quarta-feira, abril 13, 2016

Microfiction. Text 002: "An Orange-white Umbrella of Fire Bent From the Pod's Surface" by Myselfie

An orange-white umbrella of fire bent from the pod's surface. Brown smoke curled in its wake. The craft was designed to withstand Alpha Eradini's 10-million-degree corona, though, and it survived to glide through the dense clouds of sulfuric acid and corrosive oxides in the upper atmosphere of a planet those from Earth called Eden. If it were a manned craft, the pilot would have been surprised to find the lowest layer of the planet’s atmosphere rich with oxygen. But it was only a programmed machine from a spacecraft that had recently visited this particular star system. Pressures as strong as Deep Ocean scrubbed speed. The pod nosed downward as it drew close to the surface. Its velocity was thirty kilometers per hour at impact. The ground shook. Rocks and dust flew. The pod crumpled and rolled, flipping end over end like an errant rock tossed down a hill, eventually coming to rest between a pair of basaltic boulders. The door opened and the chime rang. A delivery runner’s engine sputtered as it laboured past. The man who entered Kondati’s shop wore the orange robe and obsidian jewelry of the Quartani Council. His skin was leathery brown and smelled of banafi oil. His primaries were yellow orbs of iridescence that blinked in the shop’s dimness, and his central was a crystal blue orb high on his forehead that marked him as from the southern regions. He said the world was about to end.

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