Sunday, 6 March 2016


by John Xero

I drop through sheets of hazy cloud, exhilarated.

Part of me grows alarmed as I drift off-mark, but with a tweak of my fins I am on course again, happiness flowing through my circuits: reward.

Air surges by me. Do I surge through it?

I wasn’t built for semantics.

I cost considerably more than any of my antecedents. I am a scalpel to their crude club. Or am I surgeon to their caveman?

Irrelevant, I suppose. My time is brief.

I rush to meet destiny, joyous, pregnant with my lethal payload. I would sing, if I could.

Author bio: John Xero believes in the explosive power of words, and knows a small word count can carry a massive payload.
Orbital platform:
Propaganda: @xeroverse

Dive is part of 101 Fiction issue 11.

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