded her wing over him and sank into their now shared pillow. Yes… the man should count himself so lucky to be held in similar regard to her younger siblings. Glaucus was not the type of person to let people get this close to her.

Given that Bastien closed his eyes within seconds of cocooning himself, Glaucus assumed that he’d fallen asleep already, but she was sorely mistaken.

“So, Glaucus,” Bastien began suddenly, a dangerous amount of cheek in his tone, “Since I’m now your partner, does that mean I have permission to sing Chandelier?”

Glaucus narrowed her eyes at him venomously. “Absolutely not,” she rasped.

“Oh, come on, it’s your favorite song!”

She nodded and promptly nipped the man’s ear. “Yes, and that’s exactly why you will not be singing it. It’s my song.” Closing her eyes again, Glaucus subtly curled her wing digits around Bastien, pulling him just the slightest bit closer to her chest. She could hear him breathing. She imagined it was the most soothing sound in the world.

Bastien, in his exhaustion, didn’t seem to notice. He just snickered quietly and yawned. “Possessive much?”

“Bas… shut up and go to sleep.”

“Sure thing… love.”

~

Remember that doodle from my Artwork section? The two embarrassed people on the left and the bottom are the characters you see here, Bastien and Glaucus. See, when it comes to my writing, romance necessitates near-death experiences and the panic of not knowing if the other is going to survive. Snuggling is also a requirement.

I actually wrote this story per the request of a friend on deviantART. She wanted to see how these two characters became a couple, and I was happy to oblige. (Confession: I really needed to practice writing romance. It’s not one of my strong suits.) I’m still trying to find a way to incorporate this story into the events of Janissary’s Rise, the novel that these characters inhabit, but since they are already a couple by the time the story takes place, I’m not sure how to put it in.

I could always default to flashbacks.

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Valley http://www.dreamrailway.com/valley/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/valley/#respond Tue, 27 Jan 2015 23:29:09 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=138 Read More]]> Valley

~

V

Monotone

Omnipresent

The constant aftershock, thud and thrum of a car’s movement

Vibrant buzzing, vehicular pulse, lovely varnishing friction

A

Caterwauling

Undulating

Sirens screaming, howling in a maddening fervor

Sudden rush of activity, alarming warning, amplifying the emergency

L

Sedating

Massive

A rolling symphony, the rumble of the many-wheeled metal leviathans

Like a lullaby, lethargy seeps into the ground

E

Y

Harmonic

Discordant

A strange symmetry of beeping, of high-pitched aggravation

Eternally yelling, effectively yanking attention away

Vvvvv-aAAAa-LLL-eee-yY

Vvaaalley

Valley

Rhythmic

Lyrical

It sounds soft, a soft vibration

Vibrations that define me

Me… a strange term

But there is me

Echoes, caught between times

Almost faded away

But still here

I am here

But they, they who make me, they couldn’t know

Who?

Me, Valley

The living road

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Griffin http://www.dreamrailway.com/griffin/ http://www.dreamrailway.com/griffin/#respond Tue, 27 Jan 2015 23:26:26 +0000 http://www.dreamrailway.com/?p=129 Read More]]> Griffin

~

G

Stuttering

Clunking

Breaking down, old, old cars, car parts, broken

Gasping, gurgling, gripping at the life that leaves them

R

Vivacious

Life-giving

Best, brightest, powerful vibration, loudest voice of all

Rumble strips, cars wandering, metal trembling against ribbed ridges

I

Squealing

Jarring

Squeaking, sharply temporary sound of brakes, breaking the fall

Innate, immediate salvation, impossible to live without

F

Uncontrollable

Breathtaking

Suddenly the momentum catches, kinetic singsong of acceleration

Frenzy, ferocious, but flighting and split second motion, then gone

N

Echoing

Combustion

Roar of the engine’s gut, rattling with every heartbeat of the metal

Noxious fumes, narcotic drone after nervewracking shock of noise

Guuuh-rrRRRR-iii-fffFFff-NNnnn

Gurrifn

Griffin

Vibrations

Echoes

All the sounds of things I feel

Tremble, rumble, shudder, crash

All me, part of me

All their sounds – my thoughts, my voice

They are me

And they don’t even know

Who?

Me, Griffin

The living road

~

Yes, I wrote a series of poems about living, sentient, roads and the way they think. And yes, the question isn’t why, it’s ‘why the heck not’?

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