Contortionist Advent
Now the inaugural exchange is done, we cannot see past
the solar shroud.
Escape.
Calculating all viable routes.
This terrestrial rock will be consumed.
Deafening static is haunting me, the blackness is
beckoning.
Countless samples of our world will be jettisoned into
every direction that we have known of.
Our satellites have painted the sky with their ionic
glass brushes.
The cryotubes will store our youth.
Desperation has set in and all we can do is run.
Feeling so alone, we set out to find other life.
The transport will be outfitted for a journey spanning
future generations
