Named after a royal figure and looking like one, Queen Anne 3, when viewed from the sky above the snake-like, winding tributaries of the Amazon, bore herself with regal & grace. The ship’s sleek design was a marvel of modern engineering & economics: more passengers fit, less space wasted on equipment with many spacious viewing decks.
Reagan Groove had spent a fortune on this trip. All for Madeline. He was also making sure he got every farthing he deserved.
He tried to ignore the old spinsters’ shouts while using the binoculars. $50 each! Twice what he could get at home!
He turned slightly & froze. Dark shadows swept down, turning day into night. He had never seen anything like it. An Amazon storm?
Reagan’s heart pounding hard, he called out for a sailor. As if that would help.
Surely the blackness would pass.
Surely.
All at once, the shapes released a mist-like, black cloud that started to descend on everything.
Black particles covered & choked Reagan, covering his entire body.
Then the needle-like pain started.
Then grew.
And grew.
He tried to run but every tendon was in excruciating pain.
Then he abandoned all reserve, and tried to swipe the dust off his body, and screamed as his skin melted off him. Blood pouring from every orifice, Reagan collapsed.
The old ladies—everyone on the ship—died the same way Reagan did.
The “dust” continued dissolving in its path, leaving a film of black matter over the once flourishing jungle.
No comments:
Post a Comment