Tuesday, April 6, 2010
This is a continuation of sorts of last week's 3WW post.
As he stared blankly at the wall of progress zipping by on the dirty freeway, a small metal box ambled into view. It rolled in front of his little hole, bumping against the broken speeder and stopping.
The box was black...and nothing else. There didn't appear to be a port, any method of movement even, although he knew it had thrusters on the bottom just as he knew what it was here for. In his haze and confusion, amidst the sound of the acid rain rolling off the shed, came sudden cognizance; no it was recognizance. He had seen this thing before. Without time for more thought, he ran.
Out into the burning rain, slipping in puddles of oil and filth, and dodging grounders on the freeway ahead. He dove into a hole on the other side, and pressed his body into a crevice of the building there.
Behind him, like a horrible, infernal rose, his shed exploded. White hot flame incinerating it where it stood, and sending warmth even to this side of the freeway. The grounders nearby were lifted into the air, and as they began to hit one another, the man ran again. The speeders above sailed on, not unaware, but unaffected.
"They've found me," he growled to himself. And he turned to the alley behind him and ran. No destination in mind, only anger, hate and fear.