February | 2015 | In This Future Or The Next

Month – February 2015

On The Dark Moon

Humans have not always lived here, near the bright center of the milky way, where the light of our stars keep the darkness away, where the light reaches all the corners of our life.

Have you seen total darkness? No, you have only seen shadows. You cannot imagine it, you cannot perceive it, and we work hard to maintain it. There are stories from our distant past, from our long gone parents, of the things out there that lurk in the voids between the stars, in the places that light has never touched.


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The War Begins

I came here for the first time 55 years ago. They were extroardinary times. An Earth-like planet had beed discovered and my team and I were sent to explore it.

I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my days. Crossing the strange jungles, examining the new species, bathing in the rivers and the light of our new sun. It’s what I was born to do.

I hadn’t, until a few days ago, figured out why they had sent such a small team. It was me and my ten men crew exploring the vast valleys of the new world. I didn’t complain, it’s what Iiked, it’s why we signed up. Free to be the pioneers of humanity, free to climb the mountains and watch from their peaks the vast expanses of new lands before us.


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Baby Powder

You know what everyone has? Babies. Yeah, that’s something the rich can’t take from the rest. Everyone has the right to have a family, to have kids and raise them, to see them grow, to love…

I don’t know how it came to this, but I’m sure it had something to do with creating a second floor on this metropolis. Now we rot in the catacombs, now the rich bathe in the sun, now we crave the credits. The credits give us what they have, if only for a little while. A trip up the kilometer elevator, towards the green streets and blue skies, towards the feeling that things can be better.

It’s just that though, a feeling. It’s an illusion maintained to keep us where we are without raising a finger. They are exterminating us, taking our kids, taking our babies.

There’s a factory behind my home. Every day I hear them screaming. It’s not the babies, they’re too weak to scream. It’s the mothers. It’s the fathers. They scream because they thought they needed the creds, they scream because they know they don’t, they scream because they’ve given up that which matters most. Family. Survival. All for a glimpse of the people in the perfume advertisements, all for a touch of the lives of the people up the elevator.

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