IFFY FICTION

I’ve always liked birds.

I used to read about them in books, watched videos online. I’ve seen holos of them flitting about and soaring high on thermals.

They just seemed so improbable.

But there are the books, the holos. The bones in illuminated glass cases, centuries old.

When I was young, I wished I’d been born sooner. Back in the age of improbable things. Maybe I could’ve seen a bird. Been a bird. I’d look out the window at the empty sky and yearn.

Those vaporous childhood dreams condensed into practicality as I grew, and I did the next best thing to traveling back in time.

I joined T.I.E.M. and learned to fly.

Now I look up at the orange sky, part dawn, part flame. The only thing that flies on Eigen are the quasark missiles cauterizing the air. One streaks silently overhead. The report of shattering stone announces its landing.

I don’t flinch anymore.

Instead, I sink further into the tunnel bored into the flaking rust-colored rock. A dozen other burrows perforate the mountainside, filled with my unit. Breathing or not, I can’t tell.

Like worms, I think. They say that worms are what birds ate. Disgusting if you ask me. Reminds me of that old cliché, “the early bird catches the worm.” Huh… I just got that.

I turn to tell Ravis, and stop short, remembering the shrapnel, the shattered visor. And what the Eigen air does to human skin.

What was I thinking about? Worms, that’s right. It’s unrealistic. Something that touches the sky at will digging into the dirt for their meals.

Yet, the worms persist. And the birds are gone.

These are my thoughts, what I cling to as a massive shard of the dome glass breaks off of the ruined frame. It pulverizes against the rocky ground beneath. Sparkling grains of sand tinkle against my helmet like a chime of tiny bones.

The Hab’s remains are nothing but a charred skeleton.

I clutch my entropic rifle to my chest, flicking the charge out of habit, knowing nothing will happen. She’s like an old friend. At least we’ll go together.

I’d wanted to be a bird. Now I’m a worm. I laugh without humor.

Back home, the birds are all gone. But here, something worse is coming.