A desert world strewn with petrified
corpses. Starry missiles plummet fiercely and fragment what remains of these remains.
Limbs detach and leap and twist and land and tumble and
settle back down on the perished surface. And this happens again. And
again. And again and again. Until the body bits are powder and the
powder is dust and the dust is a memory and the memory is forgotten.
Jaded by supremacy but fearing
obsolescence, soldiers across a galaxy
attend an interplanetary launcher. Nonchalantly loading ammunition.
Yawning. Closing a hatch. Pulling a crank. Another projectile soars
and, once again, a victory is won for a planet called Ridiculous that
floats mad and alone in the absurdest reaches of outer space.
And that is the end of my science fiction story.
