The air was moving. The orange solar glare was reaching over some kind of ledge a few feet from her face and behind it, pink-orange hues were drawing swirly lines across a cornucopia of purple shades, interspersed with wisps of cotton clouds. She squirmed until she was sitting up. They were on some kind of old fashioned coach, its polymer mold rounded at the corners of the compartment she was in, with no doors to be seen. Terra yawned and tried to stretch.
Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). WARNING: editing has not taken place.