Fractal Realities: A Flayed Mind

Irritation built as Anders stepped past the perimeter marker of Base Camp Aktina. No matter how loud he turned his music up, the sound of metal on metal always cut through. He was up to seven and still he could hear dozens of knives being sharpened at the same time. The sound grated across the top of his brain, making the flesh on his shoulders tight.

He wanted to commiserate with someone but no else was around. Frank was about a mile away. Anders could see him stooped over, bagging samples of champagne colored crystal buds by hand. Angie was on ocean duty and off the radar completely. No, Anders was alone, stomping through this metallic grass, wishing his helmet protected his sanity the way his boots protected his feet from the tiny metal spears.

The razor sharp edges of the bronze blades glittered in the sunlight. Organic metal was always pretty and the grass was no different. He was forced to admit that. It was just the noise that was driving him crazy.

A breeze picked up and the sound surrounded him.