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PRISON PLANET

A SCIENCE FICTION
SHORT STORY

February 9, 2007 CE

Uvalde, Texas

United States of America

clipart from Microsoft

Prison Planet

"Wait! I recognize some of those faces." My voice seems so soothing, almost unreal. In and amongst the surrounding gloom shades of familiar forms flickered and floated about. The ghost of the 20th century can be seen peering over the shoulders of humanity, a short distance from the edge, gazing into the inevitable, constantly rising vortex tide below. As links to the past try to hold safety nets fast, the unforgiving machine pounds and the cliff swiftly erodes. Tears of soft smoke can be seen through the cleansing oil rain, floating in fading spirals as the apparition wonders what would have been. The ghost to come joins the crowd, full of rue as it helplessly watches over its man-made flood, spitting absent warnings in the air, which is becoming blood thick with souls. And the weather rages on unaware, starting the end because it must act now the burden of time. And so it is, ever was, and ever shall be unless we catch the future's foreshadow buzz, which would be beyond divine.

A deafening scream rips me awake, and I find myself sweating on the bare floor, cold and alone. It must have been my own. It seems that dreams are my only connection to reality. I roll over, and then, I see him for the first time.
"Hey! . . . When did you get here?" I asked, wiping the chunks of crust out of the corners of my tired eyes. "What's your name?"
"Sumeda."
"What kind of a name is that anyway?"
"My father gave it to me."
"I am Laeila."
Nothing but silence now, hours and days and years pass. Everything has changed, but nothing is different. The date doesn't even matter any more. I just wish that something might matter again to me. At the brink of madness again, and I hear that old familiar sigh, like warm bread.
"It's been a while, stranger," I said, with the first smirk I have had in what seems forever. Despite my efforts, my voice still sounds like a raspy whisper.
"And it won't be much longer. Trust me." Sumeda replied with the same comfort and strength that always accompanied his words.
"What are the chances of this? Put together twice, I think they're slipping if you ask me. What ended up happening to you . . . after all? I suspected the worst."
"Listen carefully, Laeila. And promise to never speak of what I am about to tell you, unless you miraculously find yourself in some other place someday. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure. What is it?"
"You always

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