Celestial Midnights: Part One

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The government is held responsible for turning off large power generators due to a lack of resources, there are riots occuring all over America, Mars will be among them accompanied by her new friend, Vincent.

Submitted: April 21, 2011

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Submitted: April 21, 2011

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Her lungs expand and relax like elastic rubber bands, quicker and quicker as the light fades from the city skyline, soon it will go dark and the moon’s white light will cast its ominous shadow. In the dull lit night her fingers coil around silver guns full and heavy with their golden capsules nestled safely in their magazines. The anticipation was drawing out quicker breaths and there was a faint sound of traveling leather boots.
“I hear you,” she replies, placing the guns in her pockets.
s s s s
The apartment building towered over the guns and fire, over all the rioters; she hungered for the warmth of the light no longer in arms reach. Here, on the top of the apartment building was where comfort and sleep lay across cement landscapes, where the worry of survival subsided, where she was free to reminisce. Reminisce of a day where machines worked fluently with their levers and buttons untouched and bellies full of warm energy.
“It’s been a week, though,” she reminded herself, “there’s no power outage…”
In a corner, she reserved a spot to sleep and nibble carefully at her granola bar. From bellow, the rioters carried on in waves of orange and black, while she tucked herself comfortably away in large purple sleeping bags that nearly gobbled her up.
With the rising of the morning sun, she prepared her various backpacks and guns, watching the drowsy rioters closely from above. Taking advantage of her time, she exited the apartment building, wobbling her way through the slumbering bodies. She awaited their response as she shoved them away beneath her feet, there, however, was no response. Their chests still rose and fell in synchronized patterns, so she let them be, let them rest on the asphalt grounds of Rockefeller Plaza.
A painstakingly bright orange sun hangs tauntingly in the blue sky. Her feet are not accustomed with the feeling of the asphalt, even after hours of walking. In her peripherals, she can see, him, a man, following closely behind chewing on raw spaghetti sticks.
“Who are you?” She asked, not turning to meet his face.
He grimaced in response to the bland taste of the spaghetti, and then managed a hoarse reply, “Vincent.”
She stopped, turned on her heels and handed Vincent her last granola bar, “Here,” she began, “it should last a day and a half, if you’re careful.”
Vincent stared at the packaged bar, stammering a “thank you” and wondering curiously how you opened it. Failing to make any accomplishments in opening the package, he finally met her green eyed gaze which appeared content, her words, however, said otherwise, “Look, I don’t have the time or materials to aid someone like you, let alone myself with what’s happened.”
“Excuse me? I can take care of myself, thank you very much. It’s you who needs my aid.”
She shrugged her shoulder indifferently and strode off towards a used car lot. Vincent followed closely behind curiously watching the glass fall in a rain of diamond shards, and her bloody fists struggle with bright colored wires. “You’ll hurt yourself,” he reassured, pushing her aside. “Tell me who you are, where you’re going and why, and I’ll teach you how to hot wire a car.”
She sighed, wiping her bloody fingers on her pants and answered, “My name is Marceline or Mars, which ever you prefer. I’m a twenty year old college student on my way to Washington D.C. to meet with the rioters.”
He turned, watching her face; his eyes drifting to her guns snuggled into her pockets.


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