The total darkness blinks in a shower of sparks from the failing electrical lines and boxes on top of suspicious wooden poles. Suspicious indeed, because one of them falls over and a battle begins.
She is as shaky as the caricature of the shanty town this takes place in, shaky as long-term decisions, and the metal sheets her back is pressed against. Sometimes things catch moonlight and fire, and they glint off the metal. That’s where she sees blood fountain out of throats, bulky human forms falling into dirty water and others stepping over them. (These things can’t last very long.)
Something explodes a couple feet beside her - a foot and eight inches, she roughly calculates, she flinches. One ear doesn’t seem to work anymore and a ringing headache settles into the action. She’s not going anywhere (but maybe she’s rethinking).
A funny turn of events mocks her situation and gives her a gun, somewhere in the shadows, and all she has to do is grab it and shoot some motherfuckers but is she going to do it or not?
She lunges forward, only to be knocked over.
This is surreal. About as real as the wings that sprout from her back. She’s on a cloud now. Quite literally, and she’s flying without a string on her back, the sky is a bit white, and this seems to be a place she knows.
Her fingers graze clouds. They snatch and place it in her mouth. Clouds do taste like candy floss. Or cotton candy? With a hint of polystyrene. Marshmallow cotton candy floss with a taste of polystyrene? She doesn’t really remember and she can’t really think right now, so. And she can’t hear in one ear. Right, the explosion.
Her hand finds the gun and by some accident, the masked shape on top of her has a hole through its neck. Good caliber gun, then.
Good sweets, too. Does rain taste like anything, maybe? Fog? Hail?
Searing brightness fills her eyelids for a second and blacks out, leaving blurry spots in her head. Someone else scrambles into her hidey-hole. The gun shoots itself.
Or was that the sound of a comet flashing by? Do comets make sounds? Space doesn’t have sound. She’s still in Earth’s atmosphere, isn’t she? But where is she?
She’s in the space shuttle. She’s feeling a bit light-hearted, literally, because the damn thing is crashing and she can’t fix anything that happens in her life, catching on fire like a fucking comet and she and everyone else is coming down with it. To be honest, what she regrets most right now is becoming an astronaut in the first place, not because the oxygen tank is out of reach and the air pressure is rising in the cabin, but because she never got to enjoy her self. Honestly, she just wanted to work with the media, was that too much to ask?
A gunshot rings out and she kind of suspects she, too, has just sustained a hole through her clavicles or bashed through her cheekbones and nose, where it would kill her soon as its fragments fell into her brain or whatever. She kind of forgot how these things work, forgot any meaning of the lectures whatsoever. Space dementia. Oh, but the bullet never hit face. Her hair turned blew off her head beside her. A bit of a misleading phrase right now, but she really doesn’t know what’s going on. She never really liked that part of her mother, being so misleading. Stars and planets could be misleading, too, but never like her mother.
She feels like she’s falling into the stars, but she knows she only has a minute or so of consciousness before she loses consciousness forever a couple minutes later. Forever and blackness beyond.
Why don’t you kill me now? You make me want to do. Why do I destroy myself for you?
That summer at the...
Things drag at the eyelids, oh how they want to pop. Right, air pressure, too. And she’ll die in three,
One more millisecond moment, and she stops existing forever. Nothing is afterward. She’s falling in a black hole, Sagittarius A or some other bloody bastard in the galaxies, or the hole that’s opened in her stomach, gaping bright red from arterial blood and melting into the fire of the berserk shuttle.
And nothing. This shouldn’t carry on so long. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Nothing shouldn’t be here. Or rather, nothing should be here. Why is it here?
Why are there words against white, a strange consciousness in the unconsciousness (like lost radio transmissions)?
There is no afterlife
You die in black holes
Then what is this?
… ? space dementia … ? stars in her eyes, she has stars in her eyes and her fourth grade teacher scolded her for lack of punctuation, capitalization... She was certain she left the food on the table, certain. Why did no one else believe her? Certainly.