The rain falls slowly. Mired by gravity. She sits in a wrecked APC and watches the burning sky. Her rifle lies on the seat opposite. No use for it now. Background chatter on the comms in her helmet. Voices feigning calm as panic starts to rise. All seeking refuge. Trying to organise an evacuation. Too late for that.
She lifts her helmet and turns off the comms, putting it to the side. The sting of fresh air in her nostrils. The cold on her skin. It feels good.
The fore of the ship breaks through the black clouds. Slowly falling from orbit. Huge gash marks in its flanks are on fire. Black smoke pours from its insides. Tiny bolts of molten metal bounce to the ground with the rain, precipitating its fall. A million orange marbles glowing and falling in the gloom.
The ship burns through the atmosphere like a hot knife slowly plunging through ice. It’ll get here soon. And there will be burning oblivion.
Paddy Dobson
14th November 2021