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 ^{(it's beta!)}

You could feel the sky swirling. Swirling above, the currents were lost to the wind. The three of them held antennae against the gales, trying to fight the exhaustion and gritty yet slippery blood that was distracting them. Life could be seen as static; stale static that barred teasingly before them. The crisper the bars were, the closer death came. With each inhale, acidic needles sunk into their lungs. With each exhale, chipped razorblades ripped away from their bodies.

“You can feel the sky,” one of them noted, “It’s not physical, either. But you can still feel the sky.”

An otherworldly blue drenched the heavens with clarity too stark for physical sight. It was just too sharp against the horizon for there was an etch outlining everything between the sky and the ground, or the sky and the sea. Almost as if there were missing frames of action, mists from the wallowing and crashing waves would cut in and out midair, lose direction on the way back into the water, and leave it to assumption in relation to its whereabouts thereafter.

The landscape was struggling for existence as the sun bled conclusion in a final corner. Even its death was unrelenting. As its once liquid, white-hot rays cooled and reddened in the ocean, they transformed into crimson elastic fingers that writhed by each wave. Red was tainting the blue waters, weaving demise beneath chopping misery.

“It looked so large from such a distance,” another reflected, “But it was no different than us. Even close up, we were small.”

Static began forming in clusters against their skin, adding to the distraction caused by the scraping wind and sticky blood. But the popping and clicking of charged electrons seemed inviting. They tickled with warmth that tingled pleasantly, especially when in comparison with the most hostile surroundings harassing them. The almost benevolent static even giggled in short snaps, pulling at their skin playfully and challenging the three’s focus even more.

The antennae, though, were still more confused by the static. Clinging to the stressed metal and aluminum, it distorted and interfered with reception; the reception that was keeping the three conscious.

“It probably won’t be enough to fill the gaps,” the third predicted, “There will be a lot of waste. It won’t block all of the voids.”

The circumference of the melting sun was a sickly black, although its persistence to glow held strong. It was the only natural element pushing for clear reception, pushing for any level of life to subsist. Yet its own rays continued betrayal, shunning clean light for cold, tempestuous waters. The sea’s salt corroded the sun’s half-submerged body away until it bled even more red defeat. Its glow could not penetrate the artificial blue of the sky, but its mere presence in the darker corner assured reception for the three rebels.

The first slid his eyes along the antennae in his bloodied grip, “It’s keeping the static at bay.”

“It always has,” remarked the second, peering back at the unconquered landscape behind him.

The third squinted ahead, nodding at the defying sun and gripping the antennae firmly, “It always will.”