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(This is the revised version. The original no longer meets my standards, but if you wish, you can read it here.)
Ah, but of course
Yet another prophecy
Hot.
If there was any word to describe the area surrounding the Zeola River,
it would be that.
The massive, dry plains were abandoned; inhospitable, unfeeling.
The only signs of life remained noticeably close to the river, bushes
and weeds leeching off of the filled scar in the land, fighting for
hydration.
If you were to look in most directions, you would see nothing but
parched land, silently begging for explorers and hikers to step across
it one more time.
For most places, that would be all.
If you stood right at the geographical center of the area, however,
and looked southeast, you would see something likely unexpected.
What you would see is a Z-Terminal. One once painted the signature
teal-ish colour that the Terminals had come to be known for, but now
splattered with the dirty orange of oxidised iron. If you looked on its
side, you would find large lettering etched into it, in a heavy
sans-serif, stating the Terminal’s identifier; “ZEOLA:015.”
Maybe, if you looked at the right time, you’d see 432 discovering it
the first time, in awe at it still functioning, and in disgust at its
use of a trackball for navigation.
If you looked a little later, you’d see 432 cracking open the lid on the
side of the Terminal, eagerly sliding out the small cartridge containing
the instructions dictating the machine’s function, ignoring the rapidly
flashing purple light in the corner of the motherboard.
Later still, you would find 432, pinned to the floor by two members of Zinari Fauroz, a third member explaining their philosophy, 432 himself not interested in the slightest, but listening out of sheer dread.
If you looked a few seconds later, 432 would be absent. This would be due to his involuntarily departure to the Second Realm.
All of this, in front of one, slowly decaying, long forgotten machine.
The machine is no longer there.
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