Text Box: FRAGMENT OF THE FUTURE Out of the playas, we awoke in a gassy land of dense, bosky terrains. Morning dazed, I was, with vague memories and trembling uneasiness. One day, two day, three day, four? We rested near a cataract, where wild waters concocted clouds. And it came to me: who knew where they were from, the mad creatures of the land of Orion? Maybe she knew, the one I am with, who keeps metamorphosing from a little girl to a monstrous, squamous mother. They are looking for us, always: the Exomites, those white slimy creatures, with pointy, puss-filled ears, and cartoonish, lidless black eyes. Just last day we climbed a swinging metallic rope, up towards the sky, until we reached the tallest tree (magical supposedly). Once at the top, the carnivorous Exomites trapezelly made their way towards us, the wild pack of them, drooling, gnawing, sharpening their teeth. Fortunately, however, my girl changed into a sinister blue, blending with the gassy dark-coloured sky—ready to explode, always likely to burst into flames. Out of the blue, I felt a piece of the sky clutch around me. We hoped onto the metallic rope, which turned into a colourful magical ribbon, and we swung across the jungle and flew towards the Mountains of Shibbah. Uncloaked, she loosened her grasp, and flung me to the ground. She shrunk and continued her journey. I do not understand the purpose of the increasing intensity of the situations presented before me. But, here, new is better than old. Old is dead. All we can do is keep running. Damien Bailey Editor

Jalapeno Diamond

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