Re: Mini-Grand 5102 [Round 2: Shuck Hollow]
07-30-2011, 05:53 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by XX.
The dust blew on the plain in sweeping sheets. Swirls and eddies built themselves up in the air and vanished an instant later, taunting any viewers with the momentary possibility of an image before disappearing into the noonday air. Occasionally a tumbleweed precisely calculated to go at the exact speed at which the typical human eye can follow at a comfortable pace while dwelling on the nature of work and man’s place on the frontier went meandering over the dry ground. One such of these was going by now, under the watchful gaze of a cyborg farmhand leaning on an artfully rickety fence. His arms were folded under him and his eyes squinted in an imitation of righteous fatigue despite the fact that his nuclear battery could continue at a steady power rate for another 2 million years before showing any signs of slowing down.
The farmhand sighed, wind filtering through his pneumatic lungs. Life was hard on the ranch.
Glossy black-and-green striped cattle lowed and grumbled from the other side of the fence, taking in whole mouthfuls of dirt and spitting out the occasional clump of withered grass. Neon lights beeped from their tracking collars, ready to detonate at the first sign of rustlers. The nearest animal, a rather runty bull weighing in at a measly two tons, raised its forklift-horned head and regarded the observing farm hand with beady orange eyes. Its massive nostrils quivered with irritation.
“Dry spell coming soon, Jeb,” the bull grunted, raising a shovel-sized forehoof. It pointed rather awkwardly to the mountains faintly visible in the north. “Comin’ from there. Soil’s gonna get too dry to eat.”
“Shucks, don’t you go worrying about that, Gil,” the cyborg called back, hoisting himself with disturbing agility over the fence and dusting off his chaps. “You know me and the boys will keep the herd fed.”
The bull’s horns swung from side to side, their owner casting a distrustful gaze out over the plain. “You can say that all you like, won’t stop the heat from baking our dirt dry. Can’t eat dust, Jeb. Not me or the cows.”
Jeb grinned, revealing a smile half-missing and painstakingly painted a tobacco-rot brown. He slapped the bull’s striped flank, prompting a surprised whuff from the animal. “There’s always dust, Gil, ain’t nothing no one’s bout to make a fuss about.”
Gil’s orange eyes, roughly the size of marbles in a head the size of a wheelbarrow, narrowed further. “Dust ain’t supposed to be red. ”
“Huh?”
“Over there. S’red. This desert ain’t red, Jeb.”
The farmhand strode over to the fence, shielding artificial eyes that needed no protection and holding his silicon tongue between his teeth. “What, that lil’ dust devil over there? That tiny thing?”
“It’s red.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll go check it out, alright?”
Gil wasn’t a particularly curious animal, but he knew he had to stay alert for anything new that might threaten his herd. It was with uncharacteristic attentiveness, then, that he tracked Jeb’s progress as he approached the odd spiral of dust rising from the ground regardless of the powerful wind that should have blown it away, and it was with equal attentiveness that he watched as the dust cloud violently coalesced into a horselike animal that kicked clean through Jeb’s chest the moment it saw him.
Jeb’s body hit the ground with an audible whump as the strange new animal reared up and screamed. It wasn’t a cry that Gil was familiar with, somewhere between a buzzard and a startled horse if he had to guess, but it didn’t sound like a predator’s. It didn’t even have sharp teeth, the bull thought as the animal bucked and ran off with powerful, loping strides. Even if it did, it wasn’t a threat to him or the cows. They could trample it with ease.
The cyborg’s crippled form leaked foul-smelling coolant out onto the dry earth as Gil lowered his head to the ground and munched on dirt, no longer worried. Unimpeded, Rome ran.
The dust blew on the plain in sweeping sheets. Swirls and eddies built themselves up in the air and vanished an instant later, taunting any viewers with the momentary possibility of an image before disappearing into the noonday air. Occasionally a tumbleweed precisely calculated to go at the exact speed at which the typical human eye can follow at a comfortable pace while dwelling on the nature of work and man’s place on the frontier went meandering over the dry ground. One such of these was going by now, under the watchful gaze of a cyborg farmhand leaning on an artfully rickety fence. His arms were folded under him and his eyes squinted in an imitation of righteous fatigue despite the fact that his nuclear battery could continue at a steady power rate for another 2 million years before showing any signs of slowing down.
The farmhand sighed, wind filtering through his pneumatic lungs. Life was hard on the ranch.
Glossy black-and-green striped cattle lowed and grumbled from the other side of the fence, taking in whole mouthfuls of dirt and spitting out the occasional clump of withered grass. Neon lights beeped from their tracking collars, ready to detonate at the first sign of rustlers. The nearest animal, a rather runty bull weighing in at a measly two tons, raised its forklift-horned head and regarded the observing farm hand with beady orange eyes. Its massive nostrils quivered with irritation.
“Dry spell coming soon, Jeb,” the bull grunted, raising a shovel-sized forehoof. It pointed rather awkwardly to the mountains faintly visible in the north. “Comin’ from there. Soil’s gonna get too dry to eat.”
“Shucks, don’t you go worrying about that, Gil,” the cyborg called back, hoisting himself with disturbing agility over the fence and dusting off his chaps. “You know me and the boys will keep the herd fed.”
The bull’s horns swung from side to side, their owner casting a distrustful gaze out over the plain. “You can say that all you like, won’t stop the heat from baking our dirt dry. Can’t eat dust, Jeb. Not me or the cows.”
Jeb grinned, revealing a smile half-missing and painstakingly painted a tobacco-rot brown. He slapped the bull’s striped flank, prompting a surprised whuff from the animal. “There’s always dust, Gil, ain’t nothing no one’s bout to make a fuss about.”
Gil’s orange eyes, roughly the size of marbles in a head the size of a wheelbarrow, narrowed further. “Dust ain’t supposed to be red. ”
“Huh?”
“Over there. S’red. This desert ain’t red, Jeb.”
The farmhand strode over to the fence, shielding artificial eyes that needed no protection and holding his silicon tongue between his teeth. “What, that lil’ dust devil over there? That tiny thing?”
“It’s red.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll go check it out, alright?”
Gil wasn’t a particularly curious animal, but he knew he had to stay alert for anything new that might threaten his herd. It was with uncharacteristic attentiveness, then, that he tracked Jeb’s progress as he approached the odd spiral of dust rising from the ground regardless of the powerful wind that should have blown it away, and it was with equal attentiveness that he watched as the dust cloud violently coalesced into a horselike animal that kicked clean through Jeb’s chest the moment it saw him.
Jeb’s body hit the ground with an audible whump as the strange new animal reared up and screamed. It wasn’t a cry that Gil was familiar with, somewhere between a buzzard and a startled horse if he had to guess, but it didn’t sound like a predator’s. It didn’t even have sharp teeth, the bull thought as the animal bucked and ran off with powerful, loping strides. Even if it did, it wasn’t a threat to him or the cows. They could trample it with ease.
The cyborg’s crippled form leaked foul-smelling coolant out onto the dry earth as Gil lowered his head to the ground and munched on dirt, no longer worried. Unimpeded, Rome ran.