“Where we headed,” whispered Yul, having slipped into the only room of expulsion on the troop transport. Rog, in midstream and of brow furrowed in thoughts past, misfired his agent of masculine surrender. “Damn.”
“You know,” she rasped, her nails pristine blue, palms outward, hands rising flamingos, tracing his ribs as smoothly as moonlight over hill and dale, “I could make it worth your while.”
Rog reached behind his head as a diver might, delts as dunes of shadow and might, his bruised fingers spreading over her yearning head, his chest expanding rippled steel. “Steer the ship, if you think you can handle it.”
Eyes intent dove as bird of prey into refulgent cisterns sparkling grey. “Been too frailing long.” Yul looked out the small window, inspiration in three moons. “Take me, there.”
Like a weathered cowboy at the end of a long day, leathered chaps warm from hard use, hat cocked with a grin, muscles lathered in honest labor, asking twice not needed.
--
“Quite a sight isn’t it,” said Kyra, as the three moons came into view.
John smiled, his eyes unable to see beauty in anything.
“What does the slate say?”
“What?”
“The slate. What does it say,” she asked again.
“Oh. Taboodja.”
“What?”
“Taboodja. Here look.”
“Taboodja. What does it mean?”
“Don’t know.”
“Well?”
“Huh?”
“Power the slate.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Well?”
“Says we dock on Pad 9 and asked for Taboodja.”
Kyra looked sideways at John.
“What?”
7 comments:
Sometimes I make myself smile. And yes, I'm happy to see you. :-D
Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars
Taboodja, what a wonderful name. :-) Favourite image too!
Whatever happens and though time can seem to stop and everything appears changed, day follows day and life goes on and you've, just as Kyra here with her insistent 'well?'s, raised heads to the fact that life goes on regardless, and done so with a scene between Yul and Rog that confirms this in the most fundamental of ways. Very nicely written! Those sentences (smilies, metaphors) that seem thrown out haphazardly, part of the greatness of your writing, are most often the ones that bring pause and wonder at the beauty and simplicity of how easily you create a full picture. hands like rising flamingoes, traced his ribs as smoothly as moonlight over hill and dale is just one example of what makes these chapters such a great thrill and pleasure to read.
John, unable to escape his thoughts conveyed whilst conveying too what their next step is, very nicely done. :-) Excellent stepping stone of a chapter!!
Thank you half cup. Half full from my vantage point. :-D
Did you say warmed or warned? If you are looking for your socks, you won't find them on the floor. :-D
The entire crew is caught in the relentless flow of time. They have no planet, no home. So the flow carries them forward, constant stress, always a stranger, never knowing what will happen next, a future unsure and cloudy and so, yes, life goes on. Don't like this crisis, just wait, there will be another along soon enough. :-D
John will learn. ;-)
Half or full or three.. moon will be moon...
The fractal image reminds me of a very old feeling that still grips me sometimes...the jagged piercing from inside out..
Mona, that is a fascinating view of this image, one that had not occurred to me. I am always amazed at how you enrich my own experience of the story and the images with your wonderfully unique takes on what is happening. Thank you.
Post a Comment