Tuesday, February 23, 2016

100 Words a Day 794

I stepped out of the docking bay and found myself on a narrow, dirty street. I was immediately grateful I purchased a respirator from the urchin, no matter how expensive it had been. The air was hazy and irritated my throat despite the breath mask. Everything had a rust-red tint, the same color I saw covering the whole planet.

There were few people in the streets, and they all looked like the dregs of society. Few of them had breath masks, and all of them were dressed in tattered clothing. A few extended weak, begging hands, most just sat unmoving.

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