Science Fiction | Rough Draft: Dying Sun

The dying sun hung on the horizon, trapped in the perpetual twilight of this wasting planet. Over many lifetimes it would eventually set, and these lands would be cast into a millennium long night. The perpetual shadows of our battlements never moved—at least as the human eye was concerned—and as I made my way to my watch, I stepped through the light and shadows, light and shadows, like day and night passing over me every second.

It is said we came from earth. Our homes still have timers set which dim or bright our lamps to match the cycles of that alien world our fathers came from. Day and night.

Bryan stares out at the wispy wastes trapped between light and darkness, trapped between the life we force into the soil and the death we always reap. We salute, and he leaves for his home, traipsing the shadows and light, the days and nights, I just passed. It is not long before an alarm is taken up. I see the gathering dust on the horizon, the wildmen.

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