March 17, 2015

Hand over hand she climbed the rope up to her aerie above the dead city on the dead world. She tumbled over the sill into the nearly vacant room. She grasped the strap of the satchel hanging around her neck and lifted it up and over her head. She placed the satchel on the floor and opened it. She reached in and brought forth a perfect little globe, a marble, pure and clear. Debor, for that was her name, brought the orb close to her analytic eye and examined it. A smile danced on her lips. She went to the table, the lone piece of furniture in the room, and took from the small pedestal there a green rock. She massaged it between thumb and forefinger a moment before she turned and threw it out the window. She then positioned the crystal marble on the pedestal and stepped back to admire it. In the dead city on the dead world satisfaction flowed through Debor, bathing every part of her body in happiness except for one patch behind her left ear which was the dead connection to the collective. For you see, resistance had not been futile.

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