blood harvest
The flesh-god Yrrik has decreed that the blood harvest will take place on November 16 (four weeks ahead of schedule), to commemorate the decade anniversary of the slip-tear that brought us under their rule.
As this historic event draws near, we have no doubts that this will fundamentally alter our way of live just as the event did almost ten years ago.
The provisional governor of the North American Exclusion Zone has indicated her distrust of the blood harvest and doubts the legitimacy of the decree. Despite this administrative backlash, preparations continue on the Saphin-Altar in the Illinois dry basin; excavation of the sanguine ducts dredges tracks stretching into the slat flats of Nebraska and into the arid region of the Ohio valley. The remaining Settlers in the NAEZ seem to be blind followers of the flesh-god Yrrik, not caring for any imposed laws by the provisional government.
A Lockheed C-66 Aurochs thunders above, a stark grey against the flowing gradients of people and reds spinning in the dry air as the sun sinks below the western ridge.
The six counter rotating propellers break the sound barrier in a continuous whip crack, emanating in a cracking hum to the off-white painted houses strewn around a maze of cul-de-sac and streets below.
A window pane, dust piling up in the upper creases of the sill, a block of wood propping up the window to let a dry cool sweep into the room.
Click, whirr. The Stereo eats a cassette slowly, spinning to the start of the side. The thundering airplane move farther away, the choking hum quieting as the synth intro begins to blast out of the homebrew speakers haphazardly soldered together from old Air Force surplus scavenged from the ship breaking yard.
Tap, tap, tap. A foot knocks to the beat of the music filling the room, syncing the body to the vibrations stored in the magnetic tape.
Rubbing against unshaven stubble, the collar bobs with the rhythmic nodding of the head.
"Apollyona really hit their stride in 'Velocity" a voice echoed from the bed off the raised exposed rafter beams crisscrossing the steep roof.
"This part here used to give me chills."
A crescendo of melody melded with vocals built up steadily in discrete steps punctuated by each word leading to a climax of intensity. The music sloped back down to it's base value in a sharp exponential; the tingles inside him decaying likewise.
The blood harvest will no doubt change our way of life. Even now, multinational corporations like Alpha'Mega/Google and Bremis are buying back stocks to ride out the impending panic. The others on the tribunal of Six disagree with the flesh-god Yrrik, indicating that a more symbiotic approach to relations would benefit them more in the long term. The 144,000 by 144,000 that will be lost will no doubt be cataclysmic. The flesh-god Yrrik only knows the blood harvest and decrees from the mouthpiece indicate that this is all that matters. Humanity is but a stepping stone.
She turned her head to look at him splayed out across the bed, feet dangling off the edge, head proper against the window sill. The orange sky beyond the glass refracted long streaks of amber across the bed and floor, the suspended dust solidifying the light into a transient haze.
