Photo by Luuk Wouters on Unsplash
Dirty walls. Filthy lights. A frozen void spun carelessly through twenty centimetres of pressed silica.
The band was busy setting up while the crowd murmured their assent. They were all here for the same reason. Not just music; that was implied by the posters, the homemade shirts, the thin station hallway packed full of stitched-together styles and clashing hairdos. Most of these people were miners, haulers, maintenance workers – the ones that did the work so others could live. Even with the small boosts to pay last quarter, these were thankless tasks, and the crowd was clearly a sea of comrades in arms, all frustrated beyond a doubt and looking for an out.
Continue reading “Herxes Station”
Take a look around
Can you see through the trees?
They’re so big and overgrown;
The wind is howling, but there’s no breeze
They tell us to stop lighting fires
Continue reading “Old Growth”
To clear away the weeds
To clear out all this old growth brush
Photo by Erika Garcia on Unsplash
Continue reading “Out in the Field”
The silence hung in the dense air, cloistered in the darkness like a waiting beast.
“You are describing an insect, c-cccccorrect?” Came a jagged reply from the deep void in front of them; the speaker – an old-world machine they had barely gotten working – spat and fizzed when it spoke, if it did at all.
This is a part of my Fourth Age Witches series; you can find them all here.
The rain was heavy with purpose, landing with resounding thuds all around them; Taks thought it might be trying to cleanse the ground of battle, to remove old sins from the soil and soak the earth with hope instead. Maybe it was sick of the old world’s scars and wanted to wipe the slate clean.
With what had happened here, that was a losing battle in itself.
“Taks, damnit!” Marta bellowed as the tarp Taks had been holding slipped and flapped in the wind. “Hold it steady! Hog’s teeth, I don’t want to spend all night at it!”
Continue reading “Old Wounds, Fresh Faces”