Rog stepped into the hall, which for all intents and purposes might just as well been no man’s land. He had flown hoppers in every canyon on the southern reaches, known and unknown. Never once did he lose his way. Those days were gone, forever. There would be no more hoppers, no more hot meals after a hard day’s work on the ranch, no more ninker this or ninker that, no more Chaz. And now, his one foothold on sanity, appeared to be but a dream; his ability to control his environment and outcome, a hazy mirage shimmering in the back of his mind.

Categories: Story, Rog