1.7: The Kras: At A Precipice: A One Hit Drama

1.7: The Kras: At A Precipice: A One Hit Drama

The Kras stands on the lip of a tunnel running parallel

to the axel of the station. The spoke tunnel stretches relative

up and down away from the six figures.

            SB:            Right here guys. It’s so venting,

BE:            Man we’ve been crawlin all day…

LB:            Skumby, you asshole…

SB:            Vent…

ZL:            The air here is clean smelling.

SB:            Yeah… Go out and get fresh air… or sit on your bug.

LA:            So it’s come to this again. Five orphans standing on the edge of death, waiting for someone to load a bowl.

LB:            I was just waiting for you to give a speech Sergio.

ZL:            I’m glad to get out of the fuckin’ sphere for any reason. I’m glad we’re all together.

LA:            Why do I always get the creeps when you get sentimental Leese?

SB:            Cuz she’ll damage you up brother.

ZL:            Get fucked by cannibal Jesus you corroded freaks.  Sto.

BE:            vent… Skum, vents sake man. We’re not all going ta tie on stretchy sorg and dive. Look at Vinnsss. He’s blitzed.

SB:            All you old muther venters.

Black Elvis and Lysergic Adam sit down on the left of

the rounded ledge, immersed in a horticultural discussion.

Skum Bunny, Zombie Lisa, and Vincent Pawn Gogh speak of

whatever is on their minds, and Scroot is facing back into the tunnel

interacting with his computer.

            ZL:            Vince, you alright?

SB:            Apart from being a skirl she means.

LB:            Vented corpse! Race you to zero g!

ZL:            Don’t start…

SB:            Penn yeah. On three?

LB & SB(simultaneously):            One… bishophippy… Two… bishophippy…

Both boys turn to look at Zombie Lisa

expectantly. She rolls her eyes.

            ZL:            Shit vent… Three… batshithickey!

The two boys scamper and scramble ‘up’ the spoke.

            BE:            You not racing Zombie?

ZL:            Did you figure?

LA:            Here my friend, light this.

BE:            Don’t mind if I do, don’t mind if I do,

Zombie Lisa, Black Elvis, and Lysergic Adam are

quiet as they pass the lit cocktail. Scroot pushes an icon

with a right pointing isosceles triangle and music

from three hundred years ago fills the

tunnel. Sometimes times are not so bad.

            BE:            So, what ya say Scroot? Heard any good jokes lately.

S:            …

LA:            Why do you make fun of him? He’s invaluable to the kras.

BE:            I know… I know, I’m just trying to make him feel included. He don’t talk but he can hear yah?

ZL:            I bet he can talk if he wants to. Probably got nothing to say.

BE:            You sweet on him Zombie?

LA:            Ah! That’s it! Zombie and Scrooty sitting in a vent!     eeeeerrrkk!

BE:            Easy Lisa! We need that little space bug!

ZL:            Whyn’t you leave the cocking wit to these guys and make your cheap ass drugs you skinny little bowl head cunt?

LA:            Of course, you have my most sincere apologies. You know how much I value your skills and social graces.

ZL:            Save it kiss ass.

Skum Bunny and Laser Boy repel back

to the ledge and join their idle kras.

            SB:            Why so frampled Syrge? Piss off Zombie again?

LA:            Well, it is what I excel at. Who won the race to the core?

SB:            I was winning…

LB:            I realized I wasn’t high enough to be hanging out alone with Skumby and ditched him to come back.

LA:            chhh Here… peace.

ZL:            Cool.

LB:            What is in this?

LA:            Long chain phelymers and organic key compounds. Blah blah. I can pretty much say anything at all can’t I?

BE:            Well, what’s it do then?

LA:            Mostly just normal old fashioned THC stuff, but it makes you feel kind of like you have an audience, and it has a compound that causes the waves in the lateral intraparietal area to loop back around so it seems a bit like reading lines from a script. Also I put in this time released chem that translates visual observations into words spoken in a soothing baritone. So, at times it can be a bit like someone is narrating your surroundings.

Ten bare feet dangle and kick over the gunmetal abyss

as the air current increases in volume for ninety seconds.

For now they are all well fed and relatively happy, though

It has not been long since they last felt fear for their lives,

Nor, they feared, would the next time be far off.

            SB:            Man… I think I fell asleep. What the vent were you talking about Lysergic Condom?

LA:            Lysergic Con… That’s clever for you, Skum. Have you been face penning for tutoring lessons again?

BE:            Skum! Sit! Pennywising Popes! Can’t you all just shut the vent up for three seconds?

ZL:            What’s that light out there?

BE:            Just a cleaning drone.

LB:            Vent! You sure it’s not a ratcher?

SB:            Ratchers is greenish light.

LB:            Not always yeah? Sometimes they change the flashes right?

BE:            Just a cleaning drone.

LB:            What you call this sorg, Syrge?

LA:            Drama Clean.

ZL:            That’s a good name.

Black Elvis, in the center of the kras, with Scroot a few meters behind them,

stands and raises his arms as if he is a tenor on a magnificent stage.

            BE:            Lo, the times we have wasted upon useless titherings and roughhouse rumblings are not to be mourned, but celebrated as this claustrophobic world of ours strips us bare with each passing turn. That weare pointless is more obvious than a given to those away, but to those in our sphere, these times are the prize,and the prize is given now, rather than at the finish. We all prove our regard by cussing and scrapping, elsethe fear of losing each other prevent us from taking any action at all. The cycle of time doth not linear be, butcrazy straw knotted back upon itself, by magic drugs interwoven with our subjective godselves, forever in thismoment, just before the breaking of the egg and the waking of the monster.

LB:            Whatever that means…

ZL:            Hey Vince, do you like my hair this way? With this thing…

BE:            Breathing is a metaphor for spiritual conductivity.

LB:            No it isn’t.

ZL:            Vince…

BE:            My imagiform is golden and expansive. It grants all and subsumes nothing.

LB:            No it doesn’t.

LA:            Somebody was snacking before dinner.

ZL:            Vince… did you see this?

SB:            Clown in a pita, Elvis! There is no god and sorg, man!

BE:            Speak it, wizened one!

S:               Pok.

ZL:            I got it on the flab last week. It made me think of that day by the window… There was that comet…

BE:             I’m napping. Everyone talk quiet.

SB:            LA LA LA LA LA BA LA

BE:            …

The younger members of the Krass continue to chatter,

but they all lower their volumes significantly.

            ZL:            Do you remember that Laser Boy?

SB:            Haw!

LB:            Hate that…

ZL:            Do you?

LB:            Do I what?!

ZL:            The comet.

LB:            Oh. Comet… Yeah that was dag.

ZL:            What about that free class in the school-quad?

LB:            With the?

ZL:            Yeah… Those people on that green hill, covered in blue, with that…wind or whatever, whipping their weird clothes and all that hair…

LB:            It just looked like air moving through a vent.

ZL:            …but there were no vents anywhere… Just open space.. and that big blue thing…

SB:            Did you guys know that the force pushing you out is called centri…

LA:            On planets there is no centripetal or centrifugal force at work in any major way. It’s real gravity. And the wind is…

LB:            Wind is air moving around due to temperature differential. Hot air rises and cold air sinks.

SB:            Your air stinks!

LA:            Also, the sky was blue because…

ZL:            You all are a bunch of shit eaters. None of that is the point! That guy and girl in the vid were, at some point in time, actually, standing on that hill and feeling that wind and seeing that sky! Vince?

LB:            Yeah… I remember… We can’t have that, I mean if they did, how come we’re always looking at a metal ceiling.

SB:            Oooooohhh! Sky baby!

ZL:            Sky baby? I…

LA:            I really want to stand on a planet. Scroot does too.

SB:            Not me!

LB:            Lies.

ZL:            It makes me ache to think about.

LB:            Everyone says our rotation feels like gravity, but how do they really know that? They’re just bugs clinging on the greasy inside of a giant vent like the rest of us. I think this station is haunted.

BE:            It would have to be wouldn’t it? Where else the ghosts going to go?

LB:            How many kids you think died right on this spot?

SB:            Venting sorg, man. Always depressing.

LB:            I mean, it’s a small station. Over on that end they keep themselves alive as long as they want. Over here… life is cheap… or maybe it’s priceless…

LA:            Trying to apply objective labels to subjective value judgments. Also ghosts aren’t real.

LB:            Yeah I guess.

ZL:            Seriously, though you fucker, do you think it’s pretty?

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