Post by Caulder Melhaire on Feb 22, 2021 20:13:38 GMT -6
Just a Malfunction
CR10core capacity: 37 Ly
The monitor answers a question she regrets asking. It’s 53 Ly to Bya Proxani. The CR10core will run out and initiate thaw long before. 113 other people wake up in the black and die of starvation before they see the light. The first-class frigates had leutherium cores, but refugee tankers were built on a budget. Who cares if their cryopods run out early? Autopilot brings the ship home regardless.
Eyes shut, she takes a few random pods offline to buy the needed time and then initiates her own cryosleep. She’ll handle the guilt in the morning.
An uncomplicated girl, my agenda for success is marginal. Simply gain admittance.
I awake from feigned slumber. A coy flutter of the eyelids. A seductive gasp of gratitude. His expression reveals heightened senses of heroic achievement. Far be it from me to bruise such a noble ego. Lost within his benevolent euphoria, my lips upon the jugular are akin to the tickle of a butterfly's wings.
His blood is rich, vital and supremely satisfying.
I settle upon the pillows once more.
Centuries may pass before the next enterprising gallant traverses the dense undergrowth in search of the legendary sleeping princess.
All the sparkles in the dirt made me sigh, it was going to be a busy night. I bent down shovelled some into a bucket and began to pick out pieces of broken glass, separating them into groups of the same colours. Think of a jigsaw puzzle, these pieces connect to everyone’s dreams, they’re broken and I need to fix them. Why did people have to sleep? The intensity of some dreams made my job harder. I began to fit the pieces together with difficulty. Have you ever wondered why dreams are weird? It’s me, trying to sort them out.
Lashes brush against my cheek, eyelids snap open. Do not sleep, I implore myself. I cannot sleep. If I do, the dreams come and all will be lost. Four more hours and I’ll tear through the veil and into the other world. The one between. When we sleep, we slide right past. When we are awake, it dances eternally beyond our grasp. But halfway we can touch it. Taste it. Conquer it. I tighten my grip on the bottle. Acid green liquid sloshes against the cork. Tick tock, Master of Nightmares. I’m coming for you.
The pearl in the stained glass reflected iridescent boxes over the open psalm book in my hands. It made the water stains on the pages look… pretty. If blood-stained parchment could be pretty. The bars of musical notes the only value to my eyes.
If they were open.
Gregorian chants in the rafters for the true lull than the weariness of why I even sat in this pew. The only reprieve to the shattering blasts outside of the stone walls.
Sanctuary. It was all I asked. They did not question the blood. I didn’t offer. It didn’t matter, anyway.