Short story: The Night Sky
I feel like a spaceman at altitude; maybe - I've never been one so I don't know. Euphoric, elated, light as a feather and a tiny drop in an ocean of stars.
I think about clouds, scudding across the sky, orchestrated by some grand maestro, sliding close to the earth, for comfort.
There's a whopper of a noise from outside; it jolts me awake. The space, the cool dark night sky, the stars, the clouds breezing slowly across horizon.
I can't see.
A wailing sets up, an alarm cuts the dank air.
A guard shouts.
I think about lying back again, but I can't get back to the outside now I know where I am.
I pull out my nail and keep hewing at my name in the rock.
This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: hewing, orchestrated, spaceman, whopper, and altitude.
Image courtesy of PinPix.
