A WALK TO THE STARS

de from the spinning tunnel of stars was what looked a blend of colors-blues, purples, and strange orange streaks of colors, an odd association with the sunset he saw with his mom last summer at th

h a wavering and echoey voice that was consumed by the light. His stomach had both dropped and flipped and he muttered, wishing he had passed on the peanut butter sandwich for lu

a couple feet away. His spectacles were askew, one lens smeared with something filthy and gray, and he shifted into an elbows position, gagging on dust, the air so filthy that it filled his throat like some thick substance. It smelled bu

soda out onto the planet and let it spoil, while the air felt hot, dry, as if he were too close to a bonfire. There, in the distance, was the skeletal remains of something that might be towers, or something similar to houses; but they were broken and decayed sentinels, jagged against a yellow sky. "What a du

in the spine, and then turned to a clean page. "Okay, let's see if we can make sense of this," he shakily said. With a tense grip, he began to draw the venue-the burnt ground was covered in ash, the towers of fallen rock cast as if broken bones, and the sickly yellow sky that was so bright it stung his eyes. "Wasteland," he muttered,

e they're aliens," he whispered and shivered at that thought. He shook his head-not that there was any need to really clear his mind. "Get a grip, Jasper. You're not trying to solve a mystery. You're trying to get home." He thought of his mom, probably setting the dinner table at this very moment, her voice sharp enough to snap when he didn't arrive home. "Jasper Finch! You better not be

e a fireball, to the bone, even through his hoodie, so he tied it around his waist, his shirt sticking to his body with sweat. He stopped to sketch again, drawing the towers, this one tall and slender with a broken top. "Could have once been a city," he said out loud, s

w, their shadows stretche

aze of ash that filled the air, it was coming from the bottom of the nearest tower, "What is that?" he whispered, taking one step closer, and then he saw them – small metallic shapes hovering just above the surface near the ground and slightly smaller than a soccer ball. The

rones fired a beam of light--red, hot, and slicing through the air where he had just been a moment before. "They are shooting at me!" his heart pounding in his ears. He was sprinting, ash flying all around him, lungs burning as he sucked in t

were able to find individuals using heat sensors. "I wonder if they are like that?" he whispered, ducking behind a shattered piece of plywood. The drones slowed down and the lights stopped to scan, he breathed, anxiety squeezing at the chest, heart clenched in the same tension. He was sure it c

f rubble with their lights, and he didn't have time to think. He took off running, ash flying everywhere as he entertained no thoughts but escape, the drones inches behind him and only getting closer. A beam of light shot through his sneaker, the rubber sizzling away, and he yelled, diving for the wormhole. "Take me home, please!" he shouted as he threw himself headfirst into the wormhole. The wormhole absorbed him, the buzzing of the