Certain things are instantaneous. A breath. A heartbeat. A blink of an eye. They happen naturally and without thought. Such things around us, outside our jurisdiction, follow the same pattern.
“We’re going down, we’re going down!”
Asra’s side shudders as the kaiju’s tail collides with the left-side reactor. The cockpit jerks to the right and he feels like a ragdoll suspended by oxygen tubes and neuron cables. His temple hits his helmet and he has to take a second to blink away the blood dripping down his face. Asra’s stomach is twisting in on itself in lieu of what’s going on, but his mind remains focused elsewhere, far away from being the left side of the brain to the right mere meters away from him.
“I— shit! Help me get the right
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Unknown. Nameless. It’s attached with everything broken.
When Asra woke up, things were different and he couldn’t see out of his right eye. The world had grown quiet, once more in order, but he couldn’t seem to think clearly. He gingerly touched the bandage covering his face — it was warm, fresh and already stained, and smelled of potent medicine.
“I’m…” he started slowly, voice low and hoarse and speaking to no one. He kept his open eye trained on his left hand, trying to piece together the events before he blacked out. He couldn’t seem to do it, all his memories found was a garden and a face he did not recognize.
His head jerked up at the sound of footsteps and Asra found his heart stuttering into a rhythm of panic and fear. Flashes of teeth, claws, water, and blood rippled across his view, calmed only when he found Commander Vesuvia approaching his bed.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said calmly, a kind smile on her lips. She took a seat nearby and watched Asra watch her for a moment before continuing. “The Coyote finished it off, by the way. Faust had done most of the damage, but… somehow you got two lucky strikes that put the entire thing out of commission for the next year and a half.”
Asra stared a moment longer before confessing, “I… I chased the…”
“Yes.” She took a long, deep breath. “And… you’re going out of commission too. At least for the next six months. Your surgery is happening tomorrow. Julian’s happened today.”
Asra sat up straighter,
Asami groaned in the darkness, the grogginess of her nap hanging over her like a storm-cloud. She stretched, splaying out across her bed, not quite sure which way the bedhead was facing, or whether or not she was still on her bed or simply curled up in her sheets lying on the floor. The alarm on her phone screamed through the room.
“Hey! Are you ready to go get your treatment?” Eve said with a mix of excitement and fear.
Gerard rolled over and sat up as he heard Mikey open cabinets and drawers downstairs. His head still felt heavy and fuzzy with disorientation, like it had been yesterday, feeling like someone had filled his head with molten metal and it had slowly hardened overnight. He placed his feet on the carpet and willed his legs to allow him to stand up on the cold, hard wood. He didn't feel particularly sick, more depersonalized, like a part of him was still laying in bed
Whatever obscure scene he had found himself in, it had passed. He closed his eyes and let out a small sob of relief, but refused to lower his guard all the same. The darkness had still yet to lift from his vision; because his eyes remained painfully scrunched shut. Whether it was a refusal on his part or simply his that his body coping with the trauma, he simply could not bring himself to see a thing.
Three hours later, the door to the S-Com-Sys opened, Margret and Sam walked out into the hall. “You have done very well. I am very confident that you will perform your assignment without any problems.” She explained.
When he awoke his cheek was ticklish and cold and it felt as though the front of his face had taken on a new feature. At first he hadn't been too sure what it was, a few seconds of merciful amnesia, the way you'd awake in the morning only to remember some great tragedy or incident that had occurred not twenty-four hours ago.
“Yeah, guess we should headon home, it’s been a long day, I never knew why I actually ran away, I just saw the road and I took off right then and there.” Diedrich said calmly.
“I’ll have 6 eggs, a big glass of orange juice, a banana, and some oatmeal please” said DeSean “ You’re one crazy kid” said the female bartender at IHop. “Yes ma’am, I might be crazy ,but ready for football this morning” DeSean responded swiftly. The bartender responded almost immediately saying “Damn right, hope you do well this morning, I’ll have that food out real quick honey”. DeSean waited for less than 5 minutes before chowing down on over 1000 calories. He exchanged some words with the bartender and he was off to football.
I grab it and stand, shaking the pins and needles out of my feet. “Where am I now?” I ask. The world I’m standing in is peacefully gray and empty, excepting us and the red brick pavement. In all the times I’ve seen Death, he’s always brought me here, this misty place that smells faintly of ammonia.
My artistic goal is to give one hundred percent to whatever visual I feel is communicating something words wouldn’t have said any better. Aiming to increase the dynamic between audience and creator, by objectifying emotions and investigating the duality that develops through different interpretations. My skillset allows me to work in a variety of mediums, yet my favorite is pastel because it’s so swift and feels like an extension of my fingers, not to mention the vibrant colors translated through a tiny bit of chalk. My work has been influenced by loss of security, the black experience, my southern identity, and personal epiphanies. With Plato’s allegory of the cave in mind, my works can be seen as self-portraits; sometimes they appear idiosyncratic
He took in a deep, trembling breath while tears ran down his face. He could feel the wound on his side bleed out as he shifted on the couch. He sucked in his lips and wiped his eyes while the dial tone rang, waiting for Foggy to answer the phone.
My autobiographical essay resembled the training needed before an enduring run. Just like a runner’s endurance needs improvement after a prolonged time of not running, my writing needed some work after not having written for a long period of time.
Over the past few years I have envisioned myself becoming an engineer. I will connect my passion for education and desire for math and science into one. One day I hope to start up my own school system that is dedicated to help urban city youth learn foreign languages, express themselves through fine arts, while exposing them to the STEM field. It is not common for women to go into the field of engineering. Only 14% of people in engineering are female. My family and friends began to question me on whether this something I really wanted to do, because women in the field engineering is rare, but I tells them thus is just a game of gender and power.
Driving back to my Grandma's had become the norm due to the lack of wi-fi at my house and minor, yet constant disagreements between my stepfather and I. Owning a gray Jetta that sparkled once it hit sunlight, had an aux cord to play music that changed as much as my mood, and worked perfectly fine filled me with gratitude every time I started up its engine. On May 11 my dismal playlist blared from the partially rolled down windows in the car as a few humble tears rolled down my cheeks. This day pressed hard on my chest knowing my biological father should have turned another year older, not stuck at a young 32. Life happens and you have to keep going; however, I could have never predicted singing "If I die young" by The Band Perry and having
The smattering of rain on the roof overhead calms me, beating out an irregular rhythm like an anxious child unconsciously tapping his foot. The dim glow of my phone screen washes over me as I wait for the light to return, cut off by the flash flood inducing rain. I look around, and sigh; yet again, the lights on the ceiling are blank, leaving me with nothing to shield myself from the impending darkness.