Over the past few weeks, Rita’s days, nights, and dreams blurred until they were indistinguishable.
The typewriter punished her fingers as she hammered its oversized keys. Her eyelids grew heavy, but she held them open, grateful for the work yet longing to return to her modest but comfortable London flat.
Surrounded am I by the narcissists,
The dumb sacks of carbon that abuse me.
I have harmed no one,
Yet you suffocate and deface my surface.
“Dad, what are we going to do?”
“What we’ve always done,” Peter replied.
The city’s silhouette filtered through the window panes. Narrow glass tunnels joined mega-structures connected into a massive complex accessible from anywhere within the sprawling metropolis.
It took confronting a rabid pit bull in middle school to understand the awesomeness of superpowers and how not having them sucks when you’re in a bind.