During the initial descent towards the reef, my guide from Dive Sirena™ -- who has asked me to call her Fabiana -- is slightly impatient, only a twitch at the tip of her fin giving away her mood. She wants to get to the good stuff, the bright coral reef that lies beneath the crystal clarity of the Caribbean.
A full trashcan sat in the dark just outside my alternate-dimension self's office. Housekeeping came by every morning, so obviously this lucky “me” was still employed here, working during the daylight hours. I was the unlucky me who was stuck prowling dark hallways at 2 am on a Tuesday...
Louis walks the barren city street, a near-freezing wind blowing. He looks up at the sky, so late afternoon blue he has to squint, and even then the beauty hurts. He glances sideways and checks the number above the door of an abandoned store. Six-six-nine. Four more blocks to go.
I climb toward the asymptote at the top of the universe, leaving dead centuries in my wake, gaining mass. Clovis says this is like growing in spirit as one approaches God. He says I will experience God soon, but right now I feel alone and terrified...
It was Nic’s idea for the three of them to go down to the dims after class. They were in the corridor of the upper level, sharing the last of a stand-up lunch before their engineering class, and the lights had just pulsed for noon...
Day 1: I tell her about my ship, about what it feels like to cut through spacetime with a bridge drive instead of taking a public transfer station. It's a good play, works great on pretty women in expensive, fashionable clothes that lead expensive, fashionable lives they wish they could escape for the night. She averts her eyes. “Does your ship have TruAI?” she asks.
Jake’s stomachs growled. The big boss had sent him into town to meet with the company’s newest computer geek. The noob had selected a Marriott near the spaceport. Jake hated Marriotts, always full of squirrels.
The alley, you would have sworn, is empty. Blank concrete walls and a narrow, colorless door, likely out of use for years. You’re turning your head to say it’s a bust when the light blazes into existence, catching the corner of your eye, flooding the door and the whole lane with blood-red light: a bent-neon sign and the words THE OZ CASINO.
I write this in bright sunshine, teasing words from air that is rich with glimmering motes. My hands trace calligraphic arcs against the cloudless sky, circling primrose, aconite, forget-me-nots.
It was close to three a.m. when a woman came into the Borderlands diner. I slipped the book I was reading under the counter and said, “Morning.”