a firmer point. The jet streams gave targets a chance; a passage. A moment to contemplate their next move before they were killed, or possibly just to repent to whatever god they might happen to believe in. Different colours also made different sounds, so even if you’re particularly suicidal and you want to blindfold yourself against them… you can still hear them coming, and what lovely tunes they played as they popped your head and heart. All those multi-coloured jet streams dropping through the sky… Whistling their songs and plugging their targets with a colourful ping, pang, pong! Remedy and Melodi listened to the rain. Or more specifically, for other sounds sneaking around within it. In between the homely pitter-patter. They exchanged nods, took breaths. Nothing besides the pitter-patter. Which has got to be good, right? Were they safe? Like a surfer sitting in the shade of a gazebo as the rest of the beach is baked by the sun. Like a starving farmer walking away from a relief truck with his family’s sack of grain as the rest of the town charges for food. Like a football fan safe in a box seat as the crowd is trampled this way and that by hooligans and riot police. It’s nice sitting safely while a storm rages outside; makes you feel good to be alive. The pitter-patter. The splish-splosh. The stamp-stamp. The stamp-stamp? Where was that coming from? Remedy backed up against a wall. Gestured to Melodi to do the same. These two were becoming quite the unit now, weren’t they? Quite efficient… at not getting killed, at least. Well, we’ll see about that.
Psytopia Adagio 1
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