The Drop

Water streamed from her eyes as she realised she was struggling to open them. In a kaleidoscopic fever dream, she thought of that summer — clement afternoons astride her faithful Triumph Bonneville.

As the great celestial orb, Tohnus, climbed to its zenith, she squeezed the throttle until her knuckles paled — and twisted. The motorcycle lurched forward, shocked by what was being asked of it, then eventually found its stride. Tohnus cast a jade hue upon the reverbaway as the Bonneville roared into the distance. With water-laden eyes and hair clutching her scalp, she cackled.

Coming to — forcing her eyelids apart — it became immediately apparent she was hurtling toward the home planet. In desperation, she clawed at her zonpatch.

It was gone.

Her face stiffened. Her throat went raw.

It was happening.

The atmosphere of the home planet was catalysing the process of compartmentalisation.

In a last-ditch attempt, she folded her body and reached for the neural unit at the base of her skull.

“Come on!” she screamed. “Fucking come on!”

Her fingers slipped from the unit.

She smiled weakly, closed her eyes, and thought of that summer.