This is me.
This is what I wrote:
Somewhere in the vast expanse of spacetime . . .
A dark tunnel stretches out—dissolving into darkness.
In this tunnel sits a young woman, alone. She is a small person with big glasses, but a little nose. Her jet-black hair swings about her cheeks.
She wears a slim space suit. On her back is a backpack, and covering her head is a glass bubble helmet.
Strapped to her chest is a short, thick rifle.
She begins to crawl down the tunnel. Tiny lights above light up in front and shut off behind.
She crawls for a long time.
Eventually, the tunnel ends. Beyond it is emptiness. The vacuum of space.
A blue-green planet can be seen far away.
She takes a few breaths, fogging her helmet for a moment.
Then, she falls into the vacuum of space.
Stars on all sides and the planet in front.
Only the sound of breathing.
She falls toward the planet.
Minutes pass. The planet looms.
The shape of mountain ranges, glaciers, and rivers.
She is headed for a patchwork of green and tan next to a mountain range.
A rush of air. She is entering the atmosphere. Her backpack hums and pulls on her.
She reaches terminal velocity in the atmosphere.
The ground is approaching fast.
She can see the outline of houses, fences, and trees.
Her parachute deploys. With a jerk and a thud, the canopy opens.
She reaches up and unlatches her helmet, pulling it off and letting it drop.
She hangs in the quiet air.
No time to look around; the ground is almost here. She pulls on the chute strings and prepares for impact.
She tucks and rolls into a field.
Quickly to her knees, she grabs the chute and pulls it to herself.
She unzips the suit—crawling out of it and leaving it on the ground.
Now, she wears a strip of cloth wrapped around her body many times. It changes colors from red to tan to black to leafy green, back to red. She looks like a camouflaged mummy.
She reaches for her backpack on the ground and removes a small bag with a strap.
Written on the side of the bag is: "wound trauma kit."
She slings this across her shoulders, then picks up her rifle.
Finally, she stands up and looks around for the first time.
The sun sits on the horizon. The bottom of its circle kisses the edge of the world. Is it rising, or is it setting?
All around is alien farmland. Square patches of grain fields alternate with patches of dark jungle.
Above each forest canopy, a few giant trees flower like broccoli.
Groups of grey and deep-blooded red birds, like turkeys, roam about. They wander on the edges of the fields, pecking the grain.
She strides through the field, then climbs over a stone fence into a grassy yard.
A giant dome covered in grass bulges out of the middle of the yard.
It is an ancient tumulus.
It stands there, waiting.
Wedged into the side is a sliding door—closed.
Written on the door:
"WARNING: TIME MOVES INDEPENDENTLY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS DOOR."
The door has not been touched for a long time, and the whole area is overgrown with grass.
She stands in front of the door.
The sun still rests on the horizon. Waiting.
Finally, she pushes her glasses back up her nose, centers her shoulders, steps to the door handle, and pulls.
As the door begins to slide away, she steps back and points her rifle through the opening door.
The door opens, and light bursts out.
Just inside, lies a man in a pool of red blood. He must have died an instant before. His rifle cast to the side. He wears a camo mummy suit, just like hers.
With three great strides, she leaps inside the room.
She drops her rifle and collapses next to the dead man.
Then, she cries great sobs. Gasping for breath.
Her wound trauma kit slides off her shoulder. It's useless now.
She sits next to the body for a long time, legs curled to the side, as time rips her away from someone she loved.
The evening light fades to night, and the moonlight shines through the door.
Eventually, the present world collects back around her. Her tears end, and she wipes her cheeks dry.
She reaches out with a hand and closes the man's eyes with two fingers. His face is content and peaceful—as if he knows of some wonderful conclusion to a story.
She stands up and faces the door she had come through—hesitating.
The moonlight from the world outside highlights her face.
She is lost and has no place to go. At this moment, she feels her story is over.
But she is still alive.
She steps forward and closes the door.
Written on this side of the door:
"WARNING: TIME MOVES INDEPENDENTLY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS DOOR."
She grasps the dead man's arms and pulls him to the center of the tumulus.
Then, she picks up both rifles, slinging one over her back and holding the other.
She takes a deep breath and stands straight, centering her shoulders to the door.
She grasps the door handle and pulls it again.
Stepping back, she swings one rifle up and points it at the opening door.
The door slides open.
An orange glow flickers from outside.
Black smoke billows inside for a moment. Then, a giant head and powerful body staggers in and stands up.
He is seven feet tall. Smoke swirls around him.
The giant looks at her with a blackened face.
She does not hesitate. She fires.
The rifle shudders, and the giant hurtles backward, flattening against the doorframe, then slides to the ground—very dead.
The rifle whines, recharging.
But.
Stooping down to get through the door, another figure enters.
It stands erect.
A giant, bigger than the last. Nine feet tall. He wears leather armor with the image of a wild boar on the breastplate.
His left hand is a fist of fire.
In his right, a long, thin knife.
He stands in front of the door, dwarfing it.
But her rifle is still charging.
She drops it and starts to swing the other rifle around by the sling.
Too late.
A giant hand pushes her off balance, and she hits the ground.
Then the giant foot flattens on her rifle, pinning her left arm under it.
She cries out in pain.
The giant voice: "You're a fast little one."
But she is not out of the fight.
She reaches into a fold of her mummy cloth, pulls out a push dagger, and buries it into the nearest bit of giant.
The weight on the rifle shifts. She pulls her arm out and dives for the first rifle, fully charged.
Her finger closes around the trigger as the barrel swivels to her target.
The knife swings through the air.
The rifle shudders in response.
But she does not wait to see the effect.
She jumps up, leaps over the dead giant, and runs out the door.
She had left the door closed for only a few seconds, but a lot of time must have passed outside.
Everything has changed. It's a different night, sometime in the future.
And a battle has happened here.
All the grass has been burnt. Whips of smoke trail upward in little lines where the fire ended.
Parachute canopies lie on the ground—billowing in puffs of breeze.
Bodies also lie about, some giant, some regular-sized, motionless.
Smoke rises.
Drifting away over the horizon are the wrecks of two starships.
They consume each other with bright sparks of radiation.
Streaks of flame cross the sky.
On the edge of the grassy yard, on the other side of a stone fence, the jungle begins.
She makes a dash for the fence.
She throws her rifle over and tumbles over headfirst, then jumps back up and leaps into the forest.
She stops to listen.
She had expected to be pursued. But she only hears the night sounds of the jungle.
She looks down.
Her left arm is broken.
Blood pours out of the cloth on her right.
She steps into a bit of moonlight and peels back her shoulder wrapping to look.
The knife had caught her where the shoulder meets the neck. She is losing a lot of blood.
She remembers her wound trauma kit, still inside the tumulus.
She moves back to the edge of the forest and peers over the fence at the tumulus.
Light from the open door still illuminates the yard.
The light flickers. Somewhere inside, a shadow has passed in front of the door. Someone is still alive in there.
She picks up her rifle and climbs back over the fence. She works her way toward the light from the door.
She lifts her rifle with her right hand, bracing the stock against her hip, and peers inside the door.
Her wound trauma kit still lies on the floor, a few feet past the dead giant.
She points the muzzle toward the center of the tumulus and steps over the dead giant.
She scans the interior.
It is a round, bare room. In the center, a stone spiral staircase leads down.
The body of her friend still lies where she had dragged him.
At the far side of the room, the larger giant is propped against the wall, breathing heavily.
He looks up at her: "I underestimated you. You're a fast little one."
She doesn't say a word.
She places the rifle on the floor, pointed at the giant, and sits down next to the wound trauma kit.
With her bloody right hand, she opens the kit.
With one eye on the giant, she pulls out a package and rips it open with her teeth. An odd green bandage falls on the floor—copper wires run all through the fabric, and attached to it is a small battery.
She sucks in her breath and holds it. With her broken arm, she peels back her suit and places the bandage. The bandage comes alive and grabs onto the cut—freezing there.
Then, she unwraps a strip of cloth from her left arm and loops it around her neck, forming a sling.
With a gasp, she breathes and pants heavily. The hard part is done.
She leans against the wall of the tumulus and watches the giant.
The blood coming out of the side of the bandage ends.
She is very tired, now. The bandage is doing its job—but it's taking a lot of energy out of her.
She struggles to keep her eyes open.
She blinks. . .
She falls asleep . . .
She is asleep.
An unknown amount of time passes.
She wakes up.
She grabs for her rifle. It's gone.
The other rifle is gone.
The giant is gone, too.
And the two bodies.
And the door to the outside is closed.
Perfect silence presses into her ears.
She is alone.
She stands up.
Using her good arm, she pulls off the bandage.
The bandage has done its work, leaving only a white and red scar.
The wound trauma kit lies open on the floor.
She closes it and slings it over her shoulder.
In the center of the room, the spiral staircase descends.
She starts down the steps.
Her right hand slides along the matte black stone wall as the steps twist round and round.
The light coming from above and below is changing color.
She is passing through a rainbow.
The colors shift on the wall and her body as she steps lower and lower.
Round and round. Down and down. . .
Copyright 2025 by Hans Bluedorn. All rights reserved.
Come back later for more of the story.
Tell me what you think: hansbluedorn at gmail dot com
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