Capsule In The Water

The machine is slick and black with silver-tipped wings. Its controller alert, red-eyed and waiting. The glistening of the blue pulsating bubble resembles a sticky spider's web and the glow of the distant sun bounces and shimmers off into the night, fading away into the nothingness. The rest is a greyish-black. If you could imagine being buried in dirt so that just your face is covered by a thin layer of soil and you squint and gasp for a short moment and you try to sneak some light then that's what the cold and unpleasant darkness is like right in this moment.

All is still. A strange calm. Unknown noises ping every so often in the darkness. Beep, beep. Whirl. Some kind of space-insect croaking. Or is it?

A capsule in the sticky-blue. The black machine comes racing mercilessly like a hungry spider with claws poised and the pray struggles and in an instant a corpse floats in the soup of space as the noises stop for a brief moment and suddenly there is silence.

But not for long.

Bones and bits of flesh are scooped up into the belly of the machine and the machine sounds like an industrial food waste shredder and in the cargohold the dead skeleton crashes against the metal with sullen hollow sounds.

Then it is silent again. A black machine waits in the dark.




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