In a blink of an eye, everyone I know is suddenly dead. These are my options. One way or another, regardless of the outcome, it never has a happy ending. This is my curse, my reason for living in solitude.
This never-ending burden is my doing. Only I must face it alone. It’s a perpetual circle of life and death, one disaster after the next. Never changing. Never stopping.
The room I’ve been hiding in has been the same for nearly four galactic months. The dark colors on the walls make everything look so lifeless and dull. Sort of like me.
The layout is functional since there’s a kitchen, but then again, I don’t even remember the last time I cooked. I order all my meals online on the Interplanetary Web; it gets delivered right to my doorstep by a helpful, little bot.
Machines do nearly every job now, except for a few governmental offices. Certain agencies won’t hire robots to do the thinking for them, especially when it comes to the military and police force. So what’s really left for me?
The jobs available for someone, who’s real desperate, would be to hunt down criminals: a serial killer, a rapist, a conniving con artist, a terrorist, a thug, a gangster, a drug lord, or Flash Renegade. The small time crooks are on the Galactic Nebula’s Most Wanted List while Flash Renegade, on the other hand, is the Most Wanted Criminal in the entire Universe. The funny part about this situation is that I’m Flash Renegade.
There are no criminals left. Not in Cloud Nine anyway. This place is a fucking paradise. A utopia.
Bottles of G-Nebula beer are scattered all across the floor, but here I am––still not in a drunken state. I’m quite aware of what is going on and my ears react to the slightest sound; I can clearly hear the chattering and noisy citizens outside this very building. The hustle and bustle of the streets.
The mattress feels firm as I lie there in the nude. But I haven’t gone far from where it resides, which is the center of this boxed square I live in practically everyday. I can feel the humidity in the air and the temperature keeps rising by the minute. It’ll be ninety-five degrees at the highest hour.
(To be continued…)
Copyrighted © 2017 by W.D. Lady
Table of Contents:
- Galactic Log 1.1 – Rho Tiarmstrong
- Galactic Log 1.2 – Rho Tiarmstrong
- Galactic Log 1.3 – Rho Tiarmstrong
- Galactic Log 1.5 – Rho Tiarmstrong