Her Best Frock

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
One picture is worth a thousand words.

Submitted: March 24, 2017

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Submitted: March 24, 2017



He ran towards the screen in her clothes.

The spray from fibulaters was soaking her now. Surround sound rolled the waves and the spray spilling behind him. The audience were screaming – yelling - “ Sit down you vulvic bastard!”

He’d vaped himself and slit out of the scene and the sense of the game, and in her best frock. She was left standing in the round world of something else. Something she recognised.

It was Great Zimbabwe. Somehow his DNA impregnating her, had locked them in the same vape. He’d left Orange deliberately, but now she was following like the trail of a meteor scenting the decay of lumpon reason, whitening as it burnt away in the sun of this world.

She was looking down on the great rotundee of the stone kraal of the old high king. They’d been here before and showed them how to work iron. He had promised worlds. Stolen fire. Mixed charcoal, sulphur and saltpetre in old china.  But now it was end game. End to his god games with these apes.

Then she saw him, He’d folded her dress neatly beside him and he was lying, breathing slowly, morphing back to his star form.

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