a warm waterproof hip-length jacket usually with a hood, originally worn in polar regions, but now worn for any outdoor activity
(informal, derogatory) a socially inept person with a hobby considered by most people to be boring
Ada stood on the surface of the moon and stared back at her home planet. Perimeter drones circled overhead, filling the air with the constant hum of their engines.
Over a year had passed since the relocations began. No signs were forthcoming that they would ever be permitted to return, despite the constant assurances to the contrary.
Each day passed in much the same way. Inmates were marched into the mines that pocked the surface of the moon. They worked until they could no longer physically carry on. When they collapsed, they were carted back to the barracks and given IV fluids until they were strong enough to work again. Every day workers died. Their bodies were pushed down a mine shaft and the work carried on.
Two days prior, Ada’s father finally succumbed to the strain. She thought of him and remembered his words.
“Surely, this is as bad is it gets.” He said.
Reaching to the ground, she picked up a rock and flung it at a drone. She closed her eyes and waited for it to return fire.
Comments (1 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
Perfect. I can imagine this was how the persecuted in camps felt. Thanks for continuing.
- #1537 Posted 3 years ago
- 5 out of 5
Inspired by (sequel to):
They came at night, as cowards always do.
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- Published 3 years ago.
- Story viewed 7 times and rated 1 times.
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