Interplanetary Suicide (March of the In-CoHereAnts / Cloudburst of the InCoHere Ants)

I can't feel my hands, not really anyway. A million quasi-visible InCoHere Ants tusks pinching the cold bloodless surface of my clumsy mitts. Chilled sweaty clam palms. I finally took the gloves off because the bones were slipping around in the flesh sockets and now I'm laying across the destitute fractured roots of this Knowoak tree. Black dirt levitates around my helmet and I can see every pitch particle. I bet it tastes like poison sugar. The grains don't entirely obscure my view of what's left of the small moon, Suicide. I wasn't so much fleeing as I was putting my legs through the paces when the whole Gorramed thing blew apart like a Smartie Pop.


You see, I had put on my radiation suit and slipped away. It was only a few light years to Suicide but that's really fuckin' far to walk. Even my eyes can't stop sweating. That's when my heart finally malfunctioned; punched right out through my ribcage like a chestburster and dropped down in my left boot like a peeled plum through a hole in your pocket. Squish. It was bound to happen sooner or later. The BioBots have been attempting sensitive repairs for years but I neglected to read the fine print. Even with shiny new parts the internal coil mortalis is faulty. I have been due up for an overhaul for years. Now, I truly am supermarket sushi, all packed up in a silver astronaut disguise, my quality low grade and unfulfilling. A poor purchase that was nibbled upon and stuck in the back of the refrigerator unwanted. I would have rather been immediately incinerated than left to fester. I grew ice crystals, extravagant and beautiful beyond words and left unseen, completely clueless that I was a mistake.  This world is no place for a mind. Or a thought. No it's not. At least I chewed through the entire course, even the gristle. My mouth was full of premium restaurant scrumptious that was laced with bacteria, but maybe I'm a dreamer and I digress.

I stole an MI suit from Terra Prime and took off. The rocket thrusters are hell on the knees and my right one is an aching whiny bitch. I peeled the atmosphere like an orange, digested it to keep it warm. It's not entirely unlike skydiving except that you have no frame of reference for your speed once you break atmosphere. Oh, and you're going up and out. Better than in, down and out.

MALFUNCTION DETECTED. 
TRIP LOG OMITTED DUE TO WORMHOLE ABERRATION. 
ERROR CODE 1101010110. HAVE A NICE DAY.

Suicide's coppice was deep dark and lovely. I disengaged my helmet to smell the musty algae, the moss covered sequoias. I beat around the bushes, chewed the grapevines until the life juice blood slurped through my teeth and evaporated into ice vapors. It was eerily familiar. That's about the time the cornflakes skittered across the linoleum. At least that was my fucked up frame of reference when hearing the march of the In-CoHerAnts. One approached, head tilted, it's eyes an all encompassing segregated slow-churning lava firestorm. Deeper into the abyss, it's voice echoed in my head. "This life, like Suicide, runs at a whole lot of different speeds. They don't owe you anything."

Telepathy. What an asshole. I laughed, "Not after what I've done." With sweat stinging my eyes like rusty razorblade lemons, I tossed aside my silver hands. The insectoid was a hundred pound sack of dootrack in a ten pound bag, all lank, spiky limbs, a pubic-hair-faced liar piece of shit if I ever saw one. I challenged, "I'm shit hot. So say what you think about me. I'm not gonna cry coz I don't care."

Twittering, the In-CoHereAnt spasmed, it's belly bulged and split, green guts spilling forth. "I've done nothing. I've done nothing. But they forgive anything."

A million creamy maggot InCoHere Ants the size of gnats clouded out of those emerald intestines. They savaged the shadowy air of Suicide, resembling cream poured into coffee, and in my stunned state, I quickly found that I held fistfuls of the biting bastards. A moonquake, an impromptu marathon later and here I am drifting through spacial anomalies on the Knowoak's roots, watching Suicide break apart into dust. I could hear the core shatter but it was all a very muffled cabbage crack. I at least managed to secure my helmet back onto the Roughneck armor while pounding out the paces with my goddamned heart still slopping wetly around in my left boot. Squish, smack, squish, smack, squish, smack. I'm the incompetent DJ of cardio, DJ Heartboot1Beat. I can change the tempo though. Where am I going with this?  Oh yeah...

It was right. Space and the woods don't owe me anything. Mr. Green Guts and knowitall spoke the truth with his last breath. It is probably what killed him. Still... I've done nothing. I've done nothing. Like how I don't stop you breaking my arms and chopping me chopping me down, so I fit in your laptop.

Considered sending a distress call. Probably won't though. It's beyond peaceful in the calamity.

*Special Credit & Thanks to Late of The Pier and their track 'Space & The Woods'*