Darmak wrote: »
Awoo gathers back into a puddle, then suddenly geysers upwards, an appendage extending towards the metal heads. Their gun glorps out, gripped in a "hand" and they fire off a shot without warning.
The world is falling apart. Maybe it always has been, but that doesn’t seem right, even if you can’t imagine how it should look.
Beneath the grit, salt and crap your boots stomp on, there are other fragments. Some hang there. Others orbit, turn like meat on a spit, or are plummeting to a dark, dusty end.
One night, silently, you saw one brush against the horizon, a land moving like a bullet in slow motion. Black clouds rolled off if and by dawn you drank rain from a place you’ll never know.
It’s not common practise to look up. There are fragments there too. Beyond them at some undefinable distance shiny, chrome things sit at odd angles. Some say they hum, if you listen carefully. That they even speak. Those found transfixed, gesturing with limbs wide at the silvery shapes are unlike you. Out further still is a vast structure, a shattered ring, some starved mad prisoners once claimed, but it is too large for any to comprehend.