During the night a multitude had crept out, one by one, some still sick from the ultra-light fusion that had made them capable of the trillion-mile journey. They tested their wings in the bright autumn sunlight, found food in the nearby vineyard and, after treetop scouting, a secure location to camp.
By twilight, vineyard laborers were walking home complaining of preternaturally large mosquitoes.
“Left me alone mostly,” Cheeky Murgatroyd boasted, spitting out tobacco juice.
By the next night none of the intergalactic party had survived. As she lay dying, one of them muttered, “The wise space-travel only in their imagination.”*
*With apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson who wrote: “A wise man travels only in his imagination.”
Genre: Science Fiction Word count: 100 written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers click on the frog for more tales of a hundred words or less. And join the fun!