Ten’s barge cruised over Analog’s eastern wall as the orange din of sunset waned. The battle... The ring... His failings and impending demotion... All of it was still on his mind, but the tension around his eyes finally broke at the sight of the city, and he swiped his neck guard to stow his helmet. It was time to relax and let the poetic below take him.
© 2024 Brett A Dill
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