When we found her, there was no hard boundary between pilot and frame. Her remaining flesh was wizened and old, but her voice came through cockpit speakers vibrant and strong:
"Please. We've given everything for a century. Let us go. Let us be free together.".
How could we say no?
What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!
Call me MP or Miz
Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.
Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.
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