Unnamed Journal Volume 2, Issue 4 - Page 17

got up and ran at the whirlwind before it could ready another hot breath. This time it bounced back. He did it again. It repulsed again. He saw the wand lying on the floor where it had fallen, still tricking deadly blue energy. He saw the whirlwind readying to blow again and he hit the dirt. When he came back up he slashed at it and could smell it weaken on the air. It smelled like burning. They fought for a few minutes more and it felt like a day. Each time Lang slashed at the whirlwind with his blue death-wand it became weaker and weaker and smaller and smaller and it's hot breath less shocking and painful even when it did get him down. Lang did not think about what he was doing or how strange it would have been to an outside observer. There was no outside observer: only he and his hate, them and their hunger. Hate won. Then he slept. He did not dream. Bits of burned and blackened dust lay on the floor in front of Zool's quarters when he opened the door. Inside the light was red as the doorway to hell. On the ground was a thing that seemed to be both plant and animal: black and tendrilous and toothy and leafy and rooted and winged. It seemed to squeal as Lang approached it, to click and snap in some guttural tongue. Lang looked at it and wanted to smash it to pieces with his bare hands, but that seemed unwise. He looked at his wand, which was guttering out. He dropped it on the ground. The thing tried to scurry away from Lang like a wounded beetle. Lang kicked it. It squealed again. He kicked it again, harder, and felt something crunch underneath his boot. He kicked and stomped and kicked and stomped and green goo came out of it but it didn't seem to hu rt him and he didn't care anyway. He kicked and stomped until there was nothing but mush on the cold floor. Lang might have expected the red of the lights to lessen, but they didn't. He walked to the bridge in perfect silence. No one crossed his path. He noticed nothing but small collections of dust being slowly pushed by the flow of air from the life support systems. When he got to the bridge, he sat down in his chair and with a few keystrokes set the light colors to normal. Then he sat, and stared out at the wide bright universe. Then he slept. He did not dream.