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The Sky

Gus Savoie's picture

Feral John regarded the flickering hologram with the raging distaste of a southern evangelical for his outed homosexual love slave.

"Whaddya showin' me this for?" His voice crackling through sheets of gelatinous mucous in the back of his throat. He had picked up a viral infection while off-world. "I know what I done. This ain't news." He shoved the holdisc aside. "Just gimme my smokes." His blunt and grubby hands snatched the pack from the scratched glass counter.

"I outta call the cops on you." Jeered the clerk's voice. Her avatar smiled placidly, lips closed over perfect, white teeth.

"Get bent, pixelface." Johnny pushed through the exit doors before the clerk could get a lock on him.

Back on the street, the sweat began to ooze out of his pores like he was experiencing a neurotic hallucination. Bugs crawling all over his skin. Itching, twitching. He was certain a rash was developing from this relentless heat.

Orbit certainly was different, he thought to himself, not like this filthy fucking oven of a planet. It's got everbody's brains cooked - and now they're acting like cage-crazy baboons. Orbit though, always the perfect temperature. Recycled air never seemed more fresh.

Cool.

"Feral John" caught my attention right off. That has to be one the best character name I've heard in a year.

Of course, now I want the rest of it. An opening like that needs to be finished, or it's like giving us all an addictive drug that you don't know how to manufacture in quantity.

Gus Savoie's picture

thanks :-)

That's very kind and encouraging of you to say. I would very much like to give you the rest of it and have been trying to do so but it's not happening. Maybe I'm trying too hard.

-G