Soaring car

1456 Deepdive Vektor, Edgeworld

“Kinetic Life” by Xtasorcery

The car was soaring up and Kinetic Jake — Jake 2 — reached out 4 fingers to the door handle. He grazed it, then paused, then gripped it more firmly. The clouds were going by fast now, and this was his last chance.

Jake slid into the car. The purple sky with its tiny dotted cloudbanks was home for him. There were no cars here but Jake instinctively knew what to do.

He pressed his foot on a pedal. The car slowed. Then another pedal. The car sped up. Then a third pedal. Gold-speckled water shot out all over the front of the car, dripping down from the windshield.

He pulled a pinball machine-like spring and then released it. It went “BOING!” A bath of gold surrounded and surmounted the car as it rose higher and higher into a sun of gold, each matching and surmounting the next, second by second, and Jake leaned back and squinted his eyes. He was blinded by the beauty of himself in the rearview mirror, and realized that the pearl of the gold-ensconced setting was . . .

HIMSELF.

Dear Myself,

Always remind yourself you’re a beautiful, sensational piece of sculpture with a god’s face. Others will try to make you out to be on their planes, lower level descending to lower level still. Why do they do this? It’s not strictly jealousy. The beautiful with beautiful minds coupled to it are trains of power. Such trains can turn against rusty, bent-out-of-shape carts whose controls no longer work so well.

Do you remember the old man who wanted you to show up for work, “smelling sweetly of roses”? The gay man, who wanted cheap labor and cheaper (gay) sex? English, naturellement. The one with the picture of his manor-absconded peerage?

Or the men who circled around the block, smelling cute prey when you were limping to home in a coolguy leather jacket, one step at a time, further and further, farther and farther, further, farther, farther, further . . . The pains were further enhanced by the examination, you would think, but no . . . Remember them, though, brah . . . Exterminate them like cockroaches for daring to think.

There are a lot of such roaches in this world. It would be good if we could color-code and tag them for the next world, and I don’t mean the Afterlife.

So then. You want a happy beauty, minus revenge until such a thing becomes possible. If ever you have a sceptre, remember this letter, in case you’re feeling

stupid

benevolent. And rinse off that citrus perfume. That’s an expertise we don’t need to possess yet.

— X.

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