Prompt: A story that starts with the sentence “There I sat, on a vintage sofa, in an antique house, with nothing better to do than wait for doom to arrive.” (Vici B)
There I sat, on a vintage sofa, in an antique house, with nothing better to do than wait for doom to arrive. The fire was freshly stoked, there was a piping hot cup of tea next to me on the table and a cat was purring on my lap. Life was good. Good in the way it hadn't felt in a while. Good in a way that ment all the drama had passed. Good in a way I never thought it would be again. I ran from the drama, I had no regrets. A world with so little love left wasn't worth my time.
The earth had stoped trembling, the peace was so shocking my head felt painfully empty. The dissaperance of the everlasting headache a shock...
A blood curdling scream shuddered through the inside of the airlock. Echoing off the glass walls of the chamber. Mango turned and stared at her friend’s face, cheeks yellow and eyes bloodshot. His iron bracelet was built up with dried puss, fresh blood forcing its way through.
The familiar smell of singed flesh infected the air, and he began to scream again, grabbling his wrist and trying to pry the wristband off.
Mango turned and again began to scrub the door, she glanced down at the spot below her where the glass symbol of her people used to reflect the stars. Now it was in shards floating through space somewhere.
‘What’re you looking at,’ her supervisor grabbed her by the back of the shirt and pulled her into the centre of the chamber. She had known turning around was a risk.
She stared at the man’s boots, clean, though a spot of her friend’s black blood shone on...
The begining of it all: a contreversal event. It can only have happened one way. Not everyone can be correct. But the begining is something no one knows.
The scientists sit behind their paper coated desks and insist it began with a bang. The matter of everything just coming out of a single point and swirling around, mixing together, to make what we have today. Chance.
The Religious people insist there is some greater being, someone that decided homosapiens were a great idea, someone who wanted to create something of their own to then watch it grow and prosper. They read scripts and decipher the meaning to work out exactly how we were made.
Then there is perhaps the most fascinating of the theorys. That we are a simulation. A growing belief as technology itsself grows, that we are all little specks and particles. That there is someone else out there controling our movements are we are simply under the impression that...