 A ship raised anchor on the shores of a dying island. The crew could not understand why the captain would go ashore in the first place. The island appeared to have suffered fire and flood. Ashen trees and rotting ones littered the sand, fuming in their own ways. It had an aura of death, disturbing the superstitious deckhands. All were happy to see the captain return, happier still to hear the orders to weigh anchor and sail away.
 The Horizon Mission was the first mission of its kind and as such it had its risks. It required reaching new worlds, finding interesting samples and perhaps answering questions we had of the universe. The risks were mainly financial, rather than technological. We had no problem sending astronauts up and on their way, just problems keeping the station going for many years. The solution was to cut costs and keep a single, low-paid employee; me.
 The temple welcomed everyone. The townspeople at the foot of it’s mountain sing praises to travellers and tourists alike of the wonders within. Stories of peace, stories of power, all given to those with the spirit to claim it. It was everything that every traveller desired and they could not resist it’s allure. Of course, there is a beauty in every web, a gleam to every hook, the prey need only make one mistake.
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WRITER
Matthew Dewey
Archives
November 2021
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