A Lot to Process
Ficlets and Ficly survivor, FicMom, and Mistress of Well-Intentioned Indecision and Goddess of Unrequited Love. @ElshaHawk @HawkandYoung
I read until the words swam before my eyes. I found myself spinning the promise ring I kept on a chain around my neck. Dayne, where are you? I prayed. Please, be safe.
"Find anything useful?" Harlan leaned around a freestanding shelf, awakening me from my trance. I blushed, caught not working.
"Not yet. There's a lot to process."
"It's time to close up the library."
"Oh, is it late?"
"You've been here for hours, Miss..."
"Let's get something to eat."
Harlan drove us to a little diner trying too hard to be retro. We sat in a booth by the window. There was a buzz to the conversation of the other patrons. "Didja hear?" "I saw 'em!" "Massive!"
"What's all this about?" Jen wondered aloud.
"Where've you been?" One woman was all too eager to be the first to share the gossip to a fresh ear. "They sent us spaceships! Reinforcements! Rolled right through town!"
"Our boys can't fly 'em," grumped a man.
"Why not?" snapped the woman.
"Spaceships," breathed Jen, lost in thought.
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Inspired by (sequel to):
"Swift..easy," <kapow> "Dead."
The spotter located the next target and started, "Swift..easy," <kapo…Sargon the Starfighter
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