Mr E

Mr E

by Lucus Anthony Ren

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Everyone wanted to be VISUALS. They wanted that eternity it promised, those wonderfully blended compounds of humanity and technology, which certainly aliens must be constructed of. How else would they too have evolved, if not for the melding of the two for which The Company itself proclaimed there could be no other possibilities than that of an organic and non-organic marriage, and so too must humanity join with its New Human program. Join the universe, join and live beyond.

They’d pay to have any part in this because they were told we live on a trivial planet of a monotonous lost star. That we are indeed in a galaxy stuffed in some ridiculously far off corner of a universe forgotten in which there is a hell of allot more galaxies than people on Earth. And then told, ‘Make That Greater Good. Live Beyond.’ And they bought it.

I looked back and on the small bed table, I noticed something. Something that wasn’t there just a moment ago when I passed by as there is only a flash com link stands holding the instant communication device. And I froze. Even my breathing froze. I was certain my heart did too, froze solid in my chest as an icy chill reached in clutched my once healthy pounding heart, and slowly began squeezing all the life from it.

So. This is what a heart failure feels like I thought. I can’t breathe and my heart stopped. In the next second my knees started to bulge outwards unable to hold their weight. I felt an extreme lightheadedness rapidly thumping its way from the top of my head down the back, and stopped just below the ears where abruptly a high-pitched screeching sound came over me. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was my head causing this or was there some alarm sounding right next to my ear, but looking at the object which now appeared as a white book on the table seemed to push everything inside a tight bottle and I was stuck in there too.

It can’t be. Maybe I said this aloud I don’t know. Maybe I screamed it. For sure it was clear in my brain, this can’t BEEE!! Jesus for the love of God what the hell is that doing here? I must have started sweating, my forehead and face seemed cool as if that soft wind blowing through damp hung sheets drying in the desert sun and I stood just next to them feeling that cool breeze, as the wind would play with the sheet moving it every so slightly but enough so that the distance from my face grew then returned and in its growth I could feel both the heat pounding down and blinding light off the whiteness of those sheets, then cool again as the sheet gently kissed my face.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781387222735
Publication date: 09/10/2017
Format: NOOK Book
Sales rank: 575,156
File size: 527 KB

About the Author

Traveler, horses, dogs, residing outside norms. Married. Grow tomato plants, like Alan Watts recordings. Mutineer.

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