Amid the bustle of the market, the flurry of skirts and legs and tails, was trash. It littered the streets, and like cholesterol in a humanoid's artery, sometimes it blocked off entire alleyways, dumpsters hidden so far beneath the detritus that not even the arachnarats could nest there. That didn't mean, however, that they wouldn't glut themselves on the bountiful feast and nesting fodder that the passersby carelessly tossed. It was somewhere amid that mess of debris that an odd sort of life blinked in to existence, one moment there and in the next...
The singularity is superfluous because the necessarily social nature of the human condition is such that the self is as much a part of others as the finger is a part of the hand. And if that hand is holding a cellphone, guess what, singularity unlocked! That’s the same reason I think that telepathy isn’t a great super power; language is already mind. Don’t need to read what we already have in common.
A draft wafts through the open Build Room window, shivering the dusty curtain and slightly revealing half of a medium-sized piece of machinery hidden in the dimly lit corners of the room. Near and with his back to the window, a young professor in his early 30s stands slanted over a tabletop, where rests a vast array of blueprints, small tools and bits, in addition to a round-white-dome-like shape unnaturally glowing under the overhanging lamp.
Kuri glides across his room, peering out the window that overlooks the overbearing scene of red Mars. He sighs, looking down at his chest, hoping to see the warm light exuding from his heart light, but nothing. He wishes to mimic his surroundings, but he can't.
Neda's blonde curls were bouncing behind her, a thousand miniature springs all set into action at once. She had a bounce to her walk, like any moment her next step would launch her into space and sometimes Esme was afraid she would.