Skyfire Read Free

affect realistic change in your conscious plane …But we can work together.  Think on this and come visit again soon.  I love you and will always be present, even when you don’t recognize it.  There is much work to be done.’  I was hurled out of the storm, back into the original fractal bliss. This time I felt uneasiness.  In the distance, I saw mirror images of the same fractals. They were negative images of the original’s bright, comforting colors.  This darkness looked like stacks of rectangular prisms with golden ratios spinning faster and faster inside them.  It was the most beautiful hell.  Then I knew it was time to go, and I was rocketed back into this chair.  But I didn’t want to go. I wanted to know what those other things were.  I had so much more I wanted to figure out.”
    “Fuck, man,” said Steve.
    “There’s one more thing.  I’m not sure if this is just me looking at that world through the lens of my own beliefs, but I think that place was real. I think that once we learn more about it we can look, maybe not look, but evaluate and measure it and learn more about it somehow.  I am not nearly smart enough to figure out how, but I know that shit was real, man.  How is this not more well-known?” asked Jack.
    “Way back when, Nikola Tesla said the day science begins to study non-physical phenomena, it will make more progress in one decade than in all the previous centuries of its existence.”
    “Didn’t that dude die poor as hell in a hotel room on 8 th Avenue, a little down from the Houndstooth Pub?” Jack quipped.
    “Yeah, he did.”
    Jack chuckled. “Fucking awesome.”

 
    HUGHES
     
    “You may fly over a land forever; you may bomb it, atomize it, pulverize it and wipe it clean of life—but if you desire to defend it, protect it and keep it for civilization, you must do this on the ground, the way the Roman legions did, by putting your young men in the mud. ” –TR Fehrenbach (1925 -present)
     
    Trent Hughes sprinted fifty meters and slid, slamming his back into one of the concrete pylons separating a twelve-foot section of fence.  He was on the periphery of the park across the street from his apartment building.  There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t choke down.  Emma, where the hell are you!?   It had been almost three days since the power went out. A day and a half since he last saw his wife, Emma, when she went to work.  Just before the blackouts she had sent a text letting him know she was going to grab a few drinks with her best friends, Julia and Jennifer.  His heart raced as if he were about to have a heart attack.  Trent grasped the pistol grip of his M4 carbine with a clammy left hand. Immense fear filled him, made him tremble with anxiety as he thought of what he was about to do.  I’ve done this a million times.  C’mon, focus!   His rifle was clad with a rail mounted EO-Tech site displaying luminescent holographic crosshairs. It was powered by two AA batteries and backed up by a flip-up iron sight.  He had a Surefire tactical flashlight affixed to the left rail of the barrel, and a bayonet attached to the bottom rail, approximately three inches forward of a removable handle known lovingly in the military as a “gangsta grip.”
    What the fuck is going on!?  What am I looking at?!.  What the hell does it want?!  How the fuck did I end up in this bullshit?  Why the fuck can’t I just be left alone forever!?  IT NEVER STOPS. 
    Trent Hughes suffered from what many in his life assumed was simply PTSD.  It was more than that, however; he had always lived with a brain that never stopped.  He wanted silence but never got it.  His only recourse was to pour alcohol on the perpetual circus in his brain to quiet it down.  Now, back against the pylon, he had that same guttural feeling that tore him apart when the trade center collapsed in 2001.  He had realized then that war was inevitable.  His next feeling echoed what had