Ginger drafts...

Major wolf prodded his clawed grimy nail into the console and regally laid back on his plush leather lounge. He lifted himself a little for the leather made a chugging noise as he slid on it. The overhead panel made a noise that was akin to what you hear issuing from a tap (back on planet earth) before water makes its long journey through the pipes and burbles out in the vent. The hot-iron red of the panel glow bothered major so he held his hand up. But this was not going to work. So he reached for the console and pinched a knob clockwise. The red light dimmed and now the inside of his cockpit had the look of a womb so much so that major wolf went to sleep right away. A crackle woke him up. What was it? He looked about him. Major wolf was not the type you woke up in the middle of a dream. He noticed the green agleam on the speaker so he roused himself from the leather lounge and paddled in a daze toward the crackle and making a good fist, thumped on the instrument. The crac

Shravani wiped her mouth and swabbed her blood-drib lips with the sleeve of her lemon-green blouse. Above her, a garish noon was swept aside by a rather fat cloud, silver-fringed and wan-brown. She leaned back on the heels of her shoes that were scuffed and unbuckled. She kicked the shoes clean and looked about her for a pair of better shoes. Among the tufts of green, she found a set of teeth, gluey and dripping blood. Following the rope of blood interspersed with pressed clumps of grass, her eyes wandered about and settled on what looked like a straw-stuffed scarecrow.  Her ears caught the sound of the roaring buzz of bees; she instantly dropped to her knees and now dragged herself to a shelter, by the mound of mud, prepared to dig into it with bare hands if that is what it took. The bees, like a swishing curtain came at her; now the sound fuller and final… She was seized. An arm, a fat grizzle-haired arm was clasped around her forearm. The bees made the tintinnabulating s