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Tuesday, February 28, 2023

250 Word Porphyry: World of The Burn fiction

ChronoBankCount: 1A:2.795345653661875 :: 255.25/365.25

CBC$: 0.6986301369863014

> [Aeryx] HeyO, wot2do?

< [me] Watch Red Death

> [Aeryx] Wot?

< [me] The Star-thing

> [Aeryx] DaComet?

< [me] >..<

> [Aeryx] 4Real?

< [me] I'll B on Mulholland

> [Aeryx] stoopid

The repulsor blimps continue unabated in their recruitment slogan for the Offworld Colonies, now adding the promise of Independence in a Century after establishment.  Hmm, let's see, thousands of years to arrive, if lucky enough, and then a ship's clock counts down for independence from what?  A burnt and shattered pile of biomass smeared like a comet in what was Terra's orbit?  Uh, yeah.

Public transport had collapsed in my youth, and the roadways were littered with the irredeemable refuse of burnt and wrecked autos and trucks all the way up the hill.  In years past, gangs and scavs would lurk up there waiting for youth and derelicts to seek adventure and the end respectively, and oblige both instincts.

Now, most everyone up there were skeletons, and the few alive were Fire-cultists; I was almost out of Social Credits, and was seeking the old way out, but open to see things from their crazy perspective.  It took hours to crest the heap atop the hill, and everything was wind-whistle quiet; the city below was ablaze in tortured orange and black, pierced by silver searchlights and tracer fire walked along the pulverised asphalt into the ever-growing crowd of the insane and half-dead.

I Looked up as if by remote control, saw it, and heard the Call: "I've come home to roost, Lupe, won't you let me in?"