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63 lines
1.6 KiB
Text
63 lines
1.6 KiB
Text
.LP
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.ce
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.ps 16
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.CW
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FAST
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.R
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.ps 8
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.CW
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tags: 4086, albert_lunsford, piro, shit_mold
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.R
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.PP
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.ps 10
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There are folded bits of me coming off. The heated stress in the
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room has peeled back the edges of my face and I think that the human
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glue underneath is melting away...
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.PP
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.ps 10
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In four minutes I will leave for the day, cutting through the steam
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to the outer door of my compartment. In four minutes, I will sleep.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Well, no.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The stacks of leaves are cleared. I've fought off the last bits of
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synthetic sick from the foodstuffs in the office pantry. But the
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vending machines haven't been refilled in almost a month, and the food
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ports back up when there isn't anyone around to place orders. I'm in
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the same boat in my quarters\(emI try to stay on the button and make
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due with what I can coax from the machines (I'm always working), but
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it's hard to keep myself awake when I'm always so hungry.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The last of the leaves put away, I can now turn down my screens and
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cover my seat for the morning decontamination cycle. It seems I've
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missed one; a straggler. The little leaf confronts me, cross to have
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been overlooked. I find it hunkered down, nearly collapsed into a pile
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of itself, casting an agitated shadow on the carpet. Its facing edge
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wavers in and out of focus in the reduced lighting. I regard it
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blankly and then crush it with my heel.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Next: The King's quarters, which must also be purged of filth.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I pull up an icon of Albert Lunsford and meditate on the seventh
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book of volume four.
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.I
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Walking On The Moon.
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.R
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.PP
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.ps 10
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It is
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.I
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Ramadan,
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.R
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and everyone is gone.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The station turns.
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