John took a leap and drew in a shallow breath. He fucking hated it here. Leap, breath, leap, leap, breath in an endless fucking cycle. He looked around. It was still gray. He fucking hated fucking gray. Everyone else had talked about how beautiful it was, how alien, how untouched, but all he saw was fucking gray sand fucking everywhere.
Back home, people always talked about such and such a place had been really great until the tourists showed up. What this place needed, John decided, was a few fucking tourists. A hotel, a gift show, a fucking bar for Christ's sake.
He stopped, looked up, and shuddered. "Fragile my ass," he muttered. In a picture, maybe. In a picture it MIGHT look fragile, but from up here it looked really fucking intimidating. It looked like you were about to die. Some days it was a monstrosity in the air that was going to fall and crush you, but the worst days were when you realized that YOU were the one in the air. That there was nothing between you and the ground but so many miles of emptiness.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment