{"id":398,"date":"2020-01-20T10:44:04","date_gmt":"2020-01-20T10:44:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/?p=398"},"modified":"2020-01-20T10:44:04","modified_gmt":"2020-01-20T10:44:04","slug":"writers-journal-90-scorched-earth-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/2020\/01\/20\/writers-journal-90-scorched-earth-5\/","title":{"rendered":"Writers\u2019 Journal #90 \u2013 Scorched Earth \u2013 5"},"content":{"rendered":"
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We glanced at each other face, wondering what exactly happened. And <\/span>all of<\/span><\/span> us, with open mouths, stared at Dio, who was looking at his hand. He must have known of the implications of what he has done, didn’t he?<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
“What the heck happened here? Why? How?,” I asked.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see what would happen if I place my hand on it. I didn’t know…,” said Dio in his weakest voice I heard from him. It sounded as if he didn’t know whether to celebrate or apologize for his actions.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cDio, you are not an alien, are you?\u201d Neva asked <\/span>softly<\/span><\/span>, \u201cNo. But\u00a0how did you\u00a0know?.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
“Guys, lets sort this out first. Then we <\/span>shall<\/span><\/span> ask questions. <\/span>Agreed?,” I interrupted before it became a series of questions and answers while keeping track the time remaining before the main shop arrived at the orbit<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
We shone lights into the hole and found it went down deep into the core. The whole thing reminded me of an ancient myth that I had read while I was still a child on Earth. It was a myth about a girl who was having a garden party, saw a white rabbit and followed it down a hole. It must have been a myth, for everyone lived underground long before I was born. <\/span>The surface of the Earth was too dangerous for anyone to survive for more than a few minutes with no heavy suites of shelters and tanks<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
One by one, we descended the “rabbit hole” and so on, found ourselves in a small room with another door blocking our path<\/span><\/span>. <\/span>Dio instinctively put his hand on the glass panel on the side and once again, the door slid into the earth to reveal a giant underground chamber<\/span><\/span>. In front of us, there were buildings of varying sizes under the dome on the top of the chamber.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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We strolled along the buildings, Nevo scanning the materials as he passed by, and soon we reached the center of the city<\/span><\/span>. <\/span>And that was where we stopped because it was the sight that we had seen many times before on the History Channel and in museums<\/span><\/span>. In the center of the city, there was a pyramid.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We glanced at each other faces wondering what exactly happened. And all of us , with opened mouths, stared at Dio who was looking at his hand. He must have been aware of the implications of what he done, didn’t he?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[19,51,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-398","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-science-fiction","category-writers-journal"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/398","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=398"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/398\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":400,"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/398\/revisions\/400"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=398"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=398"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersjournal.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=398"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}