snapshots

Looking out at the blasted wasteland over the horizon, Hierotia Pebermin leaned over the smooth metal railing running the length of the upper platform. Buttressing her stomach against the fence, her torso extended beyond hanging over the steep drop the the lower decks. A thousand meters away the hazy terminator stretched from one edge of the horizon to the other, splitting the planet into frozen night and scorching day.


Resting in the decayed housing, the transmogrified Cell lay dead. Dust from the crumbling world seeped in through the gashes in the temple built to a forgotten and unknowing god coalescing in stygian crevasses and dismal cracks. A faint air of caustic thickness punginated the room, filling the vast hall in suffocating stillness.
A figure stood before the Cell, the outline cut a sharp silhouette against the hazy green glow emanating from it's cold dead surface.


A musty dust smell wafted aimlessly about the room, swirling around the exposed attic beams and passing through old spiderwebs and tumbling across scattered objects tucked tightly into sagging cardboard boxes. Lying splayed out over the unmade bed, Hierotia stared out at the moon, tracing with her gaze the intricate fissures stretching out from the four massive gashes cracked deep into the lunar surface. She watched the raised plateau float in dusty debris a thousand miles off the surface of the moon; the crater glowed a dark red from the lava flows churning underneath the fractured moon.