Grey SkyMature

Two people who must depend on each other to survive, grow ever closer as they are observed by mysterious powers.

The tale I am about to tell is unlike any other, yet you've heard it before.
It tells of a world unto the grey horizons.
Just think, dear reader, and appreciate all you know. All those that you love.



Our tale begins at the center of the universe.
The only place left.
The last bastion of humanity.
Or so we are told.

A prison cell. The walls resemble matresses, with cotton-covered buttons pinning down an invisible force struggling to break free of its bindings. The floor was rock, not crafted by nature but by man, a long time ago from an age long forgotten. It was streaked with age-old stains of various natures; blood, semen, fecal matter. All from the previous inhabitants of that forgotten age, all of them, spurting forth their own human waste where they pleased. The stainless steel toilet (as we call it) in the corner of the room was almost immaculate, all organic carnage seemed to of missed it in this explosion of ancient mess. A door at the front of the room would also be shiny, if it weren't for all the dust that seemed to accumulate upon it. Every time it was opened, a whirlwind of molecules were summoned up seemingly from nowhere, then proceeded to whirl around the room in a dramatic fashion. It was huge and made of strong steel, with a slat that could slide open and shut at the top. There also used to be a single bunk but The Janitor cleaned that out about a year ago.

Ah yes. The Janitor. Nobody ever sees him, (or even knows if 'he' has a gender) he just sweeps through every now and then when something needs to be done, leaving no trace. He cleans up messes, keeps the toilet bowl spick and span, polishes the bars in the tiny window...

Well, back to the room. This window, was the only source of light in the cell, (except when The Janitor turns the single lightbulb on at night.) fracturing the strange white glow into three parts, leaving its mark on the floor during the day, then going away at Darktime.

Darktime was always scary. There were sounds that howled through the window, making it cold inside the cell. And sometimes it got wet. There were no comforts. No heat generating units. None of the things you and I take for granted. The people who live here have nothing. Nothing, except each other.

The End

8 comments about this story Feed