#shortfiction

jakob@pod.orkz.net

(Another random text I wrote - not sure how to tag them... at least this one has an image to go with it)

The Hypnonaut

The cockpit reeked of spilled beer and sweat. He laboriously climbed into the seat and put on his helmet. It was dark outside... and cold. His hands shook, black dust falling from them like the stars from the green sky. He had the fumes of his body and the dirty machine hanging in his nose, a stabbing pain in his gut, an emptiness, cold and painful in his breast. It was not a picnic this job, not a fruit cake, not a biscuit of rose mead, not a sweet frog. He turned on the broiler and the stew. Checked the altitude and carborundum. The instrument boards were old and covered in porridge. He hated his job.

The lights were changing. Soon the machine would lift its skirts and rise into the reverse abyss. He felt his senses change, the taste of blood in his mouth became perfumed in a sort of bitter way. He felt the bodies of the other place press against his pelvis, For a second he hoped that it would become erotic, that the machine would navigate in the atypical way it sometimes did. But a short look at the sky told him otherwise. The patterns were there. they stood out in a darker, colder green - terrifying the shit out of him.

He could not remember if he had applied for this job or if he had been drafted. He pulled the lever and slowly turned the steering wheel while the machine roared. Down under the knickers he could hear that one of the hold ups had a strange, rattling sound, the whole hosiery was falling apart. He opened the little refrigerator and took out a cold Carlsberg Elephant beer. She would hold. He stroked the warm skin of the seat affectionately. "My love," he mumbled while she shook in orgasms slowly rising from the ground. "My love."

She was a Hogwhore 3000 hypnowessel and she had brought him safely back each and every time. Old - yes, but he was still here. Still able to crawl out from the cockpit every morning. The emptiness in his breast began to ache. Patterns in the sky churned and collided. This mission was going to be a nightmare.

#story #fiction #Shortfiction #text #freewrite #hypnonaut #dream #Eros #Death #nightmare #patterns #Katharsisdrill

uawatts@diasp.org

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