by Kimberly Rei
Sinlight flickered around the planet below—a writhing, ancient welcome. It spiked in beautiful colours, beckoning us to visit. We’d been monitoring the activity for weeks, watching it grow. Two cycles ago, it began watching us. Now it was done watching. It was hunting.
I turned and ran down the corridor and around the corner, knowing nothing would save my body. Perhaps, I might be able to save the rest. Light exploded behind me. I leapt and felt a warm tendril grasp my ankle. With one desperate plea, I hurled my soul through an airless sliver of thought. To oblivion.
Kim has taught writing workshops and edited novels for Authors You May Recognize. She has three published short stories and has become a greedy beast, hungry for more.
She currently lives in Tampa Bay, Florida, with her beautiful, supportive wife and an abundance of gorgeous beaches to explore.