It all went jiggly

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Aearnur, Dec 21, 2009.

  1. Aearnur

    Aearnur New Member

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    It all went jiggly.

    Yes, it certainly did this time.

    Robertson’s guts were streaming out of him like he had his very own personal ticker-tape parade going on.

    I sort of laughed, but it was more of a ballooning up of my cheeks, with the speckled spray of my last, long gone meal, dancing all around.

    It was quite a show for a few para-secs.

    I think we all must have admired the rainbow sheen that came off his glistening lower intestine as the starlight struck it.

    Yes, quite a show.

    Things re-stabalised at semi-normal sharply as ever, leaving Robertson with a slightly goofier expression on his face than normal. I have to ask myself about the use of that word these days though, I surely do…

    These things happened. You just lived with it. And I don’t mean that in a sort of shrugged-shoulder kinda way. We had no choice.

    We’d been on an everyday mission, a normal clean-up, nothing fancy. Go in, clear whatever goons, infections or harm-candidates we could find, prepare the ground and depart. Straightforward pre-colony ErDep duty. Nothing to it. The same old. The job, normality, know what I mean?

    But I tell you we’re deep in the para-normal now.

    Ever see that old tri-vid Groundhog Day? Well, nothing is EVER the same for us from day to day! Only we don’t have days. Now’s what we have here and all we’ll ever have till someone gets us the **** out of this!

    Thank the saints we don’t suffer through tiredness or depression or any of that other shit. That would be unbearable. We’d be madder than loons within secs. No, we aren’t in the jiggly long enough for that.

    No, we’re always just right here, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, privates on parade.

    The old wallscreen vid Clockwork Orange comes to mind, remember that classic from the good ‘ole days? Alex, eyes held wide open to catch every nuance of horrorshow onscreen. That’s us. Only nix the screen.

    Stuff happens. We’re here like we were that first sec. (I wonder just how long ago that was now, decades, millennia? I have no way of knowing.)

    I see them across the bridge, all at their positions just like they were when normality ended, gazing at the starfields through forward shield. (You know, even when the job had become as routine as dog shit that never paled, you never quite lost that awe.)

    I see them, well, I say I see them. I see them to one degree or another most of the time. Sometimes there’s a mist, often debris and so much weirdness I couldn't even begin to tell. And of course there were Robertson’s guts. I’d laugh at the thought that the inside has got almost as interesting as outside, but it’s too sad a thing underneath to raise a smile at, you know what I mean?

    We’re never coming home folks.

    And I don’t even know who you are. Are you someone I once knew? I feel stupid, I don’t even think to use Mom or Steve to talk to now. I’m speaking to a stranger. I feel awfully sad thinking how stupid I am doing that.

    It’s okay, I’ll feel nothing in a sec or two.

    And really, I don’t have a goddamn clue why I’m even thinking these…