Once, grandmother told me of something called “sea”. She couldn’t really describe how so much water could ever exist. How there could be storms raising waves that could swallow a man.
Water, more than our rations, more than what was “wasted” for the high-priestess’ pool., even more than those leagues upon leagues of sand-dunes outside.
Water, merging with sky.
Talking water is heresy and of course she was recycled giving us food for a week, but I still miss my crazed old grandmother and her fairy-tales.
I should never have told her stories to Milford… the rat.
So I saw a dome and a desert outside and thought of those experiments of living inside a dome and be self-sustained. Maybe even losing the contact with the outside world over generations.
Friday Fictioneers gives us an opportunity to tell a story in 100 words to the same picture. Rochelle gives us the picture and inspires us with her own fantastic storytelling.
Visit her or click at the frog eating frog below.