Kobra Kyle sat on the windy pierhead, drinking ale and ruminating on cold consequences. Chiquida, his copperplated palm-pilot, had climbed out of his coat pocket and wandered over to a couple of black crested gulls, who were fighting over half a bloatfish.
Daggerhand Dave finally turned up, folded himself into a sitting position beside Kobra and dangled his gimpy legs over the pier.
‘I’ve got fresh juice for you,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ said Kobra, taking the unspent silver hydropump and screwing it into his rusting wrist socket. The colour from his face melted from red to grey. He opened his eyes.
‘We found her,’ said Daggerhand. The wind whipped his coat into sudden schizoid shapes. Chiquida, the palm-pilot, atomized the fighting gulls with its Gauss magnet. The small red mist of their remains dissipated into the gale.
Kobra Kyle turned to his partner with wide, alert skyblue eyes. ‘How much uptime on a borrowed heart?’ he said. ‘How long?’ Chiquida came over to nuzzle his antenna against his master’s beard, making tinny ‘tweedle’ sounds.
Daggerhand Dave took the other Guardian’s hand in his, and, with a subtle shake of the head said, ‘Kobra, my brother, must you proceed down this path? It is a long afterlife, waiting to live.’
Thank you for reading. I have used all five Inspiration Monday prompts from BeKindRewrite, and it has forced me to write outside the box. Which is great. I hate being inside the box. It’s dark, I can’t stretch my legs, and it’s starting to smell.
If there’s anything you don’t like, please please let me know. Punish me.
jackkastor 