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Behind the plasma spires, there’s a habitat where my father waits.
Behind those sky-scraping fires, in that habitat, my dog lies by the airlock door.
Behind that intolerable heat, outside the airlock door, there’s an armoured transport.
Behind their dazzling display, on that transport, there’s a thermostatic controller.
Behind this unassailable noise, on the floor below the controller, is the note I made to replace the thermostat on my suit.
Behind the plasma spires: somewhere I will never be again.
I recently collated all of the titles I had put up for others in the 'Write a Story for this Title' thread on 365tomorrows ( forums. I've come up with some fun, some intriguing and some difficult titles for other authors in that thread, and I thought it would be good for me to challenge myself. So now I'm working through the titles and writing as inspiration takes me, in the spirit of the thread they come from.

This title struck some strange resonance with the second verse of the classic poem 'The Twa Corbies', a verse that always inspires a sorrow within me:

"In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair."

Without so much as a pause, the tale above spilled onto the page.
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chesterchatfield Featured By Owner May 8, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
I'll echo Simon. Dark and the repetition really adds to the hopelessness.  
Rafellin Featured By Owner May 8, 2015  Professional Writer
SimonJM Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2015
Not a good place to be, worse if it's your own doing! ;)
Rafellin Featured By Owner May 8, 2015  Professional Writer
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Submitted on
April 25, 2015


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