story2

She lands.

She stands at the base of a green hill.

It's a bright blue sky all around, but no sun can be seen. The light comes from everywhere.

She is in a memory without time.

She starts to run up the hill—saying out loud: "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!"

The hill is steep. Her bare feet slip on green grass. She scrambles on all fours.

She reaches the top.

With her hands on her knees, she gasps for breath.

She looks up.

A white cloud comes out of the sky, larger and larger. Moving toward her. It's the shape of a hand, and an arm reaching into infinity.

The hand descends to her and scoops her up. It pulls her off balance, and she falls into the giant palm.

Butterflies flutter in her stomach as she accelerates. She is pulled into the sky.

Faster and faster. The blue sky turns to the dark of night.

Now, she looks around at infinite stars burning with unblinking eyes.

Two spiral galaxies lie naked above. They crash into each other.

Psychedelic arms of stars and nebulae drape about from two galactic cores. One blue, and one red. Each core burns with troubled chaos.

Two of the stars grow larger and larger. They are like flames of fire.

They are two eyes. Now, it's a whole face.

The face glows with joy. It has the biggest and brightest smile as if it knows of some wonderful conclusion to a story.

She rolls over and lies with her head in her hands, and looks into the giant eyes.

The voice of a father speaks to her. It's a voice of fire and water.

He is telling her about things to come. He is telling her of all the amazing things she is going to do in her life. Things we aren't allowed to tell here.

Now the hand is descending toward something in the stars. It's a small, blue-green planet.

The other hand is there now. It picks her up, so gently, with two fingers.

It raises her up to place her perfectly where she belongs.

Now, back in the present reality . . .

Lying in the tumulus, propped against a wall, is a dirty and worn figure.

It's a young woman with big glasses, but a little nose. Her face and hair are streaked with blood and mud. She is wrapped in a bloodstained camo-mummy suit.

Her eyes are closed. She is asleep.

But one hand firmly grips a rifle. Her finger is ready on the trigger.

The rising sun shines through the open door.

The sound of the daytime jungle starts to whine from outside.

On the other side of the tumulus, propped against the wall, is the giant.

The giant stirs. He is still very much alive.

I'm sorry. I write very slowly, but come back later for more of the story.