Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

be alive, most people kept to themselves, interacting very little with others, just attentive to their com-devices, waiting for the signal of the long awaited rescue, coming from the other colonized planets a couple of light-years away from Nova Gaia.
    Sule stared at the two moons, muted guardians of their night. Nova Gaia had three moons but one was retrograde, and they were so infrequently together in the dark sky that a myth existed saying every time the three moons were together a catastrophe would befall.
    Many said the plague had started after the three moons had been seen together.
    There was only one bright thing in Sule's firmament, and he wondered where his lovely vision was spending this night.
    ****
    The thick head of GM's cock painted his lips with delicious fluids in rapid brushes. His body was aflame waiting for the imminent penetration after so much yearning. Then GM did a wicked thing, sweeping Alaric's nostrils with the raging head. So naughty.
    Blast me.
    Alaric opened his eyes to discover a dog licking his nose.
    He could hear the amused voice of his maman in the distance, "That's what happens when you don't wash your mouth before bed." He sprang to a sitting position, startling the little perpetrator covered in a mane like an unruly mop. A mop that must have been white when brand new and now was dirty-water-colored.
    At least the doggy wasn't feral. It wouldn't have been nice to wake up to the pain of his face being ripped unceremoniously. "Little fellow, the lick-fest is over."
    Alaric hadn't used his voice in a long time, and it was rough, sounding more like a growl, which drew a yip from the little mop. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." He stood up and went to the sealed container where he had left the entrails of his gas-mask-delivered supper. He opened the can and put it on the marble floor. "Here, you can have this. They are not my favorites."
    Leaving the little mop, munching desperately, he walked to the entrance of the abandoned hotel. It was that surreal moment— darkest before dawn— when for a second everything stood frozen waiting for the sun to chase away horror and obscurity. The promise that no matter what, day always followed night.
    A muffled noise snapped him out of his contemplation, like many people heavily dragging their feet. Alaric turned his head away from the changing sky and saw it. At the far end of the street, an irregular column of survivors walked. As he stared agape, more survivors joined the bizarre march.
    In five years, he had not seen this concentration of people before. He gathered his few things and went toward them, happy that the little mop didn't follow him. It would have been sad to resort to eating him at some point.
    Almost at the end of the silent procession, an old lady in a hovering cart— with a battery so low that it was moving sadly as if somebody was pushing it— smiled at him. Alaric walked beside her cart, "Good morning, mother. What's going on?"
    "A blessed day for you, boy. Hadn't you heard? Rescue is coming! The survivors in this area should go to the spaceport close to the Tyrrhenian Sea."
    That was a journey of three standard days, and at the pace the survivors were moving, it would take them a standard-week to get there. "Wonderful news, mother." Alaric wondered why she was alone. Probably all her family was dead; at least she had it in her to look forward to a new life somewhere else.
    Alaric pondered as he walked beside the hovering cart. He must keep with him a few mementos if he was to start anew on another planet. He didn't want to get old and forget what his parents, brothers and sisters looked like before the plague yanked them away from him.
    "Excuse me, mother. I wish you a safe journey. I must go back to my quarters." Alaric took her bony hand and kissed it, "Your blessing, please."
    "May the spirits of your ancestors guide you, and my blessing goes with you, my boy."
    Alaric bowed to her and left running with all his might.
    Panting heavily, Alaric reached the top floor of the two-story building he called home. He retrieved the hand-size painting of his family in its beautifully gilded frame. As much as technology gave them the opportunity to have holographic files, it was tradition to keep a painted family portrait. He had requested to have the full-sized painting that adorned the family room reduced to have it on his nightstand. Now, it would be the only important thing from Nova Gaia flying with him to a new