The Kennel_One Afternoon Calm in 2067_Original Sin_Purgatory on the Pacific
Catalog Guide:
The Kennel
My hands shook as I moved the mouse to hover over the window open before me. Before I lost my nerve, I took a deep breath and clicked “ACCEPT”, letting out a sigh of relief when it went through. I folded my hands together and rested my chin, watching the screen. I wasn’t sure what I expected to show up next. The part of me that couldn’t believe it figured that I’d be staring at a screen mocking me for thinking such a chance even existed in the world. I stared, though my eyes protested. It was midnight, I’d spent hours studying, and they hurt from all the work I’d done. When I had submitted an...
One Afternoon Calm in 2067
“No. I can’t talk about it.”“Sure, you don’t have to… but seeing that you’re the only one, out of a few lucky survivors in your country, able to speak in English, we simply cannot waste time any longer. I know how time has suddenly become precious to everyone.”Indeed, there is no point for Willy Eugenio to even think about what had happened during the past seventy years. He does not even know when he is turning 98, for it has been a while since calendars were manufactured and delivered into the small town of Pelaez. In fact, nothing has been manufactured and delivered, for there were no more m...
Original Sin
11、07、2489science-vessel/Danaos[Day 378 of the Chrysalis terra-formation endeavor, pre-oxygenation phase]We're statues sculpted by apprehension and hope while we sit in the command center and wait. The planter-drones sent to the surface should be reporting in any minute now.Some of us stare down our terminals as if to bore holes in them. Other eyes fixate on the front wall-monitor where the planet's amber curvature hazily looms against the backdrop of space. The swww.onedoor.ccilence is well nigh sepulchral, making even the susurration of filtered air and the bassline thrumming of the ship’s systems deafen...
Purgatory on the Pacific
“Timmy, put your mask on right this instant!” She held a book at her side, a plasti-wrapped novel she had bought in the gift shop earlier that day. It was hard to read with the soft rocking of the waves, anyway. “But I don't friggin’ wanna…” whined the nine-year-old. “Don’t you use those damn words in front of your mother, boy!” cautioned a man developing a beer-gut, features shrouded and voice slightly muffled by the air-tight enviro-mask he wore. “And I won’t have you endangering our family, eh?” Timmy grumbled a few indistinguishable words then consented, grabbing a mess of dextile plasti...