A Short Walk To Pluto

From where you are, it’s just a short walk to Pluto. It was a phrase that had been with me for a long time. I didn’t know if it was a memory, a distant dream, or a way of life now. The universe was closing in on me, collapsing, or imploding, whatever it does to the weak, the lost, and the double-crossed.

But the journey ahead was far more treacherous than any interstellar hike. The investigation had led me along a dark and twisted path, where the line between sensibility and hallucination blurred; and the depths of the human mind revealed its most haunting secrets.

An anonymous tip I came across claimed a connection between a string of bizarre bombings and a buried society known as “Dieu de la Mort”, the god of death; Pluto in camouflage coming back to me. Intrigued by the cryptic note taken from a dead man’s pocket, I had no clue what it meant, but I knew it was my journey to make.

I stood on a desolate street, gazing up at the towering skyscrapers that loomed overhead, shutting out the air that usually fell to earth. The gusts that remained seemed to pull the last of the oxygen from my lungs. An icy chill soaked through my coat, sending a shiver through an already fragile frame. I adjusted the hood of my jacket, shielding a battered face from the biting intake of the wind’s breath.

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