Morning all. This ragweed season is kicking me hard. I got tired of rinsing the pollen out of my contacts so I actually switched to my glasses. I’ve sneezed them off twice. So the air filters have all been changed, the air purifier is running and me and my antihistamines plan on staying indoors all day today. Let’s kick off the day inside with our morning writing prompt. Timers set and off we go.
You know, this wasn’t quite where I thought this would go. I think I started writing in an earth based town but midway through switched to an alien colony of humans. Not a bad thing, but not where I thought it would go.
Friday, September 26th: Lights danced in the sky.
Lights danced in the sky. George once went on a trip to the far north and saw something similar. ‘But we are far too south for that,’ he thought. Absently he wiped the beaded sweat from his forehead flicking off the droplets from his fingers. They landed in the dust and disappeared, the parched ground thirsty enough to take any moisture.
It was nearing eleven at night and the small town was showing far more activity now than it had during the day. During the day the sun was too brutal to be moving about. Most contented themselves by sleeping later and doing indoor activities until the sun went down, spending the marginally cooler hours of darkness completing any out door tasks.
It was still sweaty work but fewer people were passing out from heat exhaustion. It was a strange adjustment to the schedule, but it was proving effective. There were a few injuries produced from working in the darkness and most of them woke with random bruises in places where they might have run into half seen obstacles in the dark, but it was better than the alternative.
Now, despite the hour, there were dancing lights in the sky. Most were a pale blue shading to white. Occasionally there were flashes of a slightly darker blue or soft purple, but for the most part, light blue and white danced in the sky obscuring the stars.
“Is that…coming closer?” Ivan asked.
George shrugged. “I think it might be.”
“Do you think we ought to, I don’t know, go inside until it passes?” Andre asked.
He wasn’t the only one asking that question. George heard it echo through the small crowd. The idea seemed to gain traction and then, someone with authority decided the idea had merit. The sirens sounded. Thus far they only used the sirens when dust storms passed through town and the particles it blew could strip the skin from the bones.
George turned and headed back to his little cottage. Like many of the others he moved at speed, heedless of the sweat pouring off of him. Some he suspected wanted to avoid whatever danger the lights possessed. The rest he thought might suspect a sand storm was coming and wanted to get inside before it hit. When they first arrived and set up the village a couple of people had been caught in such phenomenon. It was not a sight any of them would ever forget.
George entered his cottage. It was a prefab dome, like all the other buildings in town. Only size varied. The Nextox Corporation found one design and chose to design no further. As George joined the settlement as an individual, his cottage was smaller than those designed for families. And the family units were smaller than the community buildings. His cottage was actually four small domes clustered together like soap bubbles. One main space for living and working inside, a small bedroom, an even smaller bathroom and a kitchen.
‘Kitchenette,’ George automatically corrected. Calling the economically ergonomic space a full kitchen would be an insult to kitchens in every part of the galaxy. The front door had a small window and once the door was secured, George looked out of it, looking at the lights. They were indeed approaching.
Ten til Midnight 