They smelt burnt gas, which didn’t bode well for finding enough to keep their clipper in the air.

Then Tin perked up, ears facing front on alert, before he took off, sprinting for the gaping hollow belly of the wreck where we found a survivor, a man pale from deep space, yet alive and struggling to hold on to life.

~Emmi

Image by Jordan Grimmer

Probably meant as post-apocalyptic, but that always seems strange to me. Since, our lives, however we live them, are our ‘normal’ and people living in a world that is ‘post-apocalyptic’ wouldn’t really think of it as a new normal within a single generation.

This is merely a piece of this man’s normal. Scavenging with his best friend. Skimping on gas use to keep his small ship in the air. Finding another who might share this life.

What would your two line story be?

The music existed solely for showmanship, the sand-made creations moving under my will, not my father’s notes, a harmonious dance we’d perfected.

Only one man ever noticed, and he conjured his own beasts to twine with mine, those creatures looking much like our bodies in all the evenings since.

~Emmi

Image by Shreya Shetty

Here’s a happier bit story that’s a nod toward my DaSunder Chronicles, where sand conjurers hide among the everyday :)

What would your two line story be?