This was fun to write, flowed pretty well, and I am quite happy with how it came out, especially compared to the last post's work which I presented mostly as a means to get me writing after a considerable break.
Hope you like it! This is definitely not getting anything more written from it. There's already way too much stuff in the Long section I've let the dust gather on. Have yourself a lovely day, and enjoy reading!
Harold by Mac Clevinger, July 20, 2017
“My dear friend, it is in great malady that I write to you this day, on matters pertaining to the cause of my sudden and terminal condition. To be succinct, an object of some size struck me late last night as of my writing this, and I am afraid that I have used the last reserves of strength to recover myself to my recent place of habitation to write this note for your comfort.
They will say it was an accident, and by some respects it was, but a natural incident of terrible results this was not. Of course, my death is a terrible result, but that is neither the full breadth of the implications of my assault nor was it an incident constrained by bounds we would call ‘natural’. This is not to say that I was murdered by a cold, insidious force, but that I was struck much as the doddering old fool is run down on a highway.
It was not a burnt mound of rock spawned by a passing asteroid’s entourage getting caught by our planet’s far-flung nets, but an object of another’s design. For something of that small size to survive our atmosphere intact in filigree and all? A painfully robust construct, one that crashed through my being and has left me to make peace with this odd end to my life.
But it was not artillery. I was skeptical, like many others, to the claims of life beyond our own understanding and knowledge thereof, but in one fell swoop my beliefs have been dashed as rapidly as my life sucked out of me. A creation by hands not of our humanity, but something other; an other that I have seen, and must die the lone holder of this knowledge.