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Dust Laden

Spittle and streams of liquid seemed to pour from his mouth on the dust laden column. He was sick and wondering if he would survive. The balance of epidemic and existence had finally caught up with him. He coughed and read the inscription, it said "Closer to the wind the craft is driven by the hands of Neptune!" He sighed and wiped his nose. He guessed that there were only a few hundred thousand left alive, maybe less. The paragraph under the inscription read, " The neptune android will return in glory and knowledge..." It had returned with a retro virus and death. His eyes blurred for a moment and he saw something ancient and unbidden, something that hated man and his invention. He prayed and an empty hunger filled his stomach. What was the point in going on. For a second the air cleared and all was normal again, the clock on the crumbling wall had moved backwards and his watch had stopped at 10:15 P.M., what had happened? He stood and looked to the west, distant from his eyes lay fields of wheat. He was no longer ill and the path lay forward to the saffron endurance of a promise and horizons bidden by forever.

Story by:

Ron Koppelberger

submitted at 5:51am

27 April 2012

Ron Koppelberger's web:

Ethrealsouls.blogspot.com