Tweet of the Day: Fan Work: Labor, worth, and participation in fandom’s gift economy
Paris, République française, 5 October, 21:13 hrs + 2 GMT
The pair ran pell-mell down the narrow Parisian streets. The wind howled down the avenues at hurricane speeds. Every inch of exposed skin cracked and blistered in the intense heat. The shrill cries of those unlucky enough to not succumb to heatstroke or smoke inhalation cut through the roar of the firestorm. They stopped at an abandoned park. Max pulled down the handkerchief over Collette’s mouth. He poured the last drops of water from his water bottle over her face.
“Let’s…go,” said Max.
“Where?” asked Collette.
He pointed to the river and broke into a run. Above them, missile trails and tracer fire crisscrossed the sky. Comet like streaks came down from the ash laden skies.
Each one spread the devastation further.
Each one fed the fires.
And behind them came the dragons.
The beast poured fiery breath down on the city defenders; soldiers, firemen and rescue workers.
They made it to Pont Neuf. Thousands crowded unto the bridge across the Seine. Bodies pressed together shoulder to shoulder. Firemen pumped water out of the river in an attempt to keep the flames at bay. A tide of desperate humanity carried them forward.
Then the world exploded.
“ax…max…Max…MAX!” cried a voice.
He shook his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears. He slipped on a puddle and hit the pavement chin first.
“Come on Max, we have to go!”
“Right,” he said.
Bloody body parts littered the road as far as he could see. He found his footing and ran the rest of the way to the island with Collette at his side. They both collapsed in a heap, their backs against a corner light post. Their minds numbed by exhaustion, they held hands and watched as Paris burned.