[Illustration: “Space Alien” © 2006 by R. Lloyd rrobot34@aol.com.]
Eleanor Wolfsson had a rather bleak outlook on the fate of the world, but for now she was concerned only with taming her unkempt hair. Strands of brown hair escaped from between her fingers as she tried to pull them back and tame the tangle with the delicate, golden hairpiece her grandmother had given her for good luck. She managed to capture some of her hair in the clip, but the rest evaded her and hung limp at her shoulders.
Forsaking the hairpin at the sound of the alarm clock on her desk, Eleanor raced over to the only mirror in her one-room flat and critically regarded her clothing, hands akimbo. Her many-layered gauze skirt, printed with a pattern of interlacing flowers, was complemented by a black blouse with opalescent buttons. Looking over her green horn-rimmed glasses, she adjusted the choker around her neck.
Preceded only by a thin, whining noise, a sudden roar screamed by and then dimmed into nothing. This time, the noise was so loud that she winced; her ignorance as a newcomer to the Global City hardly ever worked in her favor. The single window in her underground flat peered out onto Highway 63, and every time a nucleobus whirled by the explosive blast was deafening.
The scanner whirred softly under Eleanor’s finger as she locked the door to her flat, and she slipped into the sleek metal elevator silently. The elevator climbed upward swiftly, reaching its destination before Eleanor could finish polishing her glasses. The doors stood open, almost restlessly, as they waited for her to step out.
Posted by planetmagazine 