Got to Motor

“If time were slowly ending, would The World care enough to tell?”

Been a while since anyone's seen the blue sky.

Red from the distant radio tower pierces through to my sight, one of the only guiding lights in this abyss overshadowed by the clouds. Alarms blare all around. Warnings flash across glowing TV screens displayed behind cracked storefront glass. Static noise muffles the suit-wearing A.R.E.A. agent reporting in on screen:

‘Weather status critical. Metallic dust-fall phenomenon imminent. Any and all civilians left in the restricted area must evacuate immediately! I repeat, evacuate immediately! This is not a drill, evacuation is imperative! Spztttt—’ Each and every storefront TV simultaneously goes entirely static.

Compulsion tugs on me to feel around the respirator hugging half my face—I already knew it was on correctly before I left shelter.

A shiny speck of dust reflects the blue glow of my goggles as it drifts onto the brick sidewalk. Down from the pervasive black clouds hiding the sun. Another speck follows the first, and another. Again, and again... drifting down until even the clouds are hidden in layers of dust.

My brain shoots thought commands into my NokioWare goggles.

//Record//

“Dust fell like snow this morning.”

//Pause//

Dust crunches under my brown leather boots.

The town had been evacuated before I arrived yesterday—perfect route for an illegal trade like mine.

Shattered brick and rubble are scattered throughout the road and sidewalk, blood-red vines reach out from under layered brick like veins from under cracked skin. The stores are hollowed, the houses dilapidated, even the shop I slept in last night—left with holes stretching floor to ceiling. Dust blows over old road cracks and recent claw marks sliced into dry cement.

Pitch-black gelatinous fluid I learned to call miasma seeps through the canals on both sides of the cement road. I continue to walk watching the soil between the cracks in the cement pulse with red vines. Soil's dark and saturated at the canal's edge; that's where the sludge soaked in. From that diseased earth, the few surviving town weeds weren't dying; they had adapted. Their familiar green darkened to a bruised, unnatural purple, stems thickened and twisting.

A retro landcar, flipped on its side, evidenced to have been torn open by some massive force. From the gash, miasma continually trickles down like black blood—from which had sprouted the same red vines that strangle the nearby streetlights.

//Resume recording.//

“The anomalies made terrible work of this town.”

//Pause.//

If I remember correctly, Dad’s knock-off Harley hoverbike should be parked straight ahead. No—I know it's over there, but my brain compulsively won't trust me. It stands on its stabilizers just over the border wall, the way I left it the day before.

I climb through this tear I found in the steel border yesterday, stepping out into the dying jungle before me that shelters its remaining life from the onslaught of falling dust.

Dead leaves rustle and branches snap under boot as I capture images of oversized specimens with my NokioWare.

//Snap//

Leaves of the common tree no longer unfurl toward light.

//Snap//

Banana trees droop with fruit swollen to bursting—skins split to clusters of black spores.

//Snap//

Bamboo shoots creak barely audibly, red vines coil around them like a snake around its prey.

//Snap//

Wildflowers grow abnormally large, petals contorting upwards as if to grasp for breaths of carbon dioxide, living amongst growths of glowing fungi along the jungle floor.

I crush a beetle under my boot by mistake... leaving a smear of guts and miasma to my repulsion. I feel in the pocket of my muted-red trench coat as I step towards the bike, digging through shape after form until my hand brushes the cold touch of its key. I collapse onto the black leather seat with a sigh, my stiff legs dangling from side to side. I stick the key into ignition and twist—to the immediate climbing screech of the power-core pulling energy from the Ether.

I wrap my fists around the throttles. Engage. The Harley hovers off-ground—its stabilizers some inches above dirt. I lean in, gradually lifting: with a smooth response passing over bushes and trees and through the falling dust until the thick black clouds were in my wake. The sun gleams through my lenses as I glimpse the distant floating city thriving in the blue sky.

Until the bike beeps as a sleek robotic voice interrupted: ‘Caution! Caution! This hover-vehicle is unsuited for this elevation. Height Limit exceeded! Height Li..mi..t...’

"Uh-oh."

The power core's Ether link severed, the engine powered down mid-air! I take my hand from gripping the throttle as I grab then grip the black brim of my muted-red biker cap—while I drop face-down through cloud and dust until the mere sight of the far blurring ground jumps my senses.

My heart is a locomotive that must slow down. Eyes closed. Deep breaths of filtered air. Something stupid pops into mind. The word 'anyone' of the second line? You're excluded from that word. You wouldn't be 'anyone', you've seen the real sky. I whisper to myself "...then I'm nobody..."

A sneak-peek of Chapter Two

The cold's no good for my rickety flesh and bones...and marrow...everything's throbbing and I'm not even an old guy—No, stop—I've got important things to think about. The metallic dust falls alongside me, I can feel the tug of the wind on the back of my black domino mask, straps flailing about like the twin tails of a cornered fox. The goggles over my mask at least shield my eyes from the cruel rush of the wind. The mere sight of the height from here to down low curls a knot in my throat, as goosebumps envelop my entire body. My amygdala shoots out alarm signals that bounce around within my skull, ultimatums between fight or flight. Acrophobia forcing its siege over my seizing body. Sweat pours out of my unstable hands while one of 'em holds on to a throttle grip for dear life. I knew I had to restart the hoverbike, but my hat... I'll have to look for it later. I let go of its brim as it blew off my head, the wind whipping through my wavy-chestnut-hair—whistling in my ears louder than my tinnitus. I grabbed and twisted at the key—or at least tried to but it appeared to be stuck in ignition...

[The Rest is Under Construction]