Wringly II - part one

The ship’s fender glimmered as it whipped across the face of the sun.

An infestation of winged pschryophiles buzzed about the hull of the Wringly II

            I awoke to the image of a grey bearded man sitting silently amongst stalactites and towers of quartz- he caressed piles of tree bark while a wind blew from nowhere

            He reminded me of a man I met in Abu Dhabi- he grasped a goat skull in his massive hands, the whip lash of air from his movements smelled of mossy swamps – methane gas filled my sinuses- tear ducts swelled out to form a sort of third eyelid over the retina

            The tires of the mo-ped attached automatically to the magnetic strips running through the corridors of the Wringly- my meal of Haro-men descended from the pressure tube above my bed early this morning, but I did not eat it

            Its skin had the same grisly texture as unshaven crustaceans; eating their insides is no different than slurping down a sort of cnidarian, in fact their stinging cells were often still intact

            My mo-ped was a pale-violet and lavenders were painted in oil across either side of the track. The commute was lonely, for but the only company in this entire floating space apparatus was myself and the decomposing bodies of my comrades