During a recent wee break up by Fort William we happened upon a rock and mineral museum. It’s way more fun than it sounds. (Although I suppose its possible that I’m way less fun than I’d like to think!) This week’s story prompt image is of one of the many fascinating exhibits: naturally forming bismuth crystals. Apparently the iridescent colours are from a coating of oxides, and the ‘stepped staircase’ structure is just how the crystals form.
It must be astonishing to dig in the dirt and find a lump of this stuff. To me there’s something inescapably alien to it — perhaps the computational core of some sophisticated device, or maybe its a 3d map of a city on some distant planet. This week I might have trouble emerging from the warm-up exercise that has become my story-prompt-of-the-week.
Jack nudged my shoulder again. More insistently this time.
“Seriously, mate.” He punched my shoulder again. ” You’ll want to open your eyes for this. Promise.”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the terror that was bound to greet me once when I unclenched my eyelids. Opposing instincts raged against each other turning my insides into a fragile foam of excitements. At the best of times I’m not great with heights. I get dizzy standing on the stool to reach the top shelves of the school library. On the other hand, we were descending to an alien city on a distant planet!
I’ve been waiting for this since my big sister’s trip six years ago. I’d just started school that year and I barely knew about extrasolar planets let alone alien civilisations. I got to stay up extra late when she got back so we could all see her holo-vids from the trip. I’ve been obsessed ever since.
I cracked my eyelids open. My big mistake was keeping my face firmly pointed floorwards. I’d forgotten that our, horrendously named, drop-pod had been cleverly designed with an invisible floor. Sure it made for better views. It was then that my brain caught up with my eyes. I entirely forgot my crippling vertigo as I absorbed the sunlight sparkling off the expanding cityscape below me.
The glittering shapes below seemed impossibly intricate. By comparison even the fanciest Earth buildings were mere grey cubes. Then I realised the true scale of what I was seeing. Glancing at the readouts on my seat’s armrest I could see we were still over a hundred kilometres up. To call the city below us enormous would be the understatement of the century.
Jack’s fist bumped my shoulder again. “Breathe, mate,” he whispered.
Grudgingly I found the attention to wrestle my lungs back into action. I shot my friend the briefest of looks. A flick of smile to say thanks for making me look.
We drew closer and I began to see movement, deep within the soaring structures. The sun began its dip (I know that’s not what happens, but you get my meaning) below the eastern horizon, which was weird in itself. As darkness swept across the cityscape below millions of lights flickered on as the world beneath me carried on the business of being civilised.
At five kilometres out our chairs gently tipped backwards. Our deceleration burn began and I was pressed into the seat cushions. Robbed at last of the view that a short while ago I’d been sure I hadn’t wanted. My bereft eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Tears of… no idea how to sort through the melange of emotions I felt. Anyway, the tears swept back to tickle my ears. My universe had just become incomprehensibly bigger.
I risked a glance at Jack. His face was similarly wet. My hand found his and we both turned back to the ceiling. My breath shuddered as we slowed to a final stop. The seats slid silently back upright. The doors hissed open and a waft of sweet air invited us onto an alien world.
Brandon Lim 