Veridis Quo

Chapter 9 - It's a Long Road

A star. The winking of a fading sun. An end to what could only be. It was a sad fate, one that had to march to the final stretch. However, it wasn't alone. Surrounded by family on all sides, it was the epitome of comfort in the face of a brutal life. Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Flash. The stars had deceived themselves, they weren't celestial or sacred. They were of plebian iron, artificially constructed to illuminate the dark tunnel. But even that couldn't be given to them, for what is a track of light if it blinks every other time? Flash and a snap.

There were many like that. Flash. Snap. Casting a bright white before catching it, throwing a ball against the wall. It did happen, but it hit the stage.

Bouncing against the concrete, the broken pipe continued so until it rolled to rest, a boot nearly tripping over it. There were many of them, stomping against the cobbled street. A plaza, going as far as the human eye could see.

Dark, faceless figures populated the area, species unknown. They held things, good and bad. A camera, a torch, a lollipop, a gun. Ecstatic, furious. The crowd was ungeneralizable, every individual so unique with their own story. One that didn't exist.

And who could forget the main attraction? On the stage stood a speaker, no different from the crowd beside their attire; a black suit and a blue tie. Crumpled, rusted, patched; it was anything but proper. And despite the lack of a personality, they were different.

As another object was thrown into the dump, the speaker tried to calm the blooming riot. They gave the crowd empty promises, sweet nothings, china dolls holding rubber bolts. The speaker allowed them to ask away, any query would skip over the board. Anything to hose down the cigarette. But in Australia? During drought? If you're not quick enough, you end up in the pristine shoes of the speaker.

It had passed the point of no return some ago. Another object was launched at the speaker, it hit the mark. Right to the head, knocking them down and away. Shouts, screams, rage, so exhilarating. The stage was clear. No police or army was in their way, they had defeated them before the big boss.

With nothing else to stop them, the crowd rushed onto the stage, trampling the bygone representative. The distance from the lectern to the curtains stretched onto infinity, narrowing down to a pinpoint as a pacemaker for a dead star.

It wasn't an issue to the veterans. The autocannon was the worst, after all. No less was the minefield on Dormandy after the timeline was nearly torn apart by the liberated retards. Though, one could argue the unreal elements had foul play in the internal politics of the straight navy, the evil twin of the regular one.

Regardless of past events, the crowd went to infinity and beyond! A spasmic journey which lasted about as long as I could edge for, two minutes flat, one if it was November and the command center was bricked on homegrown zaza.

Once they conquered the current stage, the curtains were pushed out of the way, to the sides, revealing a massive bunker door in the ribcage of a mountain. It was as tall as the summer fog, and being one letter away from the word frog made all aforementioned specimens throw it back, boogie-style. Pepe would be proud, or post something shitty, no one really knew him well.

The iron wall was smooth and featureless, a testament to human ingenuity. It lasted as long as the start, guarding the sole inhabitant with body, mind, and soul. It could not be blown open with an asteroid, said object gloomy changed its course back to the abyss. It could not be pried open, the crowbar flew away to sulk while consuming ice cream, the food of the maker. It could not be cheated, the deck of cards threw itself onto the table in blind rage and tore each other apart. And once they did, the table drove away to the nearest tablewash where the man who cannot be seen accepted certain favors as currency.