Ficly

Look Out Below

So many civilizations have inhaled, then exhaled, usually collapsing into a smaller space then when they began. This orb use to be divided into Top and Bottom, East and West, Oriental and Occidental. Then we inhaled and now we’ve exhaled, and collapsed back in on ourselves, like a tired lung.

We violated this globe by removing everything from under it’s skin and burning it on top. Through dense smoke, we fled to other planets and threw this place away. We conquered galaxies and hunted dragons on Pern.

Now the Homosapien race is back on Earth, enslaved. We were captured and brought back to revive this dead place. We mine Starch now, the only diet our captors need to survive.

As in the beginning, when direction was invented, there are once again only two divisions, Above and Below. We are the Root Tenders, pale and nearly blind. Our rows are upside down, inside out.

The Slinks Above enjoy eating colorful things, and breathing colorful air. Below, I belong to the Tilth clan. I am a Lookout, my name is Clod.

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