Tonight's creative output

Light is painfully bright, after being in room for so long. Door opens, a slight sucking noise, pressure matches outside.

There is nothing to see. Just blinding whiteness, sunlight glares fiercely.

No alarms sound. Hum of generators, Gentle whistle of air scrubbers, all quiet. No noise.

Light fades as irises tighten, world comes into focus, slowly, detail emerges.

Rubble is everywhere. Almost everything is ashy white, scorched and scorched again, until even black char marks are burned away in intense heat.

A little more in bright light, and shadows snap into place. Faint against burned objects, but there. Grey-white shadow, hints of what things had been before.


There is no breeze. Sky is brilliant, cloudless blue. Sun feels white hot, tempting to look. Too much. Too much heat.



Stretch, as if waking from slumber.

Move rubble.

Glad that door opens inward. So much right there, it would not have moved if it opened outward.

Drop rubble. Silence shatters. A clatter. Gone again. More silence.

Sun beats down from overhead. Skin prickles.

Another piece of rubble. Set gently down, more slowly this time.



Just rubble, heaps large and small, a sort of pattern. Maybe like cells. Cells, only stone and concrete and large. Too large.

A loud, metal bang. Maybe close.

Turn, but see nothing.

A clatter of rubble being moved. Definitely close.

Blink. Still bright.

Figures stand on rubble. Not far, just as far as a body. Body. A body of cells. Reach, reach for figures. Too far. More than a body can reach.

Move another piece. More noise.


Figures. Two. Eyes. Hands. Feet. Two figures. Two figures. Many hands. Many feet.

Long sleep. Not sleep. Long wait. A long wait, then brightness, then everything is new again. Now one and one is two again, two and two is four. Bodies have eyes, eyes see sky. Sun is bright. Noon sun. Any noon. No dates now. No time. Just days. The world is new again.

The world is new again.