fluoresensitive:IT’S WARM IN HERE by Yah Yah Scholfield // 9k words // aliens dir. ridley scott (197
fluoresensitive:IT’S WARM IN HERE by Yah Yah Scholfield // 9k words // aliens dir. ridley scott (1979) // lovecraftian gothic space horror + speculative fictionIt’s back! And better than ever! There’s a whole story on how this was the first short story I wrote in earnest, and how I’m so proud of it and all that stuff is still true but I just want y’all to enjoy this! The inspirations for this work are spitting in Lovecraft’s face, honoring Octavia Butler’s legacy, spitting in Lovecraft’s face again, that “Midnight” episode of Doctor Who and, you guessed it, spitting Lovecraft’s face by being a Black woman writing about Black women in scary/speculative fiction situations…It’s a crazy long read but it’s totally worth the half hour/forty-five minutes it takes to read it because it’s so full of interesting details and bits that I really felt needed to be in here! It’s only been very lightly edited—all mistakes, missing words or grammar errors can be blamed on Miss ADHD! Just tell me and I’ll fix it as soon as possible!‘It’s Warm in Here’ is about a ship called The Messiah’s Glory. It’s about exchanges, balance and alchemy—what must be given away to get something and vice versa. As always, likes are very much appreciated but reblogs and comments are appreciated even more. If you like what I do and wanna give me a lil’ something for it, you can always slide a little money into my KO-FI! If there was rest to be had aboard The Messiah’s Glory, Captain Nichols found none of it. All around her were menaces, invisible to the eyes of others but crystalline to her. She saw them, felt them. Yes, there was a strange quality to the air that night, wasn’t there? And hadn’t the motion of the ship, usually so soothing to the captain, been unable to put her at peace? Even the twinkling lights of the stars and the soft glow of the galaxy, seemed to glare down into her, searing and punishing instead of enthralling. At any other time, the lulling patter of the artificial rain in the greenhouse would be enough to send her off to sleep but it sounded to Nichols less like a lullaby and more like a tempest, roiling and growing and crashing like cymbals upon her heard. And too, there was the tick-tick-ticking of the Gothic grandfather clock that stood at the center of the ship like a sentry, tick-ticking louder and louder still, until it seemed to Nichols to be the sound of a heart.Nichols walked. In between yawns that stretched and cracked her jaw, she darted her dark eyes around the upper deck of the ship as if looking for something. What she expected to see she wasn’t sure. Perhaps, Nichols thought to herself, she was looking for something not there, to prove to herself that the decks were empty, everyone at peace save for her.It’d been four days since Captain Nichols last slept, and it showed heavily upon her dark and much aged face. The dim, fire-like lamps that lit the topmost deck cut gray shapes against her skin, the circles beneath her eyes darkened into black disks. Ever so often, Nichols would stop her walking, her surveilling, roll her neck and shudder, her entire body convulsing from exhaustion, from chill, from… Keep reading -- source link
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