Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors offers a selection of eight-sentence excerpts from writers in multiple genres and forms. Check out the full roster here.
The refectory was another puzzle: bright and airy, as if there were no need to keep shelter overhead. Everything on Karis felt flimsy, all verticals and clear glass, when Yasmin thought of spherical sections and cross-struts as the shape of shelter. Hull breach, the curse word of her childhood, had no such meaning here. They opened windows and let air circulate through rooms, dined in a vast hall with no section seals to partition in case of disaster.
It was hard to wrap her head around that notion. She shivered whenever air touched her skin. At home, that would have been the last thing she ever felt. Here, it was perfectly normal.
Full-body culture shock of planetary life, for young people raised in a terraforming dome. From work in progress, Ship’s Heart (NaNo 2015).