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A Pop Quiz entry that I failed to archive properly. A car decorated like a hippie jean jacket with all the buttons, pins, etc.
Jalopy
STORM CELL
Original Character by prswirve; Story by The Atomic Punk
The thirteenth day of the thirteenth month of the thirteenth year. The wind swirls aimlessly. The sky transforms without notice above untrained eyes. The pressure from the incoming front shifts events on the streets below. The blue ceiling is breaking apart to reveal a new night.
I feel the breeze. I breathe in the refreshed air. The change to come is within my reach. It is within my hands. These hands… these hands that act without feeling. That I control without sensation.
These hands which do not burn with righteous anger. These hands which leave me cold and unsatisfied. My hands, they took them. After all that I did to shelter them from the storm. That I sent our enemies tumbling from high altitude. That I pushed them from our clouds. My reward for standing in the hurricane’s path.
Whispers trend of the Lee that stands against the gale forces. There is no retreating from the Djinn. They have my hands. This I know. I have seen their trophy hall. They take pride in their precision and pleasure in others’ pain.
There, above the skyscrapers that mock the pedestrian. Wrapped in sweet ozone. Protected from the industrial vapors that choke the factory-city. Untouched by the acid rain. Past the gates and towers, inside the mausoleum, there await my precious hands.
They shall be mine. Made whole again, I shall be the tempest, the cleansing storm. My fingers will feel my enemies. The texture of skin, the crack of bone, and the warmth of blood as I choke them. As I inhale their dying breath.
